Would it make things easier if she apologised? Pushing herself upright she forced her lips to curve in a smile of welcome. His face was unrecognizable. His eyes glittered strangely— he was a stranger to her. She tried to find words to mollify him. He was not himself, anger and drink was making it appear as if he hated her. Her words remained locked behind her teeth. Her mouth was too dry to release her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

With slow deliberation he placed his candlestick on the ormolu table beside the bed. Isobel shivered— she feared her bladder would empty. Why didn’t he speak?

“Tonight, madam, you brought disgrace to my name. The last time you did this I warned you what to expect. I am master in this house and it’s high time you learnt what happens when you disobey me.”

His words were clipped, each one enunciated clearly. This was the voice of a madman. He stepped forward and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and ignoring her protests, he carried her into the anti-room in which she took a bath.

“You disobeyed me. You have only yourself to blame for this.”

The door slammed and she heard him pushing a large piece of furniture against it. She was shut in a freezing room in her nightgown. How dare he treat her like this? She was not a recalcitrant child to be punished. There were no other doors in the room and she couldn’t escape into the servants’ quarters even if she’d wished to.

She pressed her ear to the door. His footsteps faded into the night. Slumping onto the icy tiles she hugged her knees and tried to stop her teeth from chattering. How long would he leave her here to freeze? After an hour she was too dispirited and cold to do more than huddle in a corner praying for release. She shivered and froze for what seemed like hours before she heard him removing the barricade. She scrambled to her feet.

His voice reverberated through the door. “I hope you have learned your lesson, madam.”

She would never forgive him. Rage overwhelmed her—she was blinded by it—her fear and misery burned away by its ferocity. The door swung open and she sprung forward snarling with anger.

Before he had time to react she lashed out punching him squarely in the mouth. His teeth ground into her fist, his lip split, but she ignored the hurt that travelled up her arm. He reeled back, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes wide. Not giving him time to retaliate she punched him with her left hand. This connected with his eye.

She was incapable of speech. Her cheeks were awash with tears of rage. He stepped away from her shaking his head, wiping blood from his mouth with his shirtsleeve. She turned to see what she could snatch up to hit him and her fingers closed around a candlestick. As she lifted it his hand grasped her wrist and he took it from her.

“Enough, little firebrand, there are better ways of venting your spleen than that.” He tumbled her full length onto the bed, his weight pinning her down, then held her arms on either side of her head. She bucked frantically to get free.

“Alexander, haven’t I been punished enough tonight?”

He disregarded her plea, trapping her. His tongue invaded her mouth—she could taste his blood. Something deep inside her stirred and she tore at his shirt. He took the two sides of her nightgown and ripped them apart. She was consumed by a different heat. His lips closed on hers but they were not hard but soft, persuasive, adding to her passion.

He trailed hot kisses down her neck; taking a nipple into his mouth he nipped it gently between his teeth. Her treacherous body responded. Although she hated him, primitive urges took over. It had been too long since she’d made love to him.

The all-too-familiar heat spread rapidly until she was unable to control herself. His mouth teased— he sensed she was willing. He was a skilled lover and she was helpless as his fingers worked their magic. Down her shoulder, caressing her breasts, then lower to the very centre of her being. Her anger evaporated  and was engulfed by her desire. A wildness flooded through her and her nails raked his shoulders.

Keeping his mouth on hers he stripped off his remaining garments then red hot skin covered her from head to foot. She clawed his back, imploring him, biting his lips in her hunger. He plunged inside and with each thrust she felt a pleasure so intense, so fierce, she thought she would die from it. An ecstasy that was almost painful rippled through her and her world exploded. She cried out his name. Then with a final shudder he joined her in release.

He gathered her tenderly believing the passion they’d shared negated all that had gone before. As the pleasure slipped away she became aware of his alcohol-laced breath. She hated herself for becoming a willing participant.

