Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) by Michelle McMaster

leaving her alone for the night.
    Wasn’t that what she’d wanted?
    As Isobel lay there alone on the big, empty bed, she realized that it wasn’t what she wanted at all.
    * * *
    “Good morning, Hartley,” Beckett said, pouring himself a cup of hot black coffee. “Have you seen my wife about? I was told she came down before me.”
    “Lady Ravenwood is in the garden, my lord,” Hartley replied.
    “And how did she seem?” Beckett asked. “Did she look to be in good health this morning?”
    “She seemed in excellent health, my lord.”
    Beckett popped a strawberry in his mouth. “Good. I am afraid the excitement of yesterday’s events made the countess somewhat ill.”
    Hartley nodded sagely. “It is often the case with new wives, my lord. But these wedding-day illnesses are quickly cured.”
    “Undoubtedly,” Beckett agreed. He took a linen napkin and placed a handful of strawberries in it, bundling it up and heading down the hallway.
    He opened the French doors and walked out into the bright morning. Quickly, he spied her. She faced away from him, but he could see her profile in the warm yellow light.
    He watched as the sunlight played upon her golden curls, and made them glint as if they were crowned with fairy dust.
    Gadzooks, but she was beautiful.
    Where Cordelia’s beauty was almost blinding, Isobel’s was soft as a rose petal. Cordelia’s eyes burned with heat, but Isobel’s glowed with warmth, like the play of firelight through a whiskey glass. Where Cordelia was statuesque and voluptuous, Isobel was dainty and petite.
    And while Cordelia’s voice was deep and throaty, Isobel’s was soft and sweet. Beckett watched her as she sketched. She seemed so innocent, so unaware of her own loveliness. The realization stirred something powerful within him.
    Damnation, he didn’t have time for such nonsense. He would not start mooning over his new wife like a bloody schoolboy. Wasn’t that why he’d married Isobel? To keep things simple?
    He’d been glad she feigned illness last night.
    For he had been so tempted to take her to his bed and bury himself in the perfection of her body…
    Theirs was the perfect marriage: one of convenience. He would not let his base needs play havoc with his plans. It would be no use discovering any charms of Isobel’s that might reduce him once again to a love-sick idiot. He had played that role once for Cordelia, and found it quite tiresome.
    Certainly, he would be polite, and treat Isobel with the utmost respect.
    But one thing was certain—no woman would ever sink her claws into him again.
    * * *
    Isobel sat on the marble bench beside the little pond and watched the fish swim up to the surface, then flip their tails as they headed back down toward the dark, soft bottom. This place was not unlike her own garden at home.
    She had spent another restless night filled with terrible dreams of Sir Harry and Hampton House. She’d awakened to find her nightdress soaked through, her hands shaking in terror. Seeking to banish the fears of the night, Isobel had come out to the garden this morning with pencils and paper in order to sketch.
    A bee buzzed past her on its way to some sweet-smelling roses. She watched the insect fly into the center of a delicate pink blossom, and gather its nectar to bring back to the hive.
    She thought of Beckett’s talk of roses yesterday in the coach. There were indeed many sharp, wicked-looking thorns adorning the flower’s stem, a potent protection from anyone trying to possess its delicate beauty.
    The confrontation with Cordelia Haversham had been unsettling. Isobel knew she had no reason to be jealous of Beckett’s previous fiancee. After all, their marriage was purely a business arrangement.
    Hadn’t last night’s events, or lack thereof, proven that?
    Yet she couldn’t help but be curious about her husband’s former love. From what she’d seen, the woman was as spoiled as a wicked child. And though extremely beautiful, her personality