Read Emma Jensen - Entwined for Free Online Page A

heart-deep belief,"
    Isobel said wearily.
    "And it is?"
    She took a breath. "I believe everyone deserves a second chance, my lord."
    She did not flinch this time as his eyes passed, cold and unseeing, over her face. "Redemption, is it, Miss MacLeod? What a shame. I was beginning to think you were genuinely clever. That is what your father has said, you know."
    "He spoke of redemption?" How very like James MacLeod to pave his own wretched way.
    "No. He spoke of you."
    "He— For God's sake, why?"
    "I asked." Before Isobel could ponder that, he continued. "You are the bright one with the granite head, your sister the beauty with the impossibly soft heart. Together, you keep the family together."
    Stunned that her father was so clear on the matter, and mortified that he would have spoken so to his employer, Isobel said nothing.
    "You do not contradict me?" Oriel demanded.
    "Nay."
    "And you do not envy your sister who got all the beauty?"
    Perhaps, had the entire night not been so bizarre, she might have found the question odd, or even resented it. Instead, she merely sighed. "We cannot all be beautiful, my lord. 'Tis like sense: its lack noted more by those with it than without."
    "How true. Perhaps you are wise after all. You did try to return the money." He paused. "That is what you were doing, was it not?"
    Isobel stiffened. "Aye, I was trying to return the money."
    This time, when the marquess's brow went up, it was followed by the corner of his mouth. "You reproach me, Miss MacLeod."
    "I do not—"
    "And lie again. Curious turn of events, is it not? All of it. Your father steals from me, you creep into my home in the middle of the night with foolish honor, and then your tone reproaches me for catching you at it. How did I become the villain of this piece?"
    If there was an answer to that, Isobel certainly did not have it.
    "Go home, Isobel MacLeod."
    "I-I beg your pardon?"
    "Use the door—or window. I don't care which. Go home."
    She shook her head, not sure she had heard correctly. "You're letting me go?"
    "More than that. I am commanding you. And you will see to it that your father attends me in the morning as planned."
    "Attends you?"
    "Do not make me question your hearing as well. We have an appointment for nine. Make certain he is here." When Isobel did not move, the marquess ran a hand wearily over his brow. "Ah, yes. You wait for the voice of doom. Perhaps it is cruel of me to choose this method, Miss MacLeod. The indiscretion, after all, was not yours. But I am not feeling particularly kind, and I suggest that you do not allow your father to take flight. It would serve him ill, and your family worse."
    Lord Oriel might indeed be cruel, Isobel mused, but he was no fool. If she told her father about this encounter, there was little doubt that he would take it into his head to make a run for Scotland. And less doubt that the results would bode ill indeed for them all.
    "He will attend you in the morning, my lord."
    "Good. Now go away."
    Even as Isobel rose, she couldn't take her eyes off his forehead. Where he had run his hand across his brow was dark streak. "My lord—you are—"
    "Cease stammering at me, damn it, and leave!" Oriel turned away from her to face the mantel. "Before I decide that the sins of the father should be visited upon the daughter after all."
    It was good advice, certainly, but Isobel did not heed it. Instead, wondering where her last vestige of sense had gone, she made her way toward him, drawing her handkerchief from her pocket as she went. "You are bleeding."
    He did not respond when she reached his side, nor did he make any move to take the handkerchief from her hand. So she reached to place it in his.
    The blood had seeped from his palm into a faint line around his thumb.
    "How?..." Isobel took a step closer, then stopped as glass crunched under her foot.
    "Are you fond of tempting providence, Miss MacLeod?"
    She ignored the growl, and the fact that, standing as close as she was to him, he