Rebecca Winters - The Brides of Bella Rosa - Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

Isabella regained her equilibrium and frowned, beginning to get suspicious.

“Why would you know about this if nobody else does?”

“I told you.” She pointed to her own temple. “The gift,” she said, her eyes widening.

“Susa!”

She smiled like a cat with a secret. “And also, I know because my cousin was working there, up at the castle, at the time.”

That put a little more credence behind it, Isabella had to admit. Susa seemed to have relatives working everywhere. Isabella shook her head. She supposed that was all a part of having “the gift.”

“So tell me everything you heard,” she demanded.

Susa shrugged, starting toward the refrigerator. “I know she drowned in the river, right there on the estate. The two of them were there alone. There are those who think…” She raised her eyebrow significantly.

“No!” Isabella cried. She was furious, but she had a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all the same. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Susa shrugged. “You never know.”

But Isabella knew very well that Max could never have hurt anyone. Could he? Of course not. It was inconceivable.

Susa had no more information, but she’d said enough to send Isabella into orbit. This news was all she could think about. Her heart thumped as she went over this possibility and that probability. She wanted to run to Max, to see if he knew about these rumors. But how could she bring something like this up? Impossible. And she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t want to hear a word about it.

Still, it made her crazy to think of people suspecting him. She ached with it, wanting to defend him even though…

Even though she didn’t even know if anything Susa said was real or just wild imaginings in the woman’s mind. Slowly, she calmed herself. There was really no point in letting herself get so worked up when she didn’t even know if any of this was true.

She looked at the clock. In just eighteen hours, she would see him again. Thinking about it, she felt a strange tingling spread from her chest down her arms to her fingertips, and that was when she knew she was letting herself make too much of this—and it was time to come back to earth.

The whole thing was a mistake and Max knew it. Sitting in his darkened library, he sipped from his third glass of aged port and pondered what he was going to do about it. A wood fire flickered in the stone fireplace. The huge old house creaked with its antiquity and echoed with its emptiness. He was alone—just the way he wanted it to be.

So what had he been thinking when he’d told Isabella she could come back here? He knew very well her presence would begin to eat away at everything he thought he’d settled years ago. He needed to be alone. He didn’t deserve anything else. What he’d done when he’d allowed his wife and the baby she was carrying to die in the river was an unforgivable crime. He would never be able to pay off that debt. It would take the rest of his life just to begin paying.

Closing his eyes, he fought back the doubt that had begun to tease him lately. He’d been sure all along that his scarred face was a judgement of fate, that it was a part of his punishment, that it helped to keep him in the private prison where it was fitting and appropriate that he be. For years he’d been—not content, exactly, but resigned.

Now Isabella had fallen into his life and that was a temptation in itself. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to be happy.

Was it really so wrong to want that? Could he resist all that Isabella had to offer him and his life?

“Laura,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Oh, Laura.”

If only he could feel that she was still there with him, he knew he could be stronger. As it was, he was going to have to count on his own sense of honor.

“Honor,” he muttered darkly, and then an ugly, obscene word came out of his mouth and anger boiled up inside him. Filled with a surge of rage, he threw the glass against the fireplace. It smashed into a hundred pieces with a satisfying crunch. Watching the broken shards of glass fly through the air, he felt his anger dissipate just as quickly.

He could only do what he could do, but he would resist. That was the life he had made for himself. He was stuck with it.

Max was waiting for Isabella as she drove up to the front entry of the old castle. She assumed he’d been warned by a signal from the gate she’d had no trouble opening with the code he’d given her. His shoulders looked incredibly wide in a crisp, open-necked blue shirt. His smooth-fitting chinos accentuated his athletic form, giving her a tiny bubble of appreciative happiness for just a moment. But something about his stance and the way his arms were folded across his chest told her he was bound and determined to get the two of them back on a cool, polite trajectory and away from all the warmth they’d managed to generate between them the day before.

Uh oh , she thought as she slid from behind the wheel, her heart beating a little faster.

Surely he wasn’t going to change his mind about the basil. She gave him a tentative glance, then reached into the backseat to get the basket of sandwiches she’d made for the trip to the hillside. Before she could turn with it, he was there, shaking his head.

“How did I know you would bring a picnic lunch?” he said wryly. “Better leave it here. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She looked at him blankly, clutching her basket and not sure what the problem was.

“This isn’t an outing, Isabella,” he said coolly, his dark eyes shadowed. “It’s a job to be done. Let’s get on with it.”

“But, the sandwiches won’t keep out here in the sun and—”

“Give your basket to Renzo,” he said.

She turned, surprised to see that the older man was standing there with his hand outstretched. Gingerly, she handed him her basket and tried a small smile. The man gave her a small smile back, and that helped a bit.

Turning, Max began to stride toward a fence that ran along part of the long driveway where two horses were saddled and ready to go. She hurried to follow him.

“You do know how to ride, don’t you?” he asked over his shoulder.

Did she? She swallowed, looking at how big both beasts were.

“I’ve been riding a time or two,” she admitted reluctantly, remembering one successful trip around the lake and another painful excursion in the mountains when she was younger.

But she was pretty sure she could do it. Given a choice, she would rather have walked with him all the way. But he was obviously in a hurry today. That was disappointing. But at least the trip was still on. She ought to be grateful for that.

“Don’t worry, Mimi is gentle as a lamb,” he told her, reaching out to stroke the downy nose of a gray mare with a black, silky mane. “She’ll treat you right.” His face softened as the horse nuzzled into the palm of his hand with clear affection. “Won’t you, girl?”

Isabella watched, surprised to see him show such open emotion so effortlessly. That made her wonder what he’d been like before the accident that had scarred him. Had he been happy? Carefree? Had affection come naturally to him? Somehow she thought so. What a blessing it would be if somehow she could help him get that life back.

She bit her lip, knowing how ridiculous that thought was. She had no business thinking it. His life had nothing to do with her. Hadn’t he even told her so? But as she watched him gently stroke the beautiful horse, she found herself wondering if the touch of his hand was as gentle when he stroked a woman, and she flushed.

And then it came to her in a flash of intuition—this had been his wife’s horse. Of course. And that made her even more nervous about riding.