His Woman by Diana Cosby Page A

door.
    “The one at the end.”
    “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “We would not want his chamber to be close.”
    In silence, she walked beside him and noticed he seemed to favor his left arm. “What is wrong with your arm?”
    Not answering, he pulled his hand closer to his side as he continued forward. Then she noticed he winced.
    “You are hurt!”
    “It is naught but a wee scratch.”
    The stubborn fool, with an ego to match. “Try not to bleed to death before I can tend to the wound,” she couldn’t help but add, appeased when his mouth tightened.
    “You would like that.”
    She didn’t reply. She needed to keep her thoughts on finding her mother’s Bible and escape. Not on Duncan or the love she’d lost. Though, with him so close, how could she not help but wonder how their life might have turned out if they’d wed?
    Or not want him with her every breath.
    A muted shout of a guard echoed from below.
    Another, father away, replied.
    Duncan opened the outer door and nodded for her to enter ahead of him. Thankful for any excuse to change the topic, Isabel hurried inside. She didn’t miss his cool assessment of her, or the determination in his eyes to learn her secrets.
    Why would he even care about her relationship with Frasyer? How could he after she’d broken their vows to wed and, from all outward appearances, willfully occupied Frasyer’s bed?
    What if by some twist of fate, Duncan still did have feelings for her?
    Instead of joy, the possibility resurrected the old disappointment that had never quite faded. That of a home and children with Duncan.
    That of love.
    And of forever.
    Her heart ached with the knowledge that such dreams never would be. Their time together would be limited to a few hours at most. Then they would go their separate ways.
    Taking a steadying breath, Isabel halted inside. The scent of chamomile mixed amid the rushes filled her every breath. The welcoming glow of the wax candles greeting her did little to ease her nerves.
    She stepped past two large chairs that graced either side of an elaborate hearth. Ensnared by the beauty, Isabel paused before the chiseled stone. Engraved within the quarried borders stood two falcons, their wings arched high. She turned. Beneath the window sat a small, gilt table that held several unopened bottles of wine. Tapestries decorated the plastered walls, each as elaborate as those sprawled tastefully upon the floor. The bold colors of the decoration exuding a proud elegance, one befitting an earl.
    Except there wasn’t a bed.
    They’d entered Frasyer’s sitting room.
    Duncan’s gaze swept the ornate chamber. “The luxury suits you,” he said, a trace of anger sliding through his words.
    Turn toward me, she willed, her heart breaking. Look and tell me what you truly see. Wealth matters not to me. Only you. It has always been only you.
    As much as she wanted to admit the truth, she remained silent. To try and convince him otherwise would further prod his suspicions of her reason for leaving him for Frasyer. God forbid Duncan’s anger if he ever discovered the truth.
    He walked around the chamber. “You think he has hidden the Bible here? There are no chests, no compartments. Unless he planned to hide it in plain sight.”
    Heat stroked her face as she tried to think of an explanation for her lack of knowledge about the room. A fool could see the Bible couldn’t be concealed here.
    Except she hadn’t known otherwise. How could she. With her own chamber at the top of the stairs, she’d never been allowed entry into any of Frasyer’s private rooms. Her presence on the fourth floor was for appearance only.
    “I was unsure.” Another lie. God, she was sick of them. “His bedchamber is beyond that door.” Isabel gestured toward an adjoining entry on the other wall and prayed she was right.
    It should have occurred to her that unlike her own chamber, Frasyer would insist on an elaborate suite of interconnected rooms instead of a