Free His Wicked Embrace by Adrienne Basso Page B

these rumors for the vicious lies they are. Fortunately, I possess enough common sense not to believe such rubbish. I would like to assume you do as well.”
    Lady Edson bit her lip, clearly annoyed at being so neatly outmaneuvered. There was no way to respond without looking like a fool. She cast a chilling stare at Isabella and tilted her long nose skyward. Murmuring a hasty farewell, she rose quickly, turning her back on Isabella and Jenkins. Muttering under her breath, Lady Edson strode from the table.
    Isabella seized the opportunity to make her own hasty departure.
    â€œWhat a perfectly odious woman,” Isabella muttered to Jenkins as she accepted his escort out of the inn. The valet cast a thoughtful eye at Isabella and grinned broadly.
    The journey resumed. Isabella settled herself comfortably in the coach and watched the passing countryside with distracted interest. Every time she thought about her conversation with Lady Edson, she became incensed all over again, angry at the statements made against the earl. It seemed an ironic turn of fate that she would be his champion, considering all that had passed between them. But listening to Lady Edson malign the earl’s character had caused something to snap in Isabella. She knew all too well the pain of being misunderstood and unfairly judged by others.
    And yet, as the carriage carried her closer to the earl, a nagging voice inside Isabella insistently reminded her that most rumors, twisted and turned as they were, usually held a grain of truth.

Chapter Six
    The warm sunshine improved the condition of the muddy roads, and the coach was able to travel through the western countryside at a clipping pace. To distract herself, Isabella concentrated on the scenic views outside her carriage window of rich pasturelands, grazing livestock, and lush green fields dotted by clumps of woodlands and divided by broad thorn hedges. Set back from the road on the hills, fine manor houses, in a vast array of architectural styles, peeped through the trees.
    Before reaching the earl’s estate, the carriage rode through the village of Halford. Cottages with dormer windows fronted by neatly tended walled gardens overlooked the narrow main street. Isabella was fascinated by the unusual village. It was a remote, windswept hilltop community, with red brick and gray stone houses that were clustered around a variety of spacious greens. As they rolled down the main street, Isabella’s attention was snared by a simple Tudor cottage. It was a timber-framed building with leaded windows, a tiled roof, and walls that bowed visibly with age.
    â€œWe are approaching Whatley Grange, Miss Browning. We should arrive home within the hour.”
    Isabella’s stomach clenched at Jenkins’s innocent announcement. Now that the moment of encountering the earl was rapidly approaching, Isabella’s doubts were returning. She imagined a variety of greetings from the earl, none of which were overly pleasant.
    All too soon the carriage turned down the long gravel drive to the manor house. Even in her nervous state of anticipation, Isabella could appreciate the grandeur of Whatley Grange—an oddly modest name for such an impressive building. The vast mansion retained much of its Norman ancestry with its turrets and towers, but over the years symmetrical windows, decorative chimneys, and Renaissance ornamentation had been added to soften the fortresslike exterior. It seemed a fitting home for the earl—tall, proud, bold, and impressive. Even the gray stones of the exterior walls matched the earl’s captivating eyes.
    Beyond the lawns, Isabella could see the shimmering lake and extensive parklands, as well as the newly planted grain fields and numerous herds of grazing cattle and sheep. Clearly The Grange was as productive as it was magnificent.
    When the coach finally came to a halt, Isabella was struggling to master her nerves. She chewed her lip in agitation, straightened her