The Duke's Reform by Fenella J Miller Page A

lips in her passion. He
plunged inside and with each thrust she felt a pleasure so intense, so fierce,
she thought she would die from it. An ecstasy that was almost painful rippled
through her and her world exploded; she cried out his name. Then with a final
shudder he joined her in release.
    He gathered her tenderly believing the passion
they'd shared negated all that had gone before. As the pleasure slipped away
she became aware of his alcohol-laced breath. She hated herself for becoming a
willing participant.
     He was dead to the world, exertion and
brandy rendering him senseless. She wriggled from beneath him and, blowing out
the candles, took the remaining one into her dressing room. Quickly she dressed
in her plainest clothes, the ones she wore when he was absent. Five minutes
later she stuffed garments into her portmanteau and then from the depths of her
closet she removed two cloth bags filled with golden coins. She had been
hoarding these from her allowance this past year. There was more than enough in
her savings to keep her, and her retainers, for a year at least.
     She would take her work box, but there
was one thing she needed to do before she left.
    Removing
the scissors she hacked off her braid at the base of her neck. Alexander was
always praising her hair so she would leave it for him as a memento. She tied
the cut end with a fresh ribbon, then threaded on her betrothal ring and
wedding band and tied a knot.
    There was no need to tiptoe around
him; he was snoring, deep in a drunken slumber. Without haste she gathered up
her plait and placed it on the pillow beside him. A bolster pushed beneath the
covers made it appear she was still there, asleep. She wished she would be in
the room when he woke and discovered what she'd done.
     Holding the candlestick in one
hand she slipped out through the dressing room door and somehow found her way
downstairs without breaking her neck. What she was doing was, in the eyes of
the world, a crime. She belonged to him— according to the law of the land he
was free to use and abuse her as he pleased. However she would not
remain with a man who thought locking her in a small cold room was acceptable behaviour .
         
She was thankful everyone had retired for the night as this made it
comparatively simple to slip along the dark passageways until she reached the
side door used by the junior staff. The sound of the bolt was harsh in the
silence, but she didn't hesitate. No time for regrets, her life here was over.
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    Isobel pulled open the side door, closing it
quietly behind her. Her bag was heavy, but it was not far across the park to
the cottage in which Mary and Sam lived. Her dogs, Othello and Ebony would be overjoyed
to see her in the middle of the night. She doubted her loyal retainers would be
so pleased, they would be horrified at the way she had been mistreated. There
was sufficient money to lease a small house somewhere many miles from here and
a new life. She would defy convention and leave the ruins of her old one
behind.
    Several times during the walk she
was obliged to put down her bag and lean, panting, against a tree trunk to
recover her strength. The hours she'd spent in the cold must have debilitated
her. She intended to be gone long before her husband woke from his drunken
stupor and set up a hue cry. His pride would be damaged by her defection; he
would not let her go willingly and would demand she return. She would rather die than do so.
          It took much
longer than usual to reach the cottage. The path ran like a white ribbon in the
moonlight and she'd never been so grateful to see the small front door. She
hammered with the remainder of her strength and woke her pets.
     Minutes passed and then Sam
was calling to the dogs, telling them to hush. The clatter of his boots on the
wooden staircase meant he was on his way. The door swung open and the animals
threw themselves at her; too tired to push them away she