Chapter 3

Isabelle woke in a warm bed, the sound of soft voices pulling her from her slumber.

A woman's voice was first. But then…the deep rumble of a man that she did not recognize. She attempted to understand, as she shifted under the covers. Something smelled different.

Her mouth felt like paste and her head ached terribly. Had she had too much champagne? She cracked one eye open, trying to see if there was water. That's when she realized, she wasn't at home and in her bed.

She sat up, her mind frantically searching for some memory of where she might be and how she'd gotten here.

Her gaze caught the gauzy negligee that barely covered her, and she yanked the covers up again, the sight of the garment bringing a flood of remembrances.

She was married…the attack…the man with the scarred face. With a shudder, she let out a whimper.

"You all right, girlie?" a raspy-sounding woman asked. "How's your head?"

"I'm fine," she answered, not wanting to give these people any information. "Where am I?"

"Westerly House," came a deep rumble from the shadows.

"Westerly House?" Was she supposed to know where that was? And who had spoken? She clutched the covers tighter in her hands, covering her body as her heart raced and blood rushed in her ears.

The older woman cackled. "My name's Mama Rose. I take care of the girls here."

Isabelle nearly cried out. Take care of the girls? She was in another whorehouse. "I don't need any care."

"Course you do. And it starts with some tea. I brought you a tray." Mama Rose pointed at the stand next to the bed.

Isabelle looked to her right where a tray with plain biscuits, butter, jam, and tea sat next to the bed. She nearly cried out at the sight of them, reaching for the tray. But then she pulled back.

Should she eat the food?

She was in a strange place with even stranger people.

The man stepped out from the shadows, drawing first her gaze and then she gasped when she recognized him.

The man who'd held her at gunpoint. She cringed deeper into the covers.

"You should eat," he rumbled. "You need your strength."

"For what?" she whispered, shaking her head. Her hair was still undone, hanging down her back, surely a tangled mess.

"To recover," he answered, moving to the edge of the bed. From where she sat, he appeared even larger and more intimidating.

She clamped her hands like vises into the blankets that she clutched about her chest. "I'm fine."

He grabbed a biscuit, tore a piece off and held it out to her. She shook her head, refusing the food. What if it was meant to hurt her?

He brought it to his lips instead, swallowing the bite before he tore off another and held this one out to her as well. "Eat."

It wasn't a question, and tentatively, she unlocked her fingers, reaching out for the morsel before she brought it to her lips. She didn't wish to eat but she was more frightened of saying no to this man again than she was of eating his food.

It settled like paste on her dry tongue, but even at that, a bit of food made her feel better as he poured her tea, taking a sip before he handed her the cup.

"Why am I here?" she asked, trying to control her tremble of fear as she took the cup. Her fingers shook, a bit of the tea spilling on the blanket.

He muttered a curse that did little to calm her nerves as he took the cup from her shaking hand and brought it to her lips himself.

The hot liquid slid down her throat, soothing both her parched mouth and her aching head and she gratefully took another sip.

"Can you hold the cup now?"

With a nod, she took the steaming hot liquid again, taking several more sips before she lowered the cup and looked up at the man who stood above her. Her neck was craned at a ridiculous angle as she tried and failed to ask her question again.

She'd tried to remember if she'd ever seen a man who was so…large. The size of his shoulders alone…

He looked down, his gaze giving nothing away. "You're Makem's wife?"

The cup trembled in her hands again, his question partially answering hers. "What are you going to do with me?"

His gaze lifted to the other woman in the room. Mama Rose stared back, harrumphed, and then finally turned, exiting.

When she did, the mysterious man grabbed a simple wooden chair and sat next to the bed. He was less intimidating this way, though she could better see his scars, and even up close, they had a frightening appearance, the sort that made her shiver with worry.

Isabelle carefully returned her cup to the tray, knowing she ought to not hold hot liquid for whatever came next.

He leaned back in the chair, assessing her again.

Sunlight shone into the room, glinting off his blond hair. It was one of the few approachable things about him. "Why don't you answer my question first?"

To be fair, he hadn't answered any of hers either. Then again, he wasn't lying in a bed in scanty clothing. "What day is it?"

He sighed with a scowl. "Questions still?"

She shrank a little. Her first impression was only confirmed with this meeting. He was a giant of man, his face as uncompromising and frightening as a person might possibly be. "I'm trying to answer yours," she whispered, her gaze casting down.

"Friday."

"I married him yesterday."

He sat silent for long enough that she lifted her gaze to his. "Last night was your wedding night."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.

"I interrupted your wedding night."

Again, she nodded.

"Is he very enamored with you?" He leaned forward, causing her to shrink back.

"I have no idea," she answered honestly. Wasn't it her turn to have a question answered? "What are you going to do with me? Why am I here?"

"All the women from the house are here or they were."

"Where are they now?"

"Some went off to marry, some returned to their husbands, and a few went to another house of mine."

"And where will you send me?"

"You're staying here."

She gasped, not sure what that meant. "For how long?"

Another silence, the only movement, the ticcing of his jaw. "Until I find your husband."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to understand those words. "What if I wish to leave?" But the answer slowly penetrated her brain. She wasn't a guest as much as she was an unwilling captive. And this man was her captor.

* * *

Inwardly, Bode winced.

