Deceived Read Online Free PDF Page B

the heart.
    "You may not have heard it, but my reputation is ruined," she said with a simplicity that reminded him of the girl she had once been. "No one respectable will offer me marriage now."
    Marcus's eyes narrowed. He had heard all the stories. He knew her name was soiled beyond repair. Prince Ernest Di Cassilis had been known as the Profligate Prince. His debauches in all areas of his life were legendary. It was inevitable that his wife should be tarred with the same brush.
    Once again he allowed his gaze to travel over Isabella, itemizing the evidence as he went. Beneath the shadow of the hood, her gaze met his directly. Her eyes, wide and blue, were very clear. Although she was no debutante now, a youthful innocence had survived in her face. It was impossible—utterly impossible—to see her as a woman with a terminally tarnished reputation.
    He felt a moment's savage pleasure at what had befallen her. Call it revenge or bitterness or even justice, but an ignominious part of him wanted her to be unhappy and to suffer for her betrayal of him. Yet at the back of his mind was the smallest flicker of sympathy for her. He denounced himself as a fool. She was a witch and he cursed his susceptibility.
    "Put back your hood," he said abruptly.
    She paused. It was evident that she had grown more accustomed to giving than receiving orders. But then she complied and pushed back the hood of her cloak.
    The impression of virtue was reinforced when he could see her properly. She had the sort of face that had been pretty in youth but had matured into beauty as she grew older. Her hair was dark gold, straight and fine, simply confined by a blue ribbon. Thick black lashes shadowed the line of her cheek. There was strength as well as beauty in the bones of her face; he looked again and amended that to resilience. Something— or someone—had made her suffer and she had learned to endure it and be strong. Marcus knew a little about how that felt. For a moment he experienced an odd mix of curiosity, protectiveness and anger at the thought of anyone hurting her. The love he had had for her had run deep and it was difficult to forget.
    Damn it. Damn her. He was turning soft at the very moment he had to be ruthless.
    Isabella raised one dark brow in ironic query and he realized that he had been staring. Truth to tell, it was difficult not to. He wanted to kiss her. No, he would not stop at mere kissing. He would do a great deal more. He wanted her very much. "Well?"
    It was her turn to snap the question. Marcus reflected ruefully that she might have a mouth lush and made for kissing but her tongue was as sharp as a seamstress's needle.
    He shook his head.
    "I cannot believe you would receive no offers," he said. "Surely you exaggerate—"
    "No." She shut her lips very tightly. It was evident that no further information would be forthcoming on that topic. Their eyes met and held. He could feel the tension in her. She was desperate but she would never beg.
    Marcus let out a long, careful breath. He could turn her away, in which case she would be ruined and left to molder in the debtor's prison herself. He would like to see that happen. It would be a poetic revenge.
    On the other hand, he could marry her and exact a different and rather more satisfying form of retribution.
    Isabella was not taking the delay well. He was pleased to see that she was barely able to control her impatience. Good. He needed her to be so on edge that she would snap up his offer when he finally made it.
    She walked over to the table and picked up the book that he had been reading, holding the spine to the light so that she could see the tide. "Theoretical Naval Architecture," she read aloud. "It would need to be theoretical since I am told that you are likely to spend the rest of your days in here, sir."
    Marcus cocked a brow.
    "So?" he said. "What is your point?"
    She flicked him a glance. "My point is that according to the jailer you owe a great deal of money. More