Surrender Becomes Her Read Online Free PDF Page B

hadn’t lied when he said he enjoyed escorting his mother to London. He did, just as he enjoyed the clamor of the city, the color and the bustle; enjoyed greeting old friends and hearing the latest on-dits and even casting a considering eye on the latest crop of well-born females to flood the Marriage Mart. But a fortnight in the city was about all he could endure and late April found him once more at Sherbrook Hall.
    Jasmine, the blaze-faced chestnut mare, and a sleek black mare that traced her ancestry directly to the Darnley Arabian, had not come back into season and Marcus accepted the fact that next March a pair of Tempest foals would be born on his estate. Despite his plans to breed the mares to his own stallion, Nonesuch, he was not displeased, but he was uneasy. There was no telling the outcome when dealing with Isabel.
    Walking back from the stables to the main house that warm April morning, he considered his options. He could leave her in ignorance until after the foals were born or he could write her a note telling her that, if all went well, there would be two extra Tempest foals on the ground next year. Or, he could simply ride over to Manning Court and tell her in person. The note, he thought cravenly. The note would be easiest.
    Yet when he found himself seated in his office, the blankpage of paper before him, the quill in hand, he discovered a disinclination to hide behind a mere note. Placing the quill in its stand, he pushed back from the cherrywood desk and stood up.
    The day was pleasant, perfect for a ride, he told himself. There was no reason why he couldn’t ride over to Manning Court and tell Isabel the news. A faint smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. And watch her antics as she tries to bamboozle me out of the two mares.
    Whistling cheerfully, he left the office and headed to the stables. Shortly, astride a handsome black gelding, he rode through the rolling countryside, enjoying the sound of the songbirds and the dappled shade afforded by the ancient oaks.
    The Manning and Denham estates both adjoined the Sherbrook lands and the three families had always been good friends as well as neighbors. Lord Manning was Marcus’s neighbor on the north and Sir James, Isabel’s uncle, on the east, and beside the public road there were several private pathways crossing from one property to the other. Taking a shortcut through the forest, Marcus was soon riding on Manning land.
    He was still some distance from the main house when he heard the sound of raised voices. He recognized Isabel’s voice instantly, even if the words were not clear. By the sound of it, she was angry and ringing a peal over some poor unfortunate, but there was something in her voice, some note that made Marcus kick the gelding into a trot.
    As he rode nearer he heard Isabel say clearly, “And that’s the end of it! Do not approach me again. Next time, I’ll set the hounds on you and the devil be damned!”
    There was the low growl of a man’s voice and then Isabel cried, “How dare you! Unhand me, you blackguard!”
    Marcus rounded the bend in the narrow, leafy lane and came upon Isabel and a burly fellow he did not recognize standing in a small clearing off to one side. He recognized the type, though: former military, if the cut of his hair and jacketand the arrangement of his cravat was anything to go by. A pair of horses was tied to a nearby tree.
    It was immediately apparent to Marcus that this was no mere chance meeting. The two combatants were concentrating on each other and for a second neither was aware of Marcus’s approach. The man had one hand wrapped tightly around Isabel’s upper arm and she was struggling to escape. From the glimpse Marcus had of her face, she was more furious than afraid and yet there was something in her features that made Marcus’s gut tighten and aroused all his protective instincts.
    His calm demeanor at odds with the spurt of hot rage that raced through him at the sight of the