The answer was that he had no intention of letting her go.

But no one wanted to hear she was being held against her will. "Was it a love match? You and Makem?"

She stared at him.

He recognized her fine accent and even with her hair a tangled mess, a refined quality to her features spoke of wealth and affluence. Even the way she'd held her teacup, her long-tapered fingers gentle and graceful around the cup.

Nothing about this woman fit with Makem.

Still, he had to assume the man would be coming for his wife, and when he did…

"A love match?" she asked, sounding half-strangled, her face completely pale again, and he reached for the biscuit, giving her the entire flakey pastry.

"Eat."

She took the food without question but didn't bring it to her lips. "I wish to leave."

He frowned, making her cringe away from him. He hated that response. Always had. Women came to trust him when they got to know him but at first… "That isn't an option."

She shook her head, a whisper falling from her lips. "I cannot believe that today is worse than yesterday."

That was information he could work with. "Not happy with the match?"

She trembled again, perhaps not even realizing she'd said the words out loud. "Please let me leave."

That wasn't going to happen. This woman was the key to his victory, he knew it. Makem would come for her and when he did…

"If I let you leave, you'll end up back in his clutches. Do I need to tell you what that man is capable of?"

Isabelle went pale. So much so, that he worried she might faint again. At least she was in a bed this time.

"Capable of?"

"He cheats, he steals, he hurts people all of the time." He gave her a meaningful stare. "You don't have to take it from me. Any girl here will tell you. You don't want to be a woman under Makem's care."

"I believe you," she whispered.

"How did you end up married to him?"

She nipped at her lip, looking across the room at the row of windows that were built into the roof line of the attic room. She'd been carefully stored at the very top of the house. The door to this room was hidden behind a bookshelf at the end of the third-floor hall.

"My parents made the match." Her voice sounded rough, raw.

"And your parents. If I return you to them, will they just give you back to him?" He knew he'd found her weak point. He'd far prefer she wished to stay rather than him forcing her to do so.

She was silent, her head dipping.

"Perhaps you should think of this not as me holding you here, but as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Her head tipped up, her eyes catching his. They were the loveliest shade of blue.

"And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll have to go back to my husband eventually. Even in prison, I'd be expected?—"

He cleared his throat. Jail was one option and if he managed to put Makem there, she'd be expected to live in jail with her husband. "Have the marriage annulled. It's not consummated."

Her head cocked to the side as she assessed him. "And the money he gave my family?"

"He's going to get it back from inside a prison?" But the truth was, Bode didn't expect Makem to live. At least, that was his plan.

"What's your name?" He made an effort to soften his voice. Gentle wasn't natural to him, but the situation required a bit of finesse.

"Isabelle."

He liked the name. It was as delicate and soft as the woman in front of him.

"Isabelle, eat your food, change your clothes." He pointed to the chest at the end of the bed where clean clothes had been laid out for her. "Dress your hair. Sleep if you'd like."

He waved his hand about the room.

"No one will hurt you here, no one will expect anything from you. Relax and enjoy."

She frowned at him. "I just can't leave this place."

There was that.

"I don't know much about my husband, but I've already learned that he's as mean as a snake and twice as ruthless, which is why I believe every accusation you made. You really want to risk taking me from him?"

He'd risk it. "Do I look like the kind of man who is afraid of your husband?"

"That's a fair point. But he'll come for me. Take me back. As far as I can tell, he went to great lengths to make me his bride."

"He cares for you that much?" Bode was very curious to hear her answer. She was a woman worth fighting for, even he could acknowledge that. Everything about her appealed.

"Cares?" She shook her head. "I am bought and paid for. That's why he'll come. I belong to him."

Bode had to give her credit. It was a pragmatic answer. And exactly why she couldn't leave. "And when he does, I'll be waiting."

She shook her head, fear making her eyes wide. "The longer I'm away, the worse it will be for me. You understand that, don't you?"

"You'll have to trust that I can defeat him."

"Can you? He had enough money to erase my parent's vast debts and from what little I've learned, powerful friends, who helped him facilitate the match in the first place."

"If you're explaining why I should be frightened, I'm not." He gave her a cold stare. "Men like Makem have tried to break me before."

"I'm glad you're not because I'm terrified. He'll kill you and then?—"

"Let him try."

But Isabelle only shook her head. "And then he'll make me wish I was dead." She turned her face exposing her bruised cheek. His teeth gnashed together, knowing who had given her that bruise. "This is what he did to me, just for waking him. Imagine if he thought I betrayed him."

Bode's teeth snapped together. "I take care of the women under my protection. Trust in that."

"I'm not sure I trust in anything," she answered, her large blue eyes holding his. Pleading.

He knew the position he'd put her in. He didn't like it. Not one bit. The only people who had ever shown Bode kindness throughout his childhood had been his best friend's mother and Mama Rose. He didn't hurt women, and her words made his gut clench.

"Trust that I have friends as powerful as his and a vast knowledge of what makes a man like Makem tick."

"You've taken me against my will, and you ask for trust?"

His teeth clenched. Perhaps trust had been the wrong word. "I promise you this, Isabelle. He'll have to kill me before I allow him to hurt you. And I am not a man easily defeated."

She shook her head, but she lifted the biscuit to her mouth. "I get the impression, neither is he."