Chapter 3

She could still hear the elegant music even this far in the DeVille's grand house. It, and the fact that she was there with her mother and father, calmed her, giving her a false sense of security.

She should've known better.

She felt it in her bones that something was off. But she ignored that tiny voice and was lulled into that deceptive sense of security by being with her parents and when Charles didn't even look at her since she arrived at the Periwinkles' spring garden party.

"Izzy?"

She snapped around making her black pipe curls bounce around her small face. Her eyes were big and full of apprehension. There he stood: tall, dark, handsome, elegant, deceptively polite ... frighteningly menacing, the devil in an elegant summer coat and slacks. His eloquent demeanor fooled them all, but he has never fooled her or her mother ... until that fateful day.

Her heart leaped then pounded in growing fear. He was so incredibly tall. Charles never failed to invoke fright within her, but she'd always refused to let him see it ... up until that day when he showed her she had every reason to be terrified of him.

He had her alone now. She'd just visited the bathroom and was trying to hurry back out to the garden party and to her mother's side when he blocked her way in the hall ... and like a big, dark cat, walked slowly toward her. It was such an absurd moment. There was a menacing Charles Deville coming for her accompanied by elegant music filtering into the great Periwinkle family home...

Her heart was pounding in her throat now. She fought for composure and courage as she gave him her best, most aggressive glares. She had always been a brave girl, and she was showing her disdain and rejection as always, but Charles, as always, was deaf, dumb, and blind for it.

"How long do you think you can keep me at bay? Since when has a woman been able to resist the desires of a man bent on making her his?" he asked with a deceptively polite smile.

"Get out of my way, Charles. I want no part of you," she hissed.

"But that isn't really so. You merely confuse virginal shyness with lack of desire simply because it's well known that all women not yet initiated as a man's lover find it ... confusing. I know you care more for me—"

"—I care nothing for you! I'm not confused! I don't even think about you unless it's to find a way to finally make you understand I don't WANT you!" she shouted at him as loudly as she could, hoping someone passing by would hear her, but the live orchestra was playing their instruments loudly. No one heard her. No one came to her rescue...

His smug, arrogant smile vanished, but she refused to back down. In fact, her young pride felt a little stronger, vindicated by his response—a response that told her, she had hurt him. Good! He had hurt her for over a year now, so now he knew how she felt.

"You're young and confused. You need a strong man to guide you—"

"—and what makes you think you're the man to do it? I have a father and there are plenty of boys my own age to choose from," she sneered at him, but she saw too late the insane jealousy flash across his stony features, and the spark of rage in his almost black eyes.

In the next instant, he grabbed her by her bare arms, and shoved her back into a dark nook in the hallway. She struggled to free herself, but he was too big, too strong. Charles drew his snarling mask of enraged jealousy close to her pale frightened face as she tried to duck her head.

"You ought to be careful what you say to me, petite. I don't tolerate women expressing their independence in front of me," he ground out through clenched teeth.

All her courage vanished in the face of Charles DeVille's aggression.

"I didn't-didn't mean to upset you. Please ... just let me go..." she pled softly, and winced when his vice-like grip tightened painfully around her arms.

"I'm getting impatient waiting for you to accept the inevitable. It would make it so much easier if you just understand there's no escaping my love for you. It would make it so much easier for me, but especially ... for you. It's because I love you I'm this way, Izzy—"

"—You don't love me. You just want to make me your slave," she said, trying to sound strong and willful, but she heard her own voice and it sounded timid and frail.

"That's how it is between a man and a woman, petite. A woman is submissive to her man, and I am that man for you," he chuckled evil seeing her glaring up at him in mute hatred. "So be smart and give it up. You won't win."

"Never!" she got angry, her own ego stung by his words, but it only made him chuckle in cruel arrogance. "You're the devil," she suddenly hissed, and he ceased laughing, "and I'd rather be crucified than be with you."

His dark eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why so dramatic, petite? If spilling blood is what it takes to convince you that you belong to me, then I have a better, far more pleasurable way we can accomplish that."

"NO!" she screamed in terror, snapping out of the nightmare, and shooting upright.

She was breathing hard, her chest pumping up and down, her vision blurred with tears. She gulped air before her she touched her throat with a shaky hand, frantically going from her throat to her clothes, and then her body. Everything ached again, as if she'd just suffered the pain of that day anew; reliving the agony of that horrible moment in her life, emotionally as well as physically...

Slowly, though, she felt calm return when she realized it was just another bad dream. She wasn't in that scary dark basement alone with Charles. It had just been a nightmare. Still, the emotions were real, and she bowed her head in hands as tears trickled down her pale face while she struggled to force her pain back into the deep recesses of her mind; not hearing the muffled footsteps nearing her...

"Miss Beau-Boucher?"

She gasped, snapping up her head with a terrified look in her big teary eyes. She wasn't in her bedroom, but in a room that looked like a parlor—and she was looking straight into the friendly face of an elderly man she didn't recognize.

