Chapter 7

Isabelle had no idea what she was doing. Bode Armstrong was still a virtual stranger, who, by all appearances, was as frightening as a man could be. But underneath the exterior…

She could feel the honorable man who lived underneath.

She wrapped her arms about his neck as she dropped her head onto his shoulder. She barely remembered the last time she'd been in his arms. But this time, she could feel every hard inch of him, strong and powerful, and hope rose like the tide, filling her with a lightness she hadn't felt in weeks.

His arms wrapped about her back, holding her close as his cheek dropped to the top of her head.

She could feel the press of his large hands spread out on her ribs and waist, and she had this feeling that she was completely protected in his arms.

Safe for the first time in forever.

She leaned back, intent upon pulling away, but then his gaze caught hers and she stilled. Beneath the scars that slashed across his face was a truly handsome man with piercing blue eyes that cut deep inside her, and his hard features set in strong lines…except for his mouth.

The fullness of his lips held her attention, her breath catching in her throat. What was so appealing about his one soft feature?

He disengaged one arm from around her back, his hand coming up to cup her cheek as his thumb swiped across her mouth. "Isabelle."

"Yes?" Her voice came out high, tight and a bit breathy. What was happening?

"I'm not the knight in shining armor. I'm a whore-mongering villain who grew up in the slums of London, and I am intent upon killing your husband."

Her father was an earl who'd sold her. "It's been my belief that the circumstances of birth do little to dictate the worth of a man, despite popular opinion otherwise."

His brows lifted, pulling at the scar that cut down his skin by his eyes. "You don't really believe that."

"I do. With all my heart."

He leaned closer, their breath mingling a moment before he kissed her lips, light and gentle and achingly perfect.

She sighed into his mouth, and her eyes fluttered closed as her arms wrapped tighter about his neck. She'd never expected to receive a kiss like this…but somehow, it was so perfect. How had her feelings changed so drastically? She'd been frightened of this man mere hours ago but even a bit of time had completely changed her view.

He was handsome and strong and the sort of protector that she'd been desperately needing.

He pulled back the smallest bit, his mouth still so close, that she could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes.

And then he whispered low and deep. "I'm the man who stole you, Isabelle."

"A mutually beneficial situation…"

He rumbled, pulling further back, before he let her go, the cool air of the attic making her shiver as he stepped back. "I'll keep you safe." He reached out and brushed his knuckle down her cheek. "But you don't owe me embraces, or kisses, or even gratitude."

"Is that what you think I just did?" A little hurt stabbed through her. She'd never touched a man like that before.

He shook his head. "I'm not accusing you of anything, just reminding you. I'm not the hero. Don't mistake me for one."

He gave her a meaningful glare and then stomped across the room, his broad shoulders and tapered waist on full display.

She stared after him as he clomped down the stairs, trying to understand what had just happened.

He'd promised to take her away, keep her safe. Allow another man to defeat Makem for her benefit and then he'd gone and told that he wasn't the hero.

Did he know what a hero was? Because to her way of thinking, if he carried her to safety, after interrupting her horrific wedding night, she'd be more than willing to change his status from kidnapper to savior.

What else did a man have to do to be a hero?

The lock clicked behind him as if to highlight his words. She was his prisoner, not his princess.

But she shook her head, convoluted as the lines had become, Bode Armstrong was the man who saved her. She could feel it in her heart.

She'd have time to tell him all these things after they leave London. Her shoulders relaxed at the very idea of leaving the city, putting behind her all that had happened the past few months.

Crossing to the window she'd abandoned, she stared out into the dark night, lost in her own thoughts and the remembrance of the kiss she'd just shared. His arms had been so secure, so strong.

That's when she noticed the light of a torch coming down the back alley. Jumping up, she snuffed out the candle that burned in the room, going back to the window.

She partially hid behind the curtain watching the light bob down the dark street. As the torch moved closer, the circle it illuminated grew larger, showing the man who carried it and then several more behind him.

She gasped in a breath, stepping back from the window as she tried to hide herself. Makem held the light, his sickly grin visible even at this distance. Fear stilled her limbs as she shrunk further behind the curtain.

Outside, one of the guards let out a piercing cry, warning the house that danger was coming.

