Page 6 of A Raven Reformed

“That wasn’t one of your options,” his deep voice rumbled from the door.

Belle gasped and whipped around. His frame filled most of the doorway as he stood, his arms folded across his chest. He took a confident step into her room.

“How dare you, sir. These are my private chambers.”

He raised one brow in challenge. “It’s my lord.” His tone was soft, yet edged with steel, and for some reason it made her mouth go dry and left her completely speechless.

“Fetch us some tea please, Mrs. Ingram.” Belle watched in some dismay as Lizzie nodded with a quick ‘yes, my lord’ and scurried off to do his bidding. He sauntered into her room and sat down in her chair as if he were—she cringed inwardly as she thought the words—lord of the manor. Mr. Carlyle stood just inside the door, his eyes begging for her forgiveness.

Well, she wouldn’t give it. “How could you do this?” she said coldly to him.

“Sit.” It was a command. Well, lord or not, she did not simply submit to orders.

“No, thank you,” she responded stiffly.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Miss Hattigan, I know this has all come as quite a shock, and for that, I am sorry.”

She scoffed. “The only thing you’re sorry about is that I’m not the perfectly biddable little miss you were hoping for, who would just obediently trot up the aisle because you commanded her to do so.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from him, but his eyes flashed with impatience. “We will be married tomorrow, Miss Hattigan. You are fighting against an inevitability.” He spoke with absolute confidence.

If only she could remain as calm and confident. Instead, her voice rose with apprehension. “You are wrong, sir.”

“My lord,” he corrected again. His voice was smooth but insistent, and it sent a ripple of awareness through her, which only fueled her rising panic.

“Lord or not, I will not marry you!”

He rose slowly from the chair, every inch of him emanating power and control, but he didn’t confront her. He simply turned and walked toward the door.

“Mr. Carlyle,” he said, towering over him, “Miss Hattigan will be at the altar tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. If she isn’t, yourself, Mrs. Ingram, and the rest of the staff here, will be immediately unemployed, and without references.” His voice was stern, without even a hint of sympathy in its hardness. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, my lord,” Mr. Carlyle stuttered and bowed unsteadily.

“Good.” Without a backward glance, Lord Dalinridge strode from the room, Mr. Carlyle following frantically.

This was her chance to escape. She needed to see Isaac. He would know what to do. She was out her window and down the giant elm to the ground in but a moment. She raced away from the house as fast as her feet would carry her and didn’t stop or look back until she was safely hidden within the trees.

The next several hours felt like an eternity, but she couldn’t leave the cover of the trees in case someone was out looking for her. When nightfall finally came, she dashed straight for Isaac. He would help her.

Isaac had a room in one of the Nelson’s outbuildings, and Belle pounded on his door. He flung the door open, shock registering when he saw her. “Belle?”

She threw herself into his arms. Only when she felt skin against her cheek did she realize he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I thought there was a fire the way you were pounding.” He gently pushed her off of him and quickly slipped on a shirt.

“Now,” he said, wrapping a long arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Tears blinding her eyes and choking her voice, she tried to tell him everything that was happening. The words were mostly unintelligible, and she eventually gave up on talking and succumbed to the sobs that wracked her body.

Isaac slowly and patiently rubbed large circles around her back, allowing her to blubber and bawl until the tears finally began to slow.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He took her hand and led her away from the building. The moon was mostly full and illuminated the fields as they strolled aimlessly. Just being with him, she felt safer.

In the middle of a large clearing, he stopped and lay down on his back, patting the ground beside him. They stared up at the sky silently enjoying each other’s company. It was something they’d done many times before.

“So,” he said, eventually, “tell me what happened.”

Belle was proud of herself for keeping her tears at bay as she told him the entire story. Or perhaps they’d simply run dry. When she finished, Isaac let out a long whistle.

“An earl?”

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