Anna Campbell - historical romance author

Marston Hall, Norfolk, 1818

Josiah heard the door open behind him. Odd how his senses remained so attuned to the world when he no longer existed as a physical entity. Then all thoughts but one fled his mind.

Isabella stared at him from the doorway.

“My love…” he choked out, stepping forward and reaching for her.

During their courtship, he’d inundated her with extravagant endearments. It had been a laughing game, how wildly he could compliment this woman he loved more than his life. He’d called her his treasure of Trebizond, his glorious angel of heaven, his exquisite diamond of Ind, his shining pearl of the Orient.

But all his playful words had meant only one thing. She was his love and he’d lay down his life for her.

Joy exploded with painful force. Surely he could touch her. If he could lift a book or open a door, surely he could touch this woman who turned his world to sunlight.

“Isabella…”

Still she didn’t speak.

He stepped closer, wondering at her silence, at her lack of movement toward him. She’d so rarely been still. It was part of the quicksilver brilliance of her character. She’d been endlessly fascinating, flashing like a jewel, his darling Isabella.

His darling Isabella who stared at him as though she beheld a monster.

Her expression made him pause before he reached for her. “Isabella?”

She was trembling and pale as she’d never been in life. He couldn’t mistake the terror in her beautiful black eyes. “Stay…stay away from me.”

Of all the shocks of the day, this was the worst. What the hell had happened on his wedding day? What the hell had he done?

“I don’t understand,” he said dully, lowering his hands to his sides.

“Don’t come near me.”

She sounded so frightened, his lovely girl who had never been frightened of anything in her whole life. This was the woman who galloped hell for leather at the most dangerous fences. This was the woman who faced down her ambitious father and insisted she’d marry no man but the Earl of Stansfield.

The Earl of Stansfield who apparently she now loathed.

Questions jammed in his throat. Very carefully he stepped back, giving her space. He had to find out what was going on, but first he had to banish the dread from her expression. Her quivering fear struck him with painful force. He abhorred seeing it.

“I won’t touch you.” The words cut at him like razors. “Trust me, Isabella.”

A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped her as she retreated, preparing to flee.

“No…” He surged toward her again before he remembered she didn’t want him to touch her. Quickly he lowered his arm but not before he caught another flash of terror in her eyes.

Whatever he’d done, it set his intrepid bride quaking with fear. Good God, what was going on here?

She lifted her chin, a poignant echo of the woman who had led him such a dance. She still wore the beautiful dress of blue French silk she’d had made for the wedding. Delicate pearls and summer flowers twined in her coils of shining black hair. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

He frowned. “Hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Josiah.” She backed off surreptitiously as if afraid he’d pounce on her if he guessed she tried to escape.

“I’d never lie to you.”

Bitter cynicism tightened her expression, although at least she stopped edging away. “Of course you would.”

With every moment, he understood less. Foolishly he’d imagined he’d understand everything if he could just find Isabella. Well, he’d found her and the mysteries became more bewildering than ever. “Tell me what I did, Isabella.”

Something in his tone must have convinced her to take his question seriously. A series of emotions crossed her face, fugitive as summer lightning. Puzzlement. Anger. Then a deep sadness that matched the stabbing grief he’d felt waking without her and realizing he and his beloved were both dead.

Grim premonition gripped him. “Isabella?”

Her black gaze settled upon him, somber and lightless as he’d never seen it. “You murdered me, Josiah.”