Читать книгу To Wed A Rebel - Sophie Dash - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Isaac

She wasn’t meant to cry. Griswell had given him instructions, hired a private box at the opera, told him to get the girl alone and do what must be done. But Isaac hadn’t anticipated this.

“What happened?”

“I shouldn’t be here.” Her face was blotchy, hands shaky, eyes puffy. Every breath seemed to escape her and panic her more. Isaac had seen men fall into the same state when overwhelmed by the sea, their vicious commanders, or the horrors that came with war. If he had a stiff drink, he’d have given it to her. It helped, he’d found. And if anything, he could use a drink.

It had never been like this before.

The women he’d brought down had always been spoilt, ambitious, money-grabbing creatures whose virtue needed testing. Or they were idiotic, simple-minded girls who needed crossing in love. (It helped to build character.) They all fell to him, forgot their better instincts, ruined themselves. Isaac merely provided the opportunity and he enjoyed it. The game, the chase, the danger.

When it came to Ruth Osbourne, the situation was not to his liking. She was a good person. He wasn’t used to those. He hadn’t even been sure they existed. It didn’t change anything. He couldn’t let it. He needed the money.

And she would recover, surely? It wasn’t as though she was ugly, aside from her ridiculous clothes. In some lights, she was rather pleasing to the eye. Yes, she had few connections and her uncle was an odd, unattached fellow, but someone else would intervene on her behalf. Soon she’d be someone else’s problem, not his.

“It will pass. Steady your breathing,” said Isaac gently, a hand on her shoulder, thumb moving in gentle circles. “You do not want anyone to see you like this, trust me.”

At last she stilled, chin against her chest.

“It seems you are fated to be here whenever I am at my worst,” she croaked. “And I fear I’ve been terribly rude to you, when all you’ve ever done is help me.”

Ruth tried to meet his gaze and he avoided it, staring out across the audience members below, lined up in the cheaper seats, engrossed in their own conversations.

“Forgive me,” said Ruth, her knee resting against his, and he wanted to get up, to put a distance between them and warn her against him. “I have been caught up in this horrible city, its talk, the rumours.” She shook her head, wisps of her hair falling down from their fixings, framing her face, inviting him to brush them back, to touch her. “I almost forgot myself.”

“An easy thing to do in these parts,” said Isaac listlessly. He’d never felt more like a wolf, a predator, a monster. What was it about her that made him want to be a better man? A man he’d left behind long ago.

“It will all get better. I shall get better at it, after I am married,” she continued, rationalising with herself. “I know I can make myself happy, if I try hard enough.”

Isaac released an amused grunt, though he held no good humour. “You cannot truly believe that?”

“I have to,” she told him, “otherwise I’d never go through with it.”

Christ.

This was his way in, a chance to give her another option, to pretend he was the answer to her prayers, here to vanquish her troubles and remind her of what true chivalry was.

But, as before, the words wouldn’t come.

And she beat him to it.

“You’re a good man, Mr Roscoe.”

Her gloved hand rested atop his, a contact he instantly drew away from, finally catching her eye.

“I cannot do this,” he said, half to himself, half to her. “We need to get you away from here, back to your friends.”

Away from me, before I do something I regret.

“Yes, of course,” agreed Ruth, and Isaac was sure he hadn’t imagined the disappointment in her voice. If he kissed her now, would she let him? God, he was definitely going to hell for this.

Well, this and a lot of other things.

“Follow me.” Isaac didn’t give Ruth time to think, to comprehend, as he moved to the door and checked the corridor. It seemed to be their habit, to skulk around in one another’s company.

“Be quick and be quiet,” he said.

They were not quick enough, for when they entered the darkened route, a figure peeled itself from the shadows. Isaac pulled Ruth into an alcove seconds before Griswell strolled by, lingered outside their vacated box and found it empty. The slimy git swore under his breath and kept on walking. He was looking for them and he knew what he wanted to find.

“Whose opera box were we in?”

“Mine,” said Isaac.

“Then why is he…”

“Quiet.”

Suspicion latched on to her words. “What’s going on?”

“We are getting you back to where you belong and then we will never cross paths again,” he said. “And whatever you do, Miss Osbourne, do not trust Griswell.”

They did not speak further, not until Isaac returned her to the others without incident. If she wanted to say farewell, he didn’t let her. He didn’t trust himself not to do the wrong thing. In all his years, he had never thought himself a moral man, but he hoped he wasn’t a complete bastard, at least not today.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Isaac’s steps halted on the floorboards, head down, back to her. In his mind’s eye he was already far from these London streets, in another city, another country, another continent.

“Not if you’re lucky,” he replied over his shoulder, feeling his guilt lessen with every step that took him from the girl and everything he might have done. “Goodbye, Miss Osbourne.”