Surrender Becomes Her Read Free

power of a thunderclap and Marcus stared dazed at the open doorway through which Isabel had disappeared. Torn between the urge to go after her and tell her she could have the bloody horse and the determination not to let her see how easily she could manipulate him, he stood rooted to the spot.
    He took a deep breath and shook his head. Isabel could be explosive, but sometimes, as now, dealing with her was like grappling with a tornado. She swept in without warning, blasted everything in her path, and then—poof!—stormed away to wreak havoc somewhere else.
    As Marcus stood there, staring blankly at nothing at all, a tall, striking woman, wearing a narrow-skirted gown of dove-gray muslin trimmed with black corded silk, walked through the door and into the room. Her silver-dusted black hair was caught up in a chignon at the back of her head and she wore a necklace of jet beads around her throat.
    Seeing the baffled, angry bewilderment on her son’s handsome face, she smiled. Amused understanding in her brilliant green eyes, she asked, “Isabel?”
    Marcus flashed her a quick smile. “Who else? She has her heart set on buying that horse. I cannot feel that it is wise.” He shook his head. “But I was about to tell her she could, when she gave me a tongue lashing I am not likely to forget and charged from the room.” He sent his mother a helpless look. “What am I to do with her? I know nothing of being a guardian to someone like Isabel.”
    Seating herself on the sofa before a black marble fireplace and arranging her muslin skirts to suit her, Mrs. Sherbrook said, “Give her a little while to vent her temper and then I amsure if you talk to her, you will be able to make your peace with her. You know that Isabel’s temper tantrums never last long and that she is always contrite afterward.”
    Marcus looked uneasy. “I don’t know. She was very angry.”
    “She may have been, but since she is a sweet child—” At her son’s snort, she amended, “Usually a sweet child, the next time you see her, you will discover it was nothing more than a tempest in a teapot and you will be able to put this incident behind you.”
     
    If Mrs. Sherbrook had known just how hurt and furious Isabel was she might not have been so sanguine. Wiping angry tears from her eyes, Isabel raced down the broad steps of Sherbrook Hall and snatched the reins from the Sherbrook groom holding her horse. In one swift movement, she mounted the horse and kicked the startled gelding into a wild gallop. Heedless of anyone that might have been unfortunate enough to meet her, she careened down the long driveway that led from Sherbrook Hall and onto the main road. Reaching the wider thoroughfare, common sense asserted itself and she pulled the bay into a more sober pace and in the waning April sunlight rode toward Denham Manor.
    So I’m a viper-tongued shrew, am I, she thought wrathfully. And no man would want to marry me, would he? Her lips thinned. We shall see about that!
    Her head full of schemes to show Mr. Marcus Sherbrook just how badly he had misjudged her, she finished the journey. Tossing the reins to the groom who met her at the stables, she slid from her horse. Nursing her wounds and not wishing to face Aunt Agatha or her uncle, Sir James, she set off toward the lake that divided the Denham property from their neighbor, Lord Manning.
    She often walked to the lake when she was angry or troubled; something about the placid blue waters and the green forest with its sprinkling of artfully planted flowers andshrubs that meandered along its curving length gave her solace and soothed her raging emotions.
    Stepping from the woods, she noticed a small boat on the lake and, too unhappy to make pleasant company, she was about to disappear back into the trees when a hearty male voice called out her name.
    Recognizing Hugh Manning, Lord Manning’s youngest son, at the oars, she waved half-heartedly and watched as he began to row toward the Denham side of