His Wicked Embrace Read Online Free Page A

behind her, a fair distance away, but even at that range Isabella’s experienced eye could see that his clothes were cut of the finest cloth, with a graceful, tailored fit that only Weston could achieve. A criminal would never be so well turned out. Besides, the stranger had called her Emmeline. He obviously had been observing her, not because he was waiting for an opportunity to snatch the Braun children away, but because he believed she was someone he knew.
    â€œI am afraid you are mistaken, sir,” Isabella stated in a prim voice that carried a trace of relief. “My name is not Emmeline. And I am quite certain we are not acquainted.”
    Isabella squared her shoulders and waited expectantly for the stranger to turn and walk away. As she waited, she studied him openly, from his muscular torso, with its forest-green, form-fitting jacket, to his skin-tight, fawn-colored leather breeches and high black Hessian riding boots. The cream-colored embroidered waistcoat called her attention to his flat abdomen, and his snowy white cravat emphasized his deeply tanned features. Although the fit and quality of his clothes proclaimed him a gentleman, he possessed an air of dishevelment that seemed oddly out of character.
    The stranger was returning her direct stare with equal scrutiny. Isabella did not wither under his heated gaze, but when her eyes met his penetrating gaze, she felt a rush of uneasiness. She knew for a certainty she had never met this man before, and yet she felt he was clearly under the misconception that they knew each other.
    â€œIt truly is you, Emmeline.”
    The sound of the stranger’s low, husky voice jolted Isabella out of her musing. His voice matched the rest of him—bold, strong and resonant. He advanced on her and she found herself looking directly up into his handsome face. Hard, steely gray eyes that held all the arrogance and confidence in the world focused intently on Isabella.
    â€œI cannot believe I have finally found you, Emmeline. After all this time.”
    Up close, the stranger’s features were uncommonly handsome—angular, chiseled, and decisively classic. He carried himself with a military bearing Isabella found both intriguing and intimidating. He did not openly threaten her, yet she had the distinct feeling he was holding himself in tight control.
    As the stranger continued to regard her with a ruthless expression on his darkly handsome face, Isabella felt the hair on the nape of her neck raise. There was something dark and dangerous about this man. Everything about him seemed hard, unyielding and determined.
    â€œI . . . I am sorry,” Isabella stammered, annoyed at allowing a tremor to slip into her voice. “As I previously informed you, sir, you have me confused with someone else.”
    The stranger cocked his dark head slightly to one side. A stray lock of midnight-black curls fell onto his forehead. It made him look even more dangerous.
    â€œCome now, Emmeline,” he responded in his deep voice. “Is that is all you have to say to me after two long years?”
    He took another step forward, and Isabella had the distinct impression he was having to restrain himself from taking hold of her. Instinctively she stepped backward. The stranger halted instantly when he saw her hasty withdrawal.
    Damien St. Lawrence held his breath as he glared in mute astonishment at the women standing before him. It took every ounce of military training and discipline he possessed to control the desperate urge he felt to rush at Emmeline, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her until her teeth rattled. But the earl would not succumb to his baser desires. Silently, methodically, he cautioned himself to be very, very careful. He did not want to startle Emmeline. Now that he had finally cornered her, the last thing Damien wanted was for his victim to bolt.
    The earl continued to observe her beneath hooded eyes, his face lined with hawkish determination.