She hugged herself, a tremor moving through her. She'd be fine… Bode had promised to protect her and surely, they could defeat the five…no, six…men who approached.

The shattering of glass filled the night, one of the windows in the house surely having just been broken.

And then the torch moved in a large arc, sailing through the air, and disappearing from her sight.

Had it gone out?

A sharp cry from downstairs had her stilling again. And then the deep call of, "Fire!"

She bit back a scream. Was the house on fire?

Lifting her skirts, she started for the stairs, nearly tumbling down them until she reached the door. She hadn't bothered to attempt escape until this point, knowing there was little to run to.

But right now, she needed to escape certain death.

But as she pulled on the knob, it didn't budge. Locked. In her panic, she'd forgotten that he'd locked the door.

Another scream built in her throat.

* * *

Lockton glared at Bode. "Ye want to do what? Repeat that for me again."

"I'm going to take her away," Bode said, sitting down heavily in the chair of his study.

Lockton's brow slashed low and angry. "I've left my bride in Scotland to help ye and now ye're leaving me?"

Bode opened his mouth to explain. It wasn't lost on him that a few hours ago, Duke had made the opposite argument as Lockton. If only he'd had the two men in a room at once, they could have battled it out without him. Endless discussion was not his forte.

"You left your bride because you were afraid Makem was a threat to her. You're not here for me. Let's not pretend."

Lockton opened his mouth, ready to argue some more. But before he could retort, Bode heard the warning whistle followed by the crash of the window. He bolted up from the chair, taking two steps around his desk when he heard the call… "Fire!"

"Get Makem!" He bellowed at Lockton, knowing exactly what was happening. "Take two men, the rest need to put out the fire."

And then he was bolting through the door to the stairs.

But he didn't go down. Instead, he went up…

Because if the house caught ablaze, Isabelle was trapped.

A streak of curses passed his lips as he sprinted up the stairs taking them three at a time. He'd made a terrible mistake locking that door. She'd agreed to stay…

He'd not treat her like a prisoner again.

He heard her screams, shrieks of fear that sent cold streaking down his spine. "Get away from the door," he bellowed.

Her screams instantly stopped, and he only waited a few beats before he crashed into it, not bothering to take the time to unlock it.

The door cracked, flying open, Isabelle standing four steps up, her eyes wide with fear, her hands over her mouth.

He opened his arms then, starting up the stairs as she launched herself down them and into his waiting embrace.

He didn't bother to put her down. Instead, he swung her legs up, cradling her entire body in his arms as he turned back down the stairs.

"I saw them in the back alley carrying the torch. Makem, he's here!"

His jaw clenched. He'd been a fool to set a trap like this. He'd hardly had time to get a guard up, let alone make a strategy for the counterattack. In this moment, he had no urge to chase Makem, he didn't want to fight. All he wanted was to take Isabelle far away…

Racing down two flights of stairs, he found the fire stamped out, the curtains, and the wall charred to black.

"Where's Lockton?"

"Gone," one of the men answered. Bode didn't remember his name. He was a borrowed man from the Smiths. Here to help keep the house safe and defeat Makem. "Chased Makem's men off and then went after them."

"He had help?"

"Took three men with him."

"How many did he face?" Bode still held Isabelle.

"It was eight, maybe ten, they'd split into two groups, one on either side of the house. but four are dead so that evened the odds a bit. We all know Lockton's worth five men."

Bode looked down at her, undecided for a moment. He was leaving, the only question was when. He and Lockton hadn't finished their conversation. And Lockton had once again put himself in danger.

Then again, with Makem distracted, this might be Bode's chance to just slip away. Take Isabelle and disappear.

And then there was the delicate matter of a carriage. Lockton's was the only one about, which meant not only would Bode be leaving his friend, but he'd also be taking his vehicle.

"Is Fulton Smith in the city?"

"He's not," the other man said. "But Bancroft is. He'll be sailing north at the end of the week."

Bancroft was Lockton's family by marriage. If Lockton needed a ride north, he could catch one with his cousin-in-law. It was decided, they were leaving.

He looked down at Isabelle, her cheeks stained with tears, her arms threaded about his neck, and he made his choice. "Ready Lockton's carriage. We're leaving the city."