Free What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3) by Adele Clee

London.”
    In a bid to escape the torrential downpour, Tristan had not paid much attention to the stone cottage next to the gates. “Is Mr. Blackwood here now?”
    Jacob shook his head. “I’ve not seen him about for a few days.”
    Why would Mr. Blackwood spend time away when he was employed to manage Highley Grange? “Is Lady Fernall aware of his fondness for roaming?”
    “Even if she is, I don’t suppose it matters. It’s Lord Fernall who pays his wages.” Jacob sneered. “It’s Lord Fernall who pays all our wages.”
    Not wanting a repeat of their earlier misunderstanding by reminding the groom that Lord Fernall was indeed dead, Tristan said, “I gather you speak of Lady Fernall’s stepson.”
    Jacob nodded.
    So Isabella had not inherited the house from her husband else Henry Fernall would not have assumed direct responsibility for the staff.
    The sudden rumble of thunder caused guilt to flare. The poor coachman had been left waiting at the side of the road. He had kept the groom far too long.
    “Just to clarify before you go, other than what the housekeeper has told you, you have never witnessed any strange occurrences yourself.”
    “Strange occurrences?” The words came out as one elongated sound. He scratched his head. “I’ve heard the odd howling noise at night. I’ve found dead animals buried in the gardens, but there’s nothing odd about that … just a fox hiding his secret food store.”
    It was as Tristan suspected. Depending upon how one chose to perceive a situation, one could easily regard an ordinary everyday event as macabre.
    “I thought to find headless knights and persecuted priests haunting an old place like this,” Tristan said feigning amusement.
    “I can’t say as I have much cause to go wandering about the house. I’d tell you to ask Mrs. Birch, but Mr. Blackwood told her he’d not be happy if he heard her talking nonsense again.”
    Judging by the anxious look in Jacob’s eyes, Mr. Blackwood was a man to be feared.

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
     
    It was remarkable how daylight held the power to banish fear. Despite the rain clouds littering the blue sky, it still brought a sense of peace. Staring out over the manicured lawns, Isabella let her gaze drift beyond what was trimmed and preened, up to the rolling meadow in the distance. The landscape filtered from the sublime to the picturesque. The long grass seeded with wildflowers appealed to her free spirit. It reminded her of the last summer she had spent at Kempston Hall. The days had been long, filled with gaiety and laughter. Walks through the meadow with Tristan always culminated in a warm embrace and a chaste kiss. Love blossomed. Her heart soared.
    Now, it was but a treasured memory, and she could only imagine the scene from behind a pane of glass.
    With some reluctance, she stepped away from her bedchamber window. At night she would not dare to come within three feet of the closed drapes, fearing what she would find. Still, her mind concocted images of savage dogs and ghostly spectres — just to taunt her.
    She wandered about her room for an hour, maybe more, until the sound of a door closing and retreating footsteps drew her attention. The steps were light, measured, those of her footman. A strange fluttering filled her chest at the thought that, at some point during the last hour, Tristan had lounged naked in the bath tub just across the landing.
    She sat on the edge of her four-poster bed and stared at the brass door knob. Why did she feel like a naughty child forbidden to leave her room? How could the thought of having Tristan in her home rouse feelings of anxiety and excitement both at the same time?
    One thing was certain. Tonight, sleep would elude her. Fear would play no part in her inability to relax. Instead, she would replay every word spoken the night he broke her heart. Searching for an answer to the conundrum often hurt her head.
    Why hadn’t she simply asked him for an explanation?
    Pride played a