Page 25 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“I am a duke.”
“Ye are insufferable.”
His eyes glinted at her. “Is that so? By your account, I must have a number of failings.”
“Does not every man?” At the thought of Lord Moreton pushing his hands against that struggling girl—the feeling of her hand connecting against his cheek with a satisfyingcrack—she shuddered.
Something flickered across the duke’s expression, and he took a step toward her. “Tell me what it is you’re fleeing from, Lady Isobel.”
Isobel felt herself freeze. Damn his cleverness. Why couldn’t he be an idiotic, complacent, indifferent cur, like many others of his kind?
Before she could answer, to her relief the door opened, and Eliza arrived with her mother.
“Thank heavens you’re ready,” Eliza said. “We are late and Mama is having kittens!”
“Eliza,” her mother said in a weary tone. “Iwishyou would not speak like that.”
“But youare,” Eliza said, kissing Isobel’s cheek in greeting. “Oh, cousin, you are coming too? How delightful!”
“I would beg to differ,” he muttered.
“Don’t mind him,” Eliza said under her breath. “He has never enjoyed attending these events.”
“Then whydoeshe?”
“I imagine tonight it’s so he can keep an eye on you.”
“But—”
“Oh, you must admit that it is admirable on his part. He can protect you from some of the rumors that are circling. And no one will dare pick on you—including Miss Wentworth. I believe the reason she is so nasty to you is because she’s jealous.”
“Aye, and because I am from Scotland,” Isobel said under her breath.
“Well, if that doesn’t matter to Adrian, it shouldn’t matter to anyone else.”
Isobel opened her mouth to say that it did, in fact, matter to Adrian, but aside from the occasional comment at the beginning of their acquaintance, casting doubt on her story for having traveled such a long way, he had not said anything against her heritage.
In fact, he had gone as far as to protect her reputation against those who would cast aspersions.
“Well,” she said, gathering herself, “it is not very pleasant to have him glowering at me all evening.”
The coachman handed her and Eliza into the carriage. Eliza settled beside her. “Then perhaps you should dance with him?”
“What?” Isobel demanded too loudly.
Lady Northley entered the carriage, followed by the duke himself. Although it was dark, she could practically feel his gaze scorching into her.
Why was he here? And why did he always look at her as though she had displeased him, when she knew that at leastsomethingabout her pleased him greatly?
Or perhaps that is the problem, she thought wryly. If he disliked that he had given into temptation, then of course he would blame her and take it out on her. That was just like a man, never able to face the consequences of their own actions.
Again, she thought of Lord Moreton and her stomach squirmed. This ballhadto go well. No matter what she thought about the men courting her, she would have to convince one of them to marry her, or she risked far more than people laughing at her. In the scheme of things, she could bear that price very easily.
She raised her gaze to find the duke, his eyes dark in his shadowed face, staring at her.
She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but hostility emanated from him. Eliza was wrong—dancing with him would not solve anything.
As it happened, she suspected it would make everything a lot worse.