He was dead to the world, exertion and brandy rendering him senseless. She wriggled from beneath him and blowing out the candles, took the remaining one into her dressing room. She dressed in her plainest clothes, the ones she wore when he was absent. Five minutes later she had stuffed garments into her portmanteau; then from the depths of her closet she removed two cloth bags filled with golden coins. She had been hoarding these from her allowance this past year. There was more than enough in her savings to keep her, and her retainers, for a year at least.

She must take her work box as such items were invaluable. She rummaged inside and found what she wanted. There was something she needed to do before she left.

Removing the scissors she hacked off her braid at the base of her neck. Alexander was always praising her hair so she would leave it for him as a memento. She tied the cut end with a fresh ribbon, then threaded on her betrothal ring and wedding band and tied a knot.

There was no need to tiptoe around him; he was snoring, deep in a drunken slumber. Without haste she gathered up her plait and placed it on the pillow beside him. A bolster pushed beneath the covers made it appear she was still there. She wished she could be in the room when he woke and discovered what she’d done.

With the candlestick in one hand she slipped out through the dressing room door and found her way downstairs without breaking her neck. What she was doing was in the eyes of the world, a crime. She belonged to him— according to the law of the land he was free to use and abuse her as he pleased. However she would not remain with a man who thought locking her in a small cold room was acceptable behaviour.

She was thankful everyone had retired for the night as this made it easy to slip along the dark passageways until she reached the side door used by the junior staff. The sound of the bolt was harsh in the silence, but she didn’t hesitate. No time for regrets - her life here was over.

Chapter Seven

Isobel pulled open the side door and closed it quietly behind her. Her bag was heavy but it wasn’t far across the park to the cottage where Mary and Sam lived. Her dogs, would be overjoyed to see her even in the middle of the night. She doubted her loyal retainers would be so pleased, they would be horrified at the way she had been mistreated. There was sufficient money to lease a small house somewhere many miles from here and start a new life. She would defy convention and leave the ruins of her old one behind.

Several times during the walk she was obliged to put down her bag and lean, panting, against a tree trunk to recover her strength. The hours she’d spent in the cold must have debilitated her. She pushed the memory of their energetic lovemaking aside. She intended to be gone before her husband woke from his drunken stupor and set up a hue cry. His pride would be damaged by her defection. He would not let her go willingly and would demand she return. She would rather die than do so.

It took longer than usual to reach the cottage. The path ran like a white ribbon in the moonlight and she’d never been so grateful to see the small front door. She hammered with the remainder of her strength and woke her pets.

Minutes passed and then Sam was calling to the dogs telling them to hush. The clatter of his boots on the wooden staircase meant he was on his way. The door swung open and the animals threw themselves at her; too tired to push them away she tumbled backwards.

“My lady, here, let me help you up. Get away you stupid dogs, haven’t you caused enough harm?”

“No, Sam, don’t blame them for my distress. Mary must get up at once. We must depart from here immediately. I’ve left him; nothing on this earth will make me return. My life at Newcomb is over and I must try and make a new one as far away as possible.”

“Come along, let’s get you inside and Mary can see to you. I shall get out back and harness up the gig.”

With his support she stumbled inside. Mary rushed to her side, guiding her to the wooden rocking chair that stood to the left of the fireplace in the main room.

“He shut me in the bathing room for hours; I am still frozen to the marrow.”

“The monster! You should never have married him, I always thought him a cold fish, not good enough for you, my pet.” Mary gestured angrily to her husband. “Didn’t I say, Sam, how much weight the mistress has lost these past few months? See, she’s shaking, hasn’t the strength of a kitten because of what he did to her.”

“Don’t worry, your grace, I’ll get you away from Newcomb—we’ll keep you safe from further harm.”

As she rested against Sam’s broad shoulder she told him of her other decision. “Please, don’t use that title again, I am done with it. From now on I am plain Mrs …” She was unable to think of a single name to replace her own. All her life she’d been known by a title, first Lady Isobel, eldest daughter of the Earl of Drummond and since her marriage she had become a duchess. Would life be simpler if she was a commoner as most were?