Was she still dreaming? Oh god, please don't let that be the case...

"Wh-Who are you?" she got out choked and disorientated.

"It's all right, Miss Beau-Boucher, calm down. You're safe," the friendly gentleman assured with a calming voice. "I'm Doctor Seymour Bennett. People around here just call me "Doc". John Barrington called me when you suffered an episode and collapsed, and he was unable to wake you."

"Episode?" she asked, confused.

"You fainted," he quietly clarified.

"Fainted?" she cried out in shock before she shook her head. "No, that's impossible. I don't faint. I never faint. There must be some mistake..."

"It's okay, now. It's not a bad thing. You appear to have been under a great deal of stress. It's compounded over time and it finally came to a head. Don't be alarmed, Miss Beau-Boucher. It's just your mind telling your body to take a much needed break."

"I've been feeling fine up until today."

"Your body and mind put you in a state of suspension for the sake of your health," the doctor explained and then, all of sudden, in one rush, her memories came pouring back into her head.

"Isabella?" John Barrington called with a quiet, calm tone. She looked up at him with a look that broke his kind heart. She looked desperate and devastated as it was, and he knew he would never forget that look—one that was all too familiar to him since it haunted his every waking moment.

He lowered down to his haunches in front of the divan she was on while her teary blue eyes followed. She looked frightened, and he was certain he knew why. She was obviously afraid that he'd send her away now. He couldn't be more wrong. He couldn't know that she wanted nothing more than to leave as soon as she could stand. She'd embarrassed herself enough already, and there was no coming back from that. At least, that's what she believed.

"I do so apologize, Mr. Barrington. I assure you, I have never fainted in all my life and I felt very well this day."

"I believe you," he said kindly.

She searched his gentle blue eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said with a smile and a nod.

Then a look of defeat appeared on her face as she lowered her eyes. "I sincerely apologize for failing you so. I understand if you don't want to pay me, and I'll just be on my way as soon as I can stand—"

"—On your way?" he asked, frowning.

She looked at him with a curious frown. "Yes. I'll take my leave as soon as possible."

"I'll have to advise against it, Miss Beau-Boucher," Doc Bennett said as he shook his silver head. "You need rest. I would also like to run some tests on you to make sure all is well. That would mean you'll have to come to the hospital." Then he frowned as he eyed her. "May I ask when was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Oh. Oh don't worry about that—"

"—Please, Miss Beau-Boucher," Doc Bennett said quietly. "I'm asking not to be polite but as a medical practitioner."

She stared at him with big embarrassed eyes before she dropped her eyelashes. "In the kitchen. I had a piece of cornbread."

"And before that?"

She turned her face away.

"I see," Doc Bennett said, seeing how ashamed she was. He looked at John Barrington who frowned in worry as he looked at her. "She'll need something light to eat. Maybe some chicken broth and Saltines. Got any of that around here, John?"

"I'm sure we can find somethin' like that," John Barrington said before he looked passed her to someone behind her. "Jake! Can you tell Elena to open a can of soup and get some Saltine crackers from the pantry?"

"Sure, Pa."

The moment she heard John Barrington address his son, she snapped her gaze over her shoulder to see Jacob Barrington standing by the wide entryway into the parlor. He moved his gaze to look at her and she snapped around, presenting her back to him so she wouldn't have to look at him. She couldn't be more embarrassed.

"Are you feeling all right, Miss Beau-Boucher?" Doc Bennett asked.

"Yes. Yes," she said with a smile. "I'm fine."

"I believe she needs something to eat soon," Doc Bennett said.

She didn't protest.

"And I believe you need to stay around for a few days—"

"—Oh, no, I can't, doctor," she quickly said as she looked almost frightened at him. "I have to be on my way—"

"—You ain't goin' nowhere in the state you're in, Isabella," John Barrington said, shaking his head with a resolute look on his face. "I'm not convinced you're healthy enough to drive off just yet. It'd be irresponsible of me to let you go after what you've been through."

"Oh, but I feel fine, really," she said. "It was just a little heat exhaustion—"

"—And yet you've confessed that you've never fainted before," Doc Bennett said with a concerned look. "I'd rather you stay a couple of weeks so I can run some tests to make sure you're all right."

"A couple of weeks?!"

"At least," Doc Bennett said with a nod.

"Also," John Barrington said, "a gentleman would never allow a young woman to leave his care after what you've been through."

"I don't mean any offense, Mr. Barrington, and I'm infinitely grateful, please believe me, but I really can't stay. I've already overstayed my welcome—"

"—I feel responsible for what happened to you."

She blinked big eyes. "But you shouldn't."

"But I do," he said, nodding. "You whipped up the finest home-cooked meal this house has ever seen, but I feel I must have put too much pressure on you to prove yourself and it's done made you ill."