Page 17 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
“This way, your Grace,” she said, opening the interconnecting door quietly.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn across the window despite the sunshine. Isabella was lying in bed, her hands crossed over her waist, her eyes closed, her head resting on the pillows. She was asleep, her dark blonde hair spread out around her, the bruises on her face standing out against the paleness of her skin.
She looked peaceful, even as Edward shuddered at the thought of her terrible ordeal. The duke approached the bed, leaning down and gently kissing his daughter on the forehead.
“Goodbye, my darling,” he whispered, but Isabella did not stir.
Stepping back, he turned to Edward and shook his head.
“Won’t you let me show you out, your Grace? ,” Edward said, ushering the duke from the room, and as they emerged into the light of Augusta’s bedroom, Edward could see tears in the duke’s eyes.
“We’ll find who did this. I won’t rest until I see them before the magistrate and punished for their crimes,” he exclaimed, his face turning red as he clenched his fists.
Edward led him downstairs, assuring him he would do all he could to help.
“We’ll take good care of her, your Grace, and we’ll expect the arrival of the maid in due course,” he said as Isabella’s father left.
As Marston closed the door behind him, Edward sighed and shook his head.
“It’s been quite a day, my lord,” the butler said, and Edward smiled wryly.
“It certainly has,” he replied.
He was about to return to his study, but the thought of Isabella compelled him to return upstairs. He pictured her lying at peace on the bed, even as he feared her dreams may well be filled with terror. It angered him to think of what she had endured, and he made his way upstairs, finding his sister at her embroidery.
“She didn’t wake up,” Augusta said, and Edward nodded.
“I…Can I…see her?” he asked.
His sister looked at him curiously.
“We mustn’t wake her, but you can see her, yes,” she said, rising to her feet.
They made their way quietly through the connecting door again, and Edward found the scene just as before. Isabella was fast asleep, a look of peace on her face, even as she had suffered so much.
“I’m going to find out who did this,” Edward whispered.
“You’re very impassioned, Brother,” Augusta replied, and Edward smiled.
Isabella had entered his life entirely by chance, but he could not help but feel her to be a kindred spirit. He wanted to help her—it was his duty to do so—but looking at her roused unexpected feelings in him. She was an innocent in all of this, and Edward would do whatever it took to help her.
Chapter 8
“Where am I?” Isabella asked, looking around her.
She was in a library—the most magnificent library she had ever seen. The walls were lined with books, with a gallery running above and a gilded spiral staircase leading up to it.
The windows were tall and arched, looking out over Elysian fields, the perfect greenery of the landscape bathed in the gentle light of the setting sun. A fire was kindled in the hearth, and a long table was laid with all manner of delicious treats and morsels. Isabella smiled—was this heaven?
“You’re in the library,” a voice behind her replied, and turning, Isabella found Edward smiling at her.
“But…this isn’t your library, surely?” she replied as he approached her and took her hand in his.
He was still smiling at her, and he led her to the nearest shelf, pointing up at the books lining the shelves above.
“No, it’s yours—haven’t you always wanted a library like this? A refuge from the outside world. A place to escape into and be whoever you want to be?” he asked.
Isabella nodded. It was perfect. Her own library, a place of peace and sanctuary. She pulled the nearest volume from the shelf—it was by her favourite poet, William Blake—and opening it, she found her favourite poem, reciting aloud as Edward listened.
