With breathless speed, long ago events slammed into order. He’d carried his bride into the Chinese room and started to kiss and undress her. He’d never been so happy in his life—he’d never imagined such happiness was possible—until she’d abruptly pulled away and whispered a shaken confession that she wasn’t a virgin.
Like an arrogant blockhead, Josiah hadn’t told her that her affair didn’t matter a tinker’s damn, that she’d married him and he’d love her forever. Instead, he’d succumbed to an excess of masculine pride and started to shout his disappointment and anger at her. Isabella’s remorse had swiftly transformed into characteristic defiance.
Then with an eerie abruptness that made sense to him now that he’d witnessed the deadly forces stalking Calista, Isabella had fallen silent. She’d cast him one last look as though her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, then whirled away and fled the room as if devils pursued her.
Devils indeed.
Panicked by her incomprehensible actions, he’d abandoned his pique and his pompous insistence on a full confession. He’d raced after her down to the next floor, but not fast enough to save her from flinging herself down the stairs. Barely had her terrified scream echoed through the great hall before she lay broken and silent on the tiles below.
After that, the world went mad. Nobody, particularly Lord Fenburgh who had never liked him, ever questioned that the Earl of Stansfield had killed his new bride. Josiah had been too numb with grief to mount a convincing defense. Part of him, a large part, had believed that the trial in London, the disgrace, the hanging were just punishment for failing to protect his beloved.
His beloved…
“And now, my glorious Isabella, we have eternity,” he said gently, extending his arm with a formal gesture, as if they were guests at a court ball and he invited her to dance.
“I can’t wait,” she whispered, smiling at him as she’d smiled at him at their wedding so many years ago. She accepted his arm and turned toward the stairs with an elegant flick of her skirts.
His heart finally at peace, Josiah escorted Isabella down the curved staircase and into the light.
Also by Anna Campbell:
A Rake’s Midnight Kiss (September 2013)
Days of Rakes and Roses (August 2013)
The Winter Wife: A Christmas Novella
Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed
Midnight’s Wild Passion
My Reckless Surrender
Captive of Sin
Tempt the Devil
Untouched
Claiming the Courtesan
Exclusive Excerpt of
The Winter Wife: A Christmas Novella
Chapter One
North Yorkshire, Christmas Eve, 1825
THE CRASH OF shattering wood and the terrified screams of horses pierced the frosty night like a knife.
Sebastian Si
nclair, Earl of Kinvarra, swore, brought his restive mount under control, then spurred the animal around the turn in the snowy road. With icy clarity, the full moon lit the white landscape, starkly revealing the disaster before him.
A flashy black curricle lay on its side in a ditch, the hood up against the weather. One horse had broken free and wandered the roadway, harness dragging. The other plunged wildly in the traces, struggling to escape.
Swiftly Kinvarra dismounted, knowing his mare would await his signal, and ran to free the distressed horse. As he slid down the muddy ditch, a hatless man scrambled out of the smashed curricle.