Page 49 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Lord Moreton,” Eliza said, oblivious to the panic racing through Isobel’s veins. “This is my very dear friend, Lady Isobel. Isobel, meet the Marquess of Moreton.”
Isobel knew how she ought to act—as though she saw nothing out of the ordinary about the sight. Just another gentleman. She ought to behave as though he was a stranger, and perhaps he might even believe that she didn’t recognize him.
His dark eyes met hers, malice in their depths, and she shivered.
No, that would not have worked. He would have known; he would always have known.
“Lord Moreton,” she croaked.
Her throat felt too dry. Her limbs locked, unsure whether to fight or flee.
What could she do?
“Lady Isobel.” He held out his hand, and she stared at it stupidly, seeing blood staining his fingers, even though she knew it only existed in her mind. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?”
Eliza beamed, thrilled that her plan had succeeded so well. Isobel’s breath stuttered in her lungs.
In a dance, they could have a private conversation, and she did not want to know what he had to say.
“I—” She searched for an excuse.
Her pulse fluttered. She felt as though she would pass out, but she couldn’t. Not here, in the middle of the ballroom. The ton had only just decided to accept her. If she ruined it now, she might disrupt the fragile sense of safety she had established.
How easy would it be for him to contrive an ‘accident’ between them?
She didn’t even want to think about it.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she blurted. “I’m afraid—it’s too hot in here. I must?—”
She broke away, away from the smile sliding from Eliza’s face, away from Lord Moreton’s dark eyes, away from the ballroom so oblivious to her fear.
“Have you found anything more out about the girl?” Joseph asked, swirling wine in his glass.
Adrian grunted. He’d discovered far more about her than he’d ever intended, and the knowledge haunted him. What sort of man did that with a guest of his mother’s? An innocent lady—and her response to him, while enthusiastic, had proven her innocence, as though every sensation had been utterly new.
“Nothing of note,” he said. “Her family is good, my mother knows hers just as Lady Isobel said, and everything seems above board.”
“And you have not put any more effort into discovering more?”
“What more is there to discover?” He shrugged, keen to drop to the topic. “What of you and your marriage plans?”
“Ah, you should know better than anyone that I have no immediate plans for matrimony.”
Adrian grunted again. Neither did he, although now he had passed the age of thirty, he found the pressure on him increasing exponentially. His mother, in particular, kept urging him to find a wife. An understandable pressure, given the circumstances, but one he did not relish.
The thought of sharing his life with someone—especially any of the young ladies making eyes at him at these tedious events. Unlike Joseph, he disliked flirting without intent.
His thoughts flitted back to Isobel, and he tilted his head, looking for her. He had been doing that periodically since arriving at the ball, and he disliked that even as he couldn’t stop.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been talking with Eliza.Safe.
But this time, Eliza was standing alone. No sign of Isobel.
Movement by the door caught his attention, and he saw Isobel slipping through the door to the balcony.
From the way she moved, he could tell she had been running.
“Excuse me,” he said to his friend and crossed the ballroom in pursuit of the young lady.
