An Earl’s Broken Heart by Ella Edon

Prologue

Home was not a place, it was a feeling. She felt it with every step. For Miss Isabel Garrett, Lichfield was home. She could never be lost or distressed at Lichfield because she had spent her entire life in its safety. Her father, the Duke of Lichfield, had given Isabel near dominion over every corner and crevice. In her younger years, she often ran about the house. Those were days of discovery, of always uncovering something new at Lichfield like a connecting passageway or mysterious door to new rooms. Before she was four and ten, she had mastered every part of the manor.

Isabel knew the Lichfield Maze best of all. Every part of it had once been her playground. It was in the maze that she stood in her long muslin dress which moved with the soft breeze that blew across. The sun beamed down, warming her skin. She smiled and decided that it was time to leave, for she’d had enough for the day. She was about to begin her walk when a husky voice called out her name.

"Isabel..."

She glanced over her shoulder. There was no one there.

"Isabel...” The voice came again.

She whirled in a circle but still, there was no one there. The voice, however, was eerily familiar.

It couldn’t be.

"Isabel, I'm here.” Came the voice again.

Her heart began to thud. The voice was coming from far off but in a direction she could discern. She moved towards the voice, excitement coursing through her with each step. She wanted to hear the voice call her name again.

"Isabel...” The voice called.

She clenched her fists, grinning. She doubled back on the path she was in and slowly crossed over into the next.

There he was, standing in his full military uniform. His grin was wide, and his green eyes glinted in the gentle spray of sunlight. Standing where he was, his dark hair had an ethereal gloss. Isabel had never seen anyone so handsome. She stood still, her lips stretched out in a smile, just as she said his name.

"Alexander." Her cheeks turned crimson.

Alexander licked his lips and made his way over to her. Isabel swallowed as he approached. She knew what his touch did to her. She knew how he made her feel. Merely seeing him had sent her in a state of want, unending craving, and a need to pleasure.

When Alexander stopped close to her, she cast her gaze down. Looking into his eyes would make her lose control.

"My beautiful Lady." Alexander whispered, taking her hand in his. Isabel felt her insides shiver. She wanted him to touch more than her hands.

"Alexander..." she whispered, looking up and, finally, into his eyes. His eyes were even more beautiful as she saw them closer.

He grinned, slipping a hand away from hers so that he could touch her face. When his fingers began to caress her cheek, moving in small circular motions as he stared into her eyes, Isabel was overrun with passion. Alexander must have felt the same way too because he moved her backwards until her back was to the wall. He tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers. It was soft and needy, nibbling at her lower lip before finally moving against hers hungrily.

Isabel gave into the kiss faster than she thought. With Alexander's hand on her face, a torrent of emotions came from within, and she soon became overwhelmed. She needed to express all of it. Surrendering to the moment, she let her hands guide her. They moved to Alexander's chest and roamed with the intent of making him feel what he made her feel. Isabel moaned when her tongue came into play. Alexander was quite skillful; he knew just how to kiss her so that all she wanted was his tongue all over her body.

It seemed to Isabel that she could not get enough of Alexander. The house was too exposed for the things she wanted to do with him, the things she wanted him to do to her.

Whilst his tongue worked their way with her lips, his hands left her face and went on to press over her clothed breasts, making her gasp. She wished she could rip the dress off so that he could touch her bare breast. She wondered what that would feel like.

Just when Isabel was beginning to slide her hand down to the waistband of Alexander's breeches, he pulled away from her.

Isabel panted. Her lips felt swollen, her hands itched to touch him, and beneath her dress, her breasts felt cold because his hands over them had kept them warm. However, when Isabel looked at Alexander, her want seemed driven far away.

Alexander gazed at her with cold eyes. His hands were balled into a fist and his jaws were clenched.

"You are not worthy, Isabel."

Taken aback but at the same time curious, Isabel moved away from the wall and tried to walk towards him, but she was unable to move.

"What are you saying, Alexander?"

"You are not worthy of my love or of anyone's love. You deserve to be alone, Isabel. Alone!" He screamed.

Isabel felt herself shiver, but not from passion this time. It was from sadness, fear, and guilt. She shook her head. "Alexander, no..."

He ignored her and turned his back to her. Isabel felt tears well up in her eyes as Alexander began to walk away from her. She called out his name. "Alexander!"

Alexander kept walking until he took a turn at the end of the path. Finally, Isabel was able to move, so she ran after him, his name on her lips. "Alexander! Wait!" She was crying now, her tears cascading down her cheeks rapidly. She was unable to bear the pain of seeing him walk away. She wanted him, she loved him. How could she live without him?

"Alexander!" she called, sobbing loudly now. When she arrived at the path where he had walked into, she saw that it was empty. She shook her head and ran towards another one.

Isabel ran around, stumbling from path to path, until she felt lost in the maze. Her heart beat rapidly, her hands shook by her side, and her eyes were full of warm tears. She stopped running when she realized that she did not know her way around anymore. Isabel screamed into the air.

For the first time in all her life, she felt lost in that maze. Perhaps that was because she was no longer that girl. She was no longer Isabel Garrett. She was now Lady Isabel Maxwell.

* * *

"No!" she gasped, waking up from a horrible dream. Lady Isabel looked around. She was not in the Lichfield Maze. She was no longer the girl who had been loved by Alexander Steward.

Isabel combed a hand through her hair. She had not been afflicted by such a nightmare in years. Not since the years she had been wed to the Viscount, Lord Maxwell. Why was she having them again now, when Lord Maxwell was dead and buried? She sat up and glanced around her bed chamber. It was a large room and at that moment emphasized the fact that she was so alone, that she had been alone for years now.

That dream, she realized, was a reminder of the horrid emotion she had put Alexander through. It was a reminder of the abiding hurt she felt after she gave up on their love and wedded Lord Maxwell instead.

She had loved Alexander Steward, a man who bore no title. There was a time he had dominated her dreams and brought her only joy when he filled them. She had dreamt of being wed to him and being happy forever. But alas, his lack of title had meant her father could never approve of the match. He forbade their courtship and stamped out any chance that it could ever blossom into marriage. That, however, did not stop Alexander's zeal, Isabel recalled. It was Alexander's will that strengthened her to fight for what she wanted. They made plans to elope and start a life together, far away from Richmond. She had been thrilled about the plan. A life alone with Alexander was something she had wanted.

But it never came to be. Like much of Isabel’s life, tragedy seemed to fall on the precipice of triumph. She had been unable to meet Alexander as planned and that had proved to be the end of it. She never saw him again after that. She had heard the news about him joining the army sometime thereafter, but only silence after that. Seven years had passed since she had last seen him and yet she had never been able to forget; not his smile nor his touch on her cheek.

Isabel shook her head, remastering herself. Lord Maxwell, her late husband, had left her a generous portion of wealth and she no longer wanted for any material thing. As terrible as it was to think it, that was the one thing she had been grateful for in life; that Lord Maxwell was no more and that his tyranny in her life was over. He had treated her with nothing but malice and contempt; every word he spoke was to abuse, belittle, or torment her. Any word he spoke to her had been said with a tone and timbre that served only to remind her that she was beneath him. His death meant that she no longer had to walk around with fear of what he might say next, but the melancholic memories of what he had put her though lingered in her mind, haunting her.

Love had abandoned her twice. Now she was free of men, both those that professed to love only to leave, and those that refused to show it, only to die. She was determined to keep her freedom and be independent.