What reason had he to sound so...resentful or cynical? Isabella turned to look at him. His shirt hung around his neck and he frowned down at it. He was no doubt trying to determine how to get dressed without using his injured shoulder.
As far as she was concerned she’d already helped him enough—more than enough. The obvious fact that he didn’t seem to remember clearly was just as well. It was better for her if he had no reason to see her as anything but the enemy.
She didn’t want Dunstan to think that she cared for his welfare—she didn’t, not in the least.
It was imperative that he not misconstrue her actions. Because if he went through with this farce of a marriage, she would make his life miserable.
Not only would this marriage never be consummated—doing so would tie her to this knave for ever and she was not about to spend the rest of her life wed to a man she despised—but he would soon learn just how little his wife cared for him.
By the time her family came to rescue her, Dunstan would be glad to let her go.
Her family rarely used their connection to either royal—Stephen or Matilda—but in this matter she would use every advantage at her disposal to gain an annulment. However, freedom from this marriage would never be granted were she to let this man have his way with her.
No, she fully recognised the need to keep him at arm’s length and to repel him at every turn.
Dunstan glanced in her direction and she held her breath, certain he was going to ask for help. Instead, he clenched his jaw and managed to get the shirt on by himself.
A sheen of sweat beaded his forehead, but she refused to acknowledge his pain and weakness—not when his actions thus far would cause her much more than a moment or two of discomfort.
Her whole world would now be turned upside down. Her mother would be distraught with worry and fear. Her brother’s rage would know no boundaries, his anger at her kidnapping and their father’s death would surely make Dunstan’s world tremble. But Glenforde was another story... Would her betrothed set aside their differences to come to find her, or would he think himself better off without her?
After all, there was another heiress still living at Warehaven—her sister, Beatrice. If Isabella’s newly forming suspicions were right, Glenforde had formed no tender feelings for her. He was concerned more with the land, gold and regardless of what she’d told Dunstan, yes, Glenforde would also be concerned with the connections that would come with marrying a daughter of Warehaven. Once he learned that the daughters shared equally in Warehaven’s wealth it was possible that either daughter would suffice.
The knowledge that she alone would pay the consequences for his actions with the whore that night at Warehaven made her head spin. How would she find the strength to do what she must to survive? And even when she did gain an annulment, would she be able to salvage anything of her dignity, her future or of her worth?
To take her mind off of the dark thoughts gathering in her mind, she asked, ‘So, you think it is appropriate for a woman to sell herself for the necessities of life?’
Isabella truly didn’t care what he thought. She just needed something to distract her.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hard stare making her far more than uncomfortable. Her belly tightened at his single-minded focus.
It wasn’t that he frightened her, even though a part of her mind whispered that she should be afraid. After all, her well-being was completely in his hands.
But had he wanted to cause her harm, would he not have already done so? There’d been nothing to stop him—except for the simple fact that he’d been drugged, unconscious and unable to cause anyone harm.
She swallowed. Perhaps questioning him on his thoughts about women of loose morals had been unwise. Especially considering the assessing look he’d given her when trying to convince her that Wade would come to her rescue for her features alone.
His smouldering stare had left little doubt in her mind that he found her physical form...pleasing. His perusal then had sent a heated flush from her cheeks to her toes. Much like it did now.
Isabella shook off the unwanted warmth and mentally chastised herself. The narrowing of his eyes warned her that she’d held his stare far too long. He knew full well what his pointed gaze did to her and she’d just unintentionally made him more aware of her response.
‘Appropriate?’
She pressed her back more firmly into the corner, but it did little to stop the tremor lacing down her spine. She should be afraid—needed to be very afraid of what the deep timbre of his one-word question did to her senses.
He had kidnapped her—stolen her away from her family and home, taken her from everything she knew and brought death to her father. It made no sense for her to note the blueness of his eyes, or the way his overlong ebony hair fell across his face.
It was wrong, near shameful to let the mere sound of his voice set heat racing along her spine and loosen tiny wings to flutter low in her belly.
The walls closed in around her, making her nearness to this man more acute, bringing their privacy more into focus. She raised a shaking hand to her chest, pressing it over her wildly pounding heart and struggled to draw in breath.
Oh, yes, she should be very afraid of him, but more so of herself.
One dark eyebrow hitched over a shimmering sapphire-hued eye, giving her the distinct impression that he somehow knew where her thoughts had flown. Horrified of what that might mean for her continued well-being, Isabella forced herself to look away.
‘I cannot judge whether her actions were appropriate or not. People do what they must to stay alive.’
He rose and she felt his stare as he loomed over her. The very air around them crackled with tension. When she finally met his gaze, he suggested, ‘That is something you might want to remember.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was threatening her, but she held her words inside. She wasn’t completely witless, of course he was threatening her, warning her that some day she, too, might need to do something dire to save herself. So she kept her thoughts and questions to herself, fearful of forcing his hand this soon.
‘I need to see to my ship and men. You stay here.’
When she didn’t respond, he nudged the toe of her ruined slipper with the side of his foot. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘I am not deaf, you lack-witted oaf. I heard you.’ The moment the words were out, she winced. There was a time for mockery or name-calling, but this wasn’t the time to give her tongue free rein.
He bent over. Then, unmindful of his shoulder, grasped her beneath her arms and hauled her up from the floor. When they were nose to nose, her feet dangling in the air, he asked, ‘Do you think it wise to bait an enemy when you are the prey?’
‘No.’ Thinking quickly, she reminded him of his obligation as her captor. ‘But as your hostage you need to keep me safe.’
‘I will soon be your husband and while I may be honour bound to keep you alive, your tender feelings concern me not at all.’ He dumped her on to his bed and came over her, resting most of his weight on his forearms. ‘Keep your wits about you, Isabella
