Page 84 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
Under his palm, Isobel’s body stiffened slightly. He looked up.
Miss Wentworth.
“Your Grace,” she said to him and then turned her gaze to Isobel, who waited with a slightly cocked brow.
He loved the fire in his wife. Her constant challenge. Perhaps she feared Moreton, and for good reason, but she always rose to any challenge.
“Miss Wentworth,” Isobel said, her lips curving into a smile that said far more than her words did. Oh, she was enjoying this.
And he was enjoying the way she enjoyed it, too. His little firework, liable to explode at any given minute. And here, demanding the respect she was due.
He liked that a lot.
“Your Grace.” Miss Wentworth’s smile could have chilled ice. “A pleasure to see you back in society.”
“Isn’t it?” Isobel’s smile was wide and guileless. “Don’t ye agree, Adrian, darling?” She rested a hand on his arm, and he could have drunk in the sight of his wife being so possessive and proud all evening.
He could have soaked it in for the rest of his life and not tired of it.
“I do,” he said smoothly, bringing a hand to her waist and bringing her closer to him.
Even if he had not been on such good terms with her, he would have done the same in front of Miss Wentworth, if only to see the ire rise in her face. When he’d been a bachelor, she had thought herself entitled to his attention and good opinion because of her wealth and beauty.
That alone had irked him. But she had also been cruel to Isobel, and he would not settle for that. This humiliation, the understanding that her cattiness and figure had not been enough to entice him, was the least she deserved.
“I’m enjoying attending with my wife,” he said, putting the emphasis onwife. “I hope you’re also enjoying the evening, Miss Wentworth.”
Her smile looked as though it had been pasted to her face. “Yes indeed, Your Grace.”
“Excellent.” Adrian nodded to the side. “We haven’t yet spoken to Lord Rowton. Excuse us.”
With his arm still on the small of Isobel’s back, he led her away toward Joseph, who stood with his hand around a glass of wine.
“Ye dismissed her so coldly,” Isobel said with half a giggle.
“If I had my way, I’d never speak to her again. I’ll never forget the way she treated you when you first arrived here.”
Isobel’s eyes danced. “Ye weren’t much better.”
“I have paid my reparations by marrying you,” he said smartly, and she giggled again. “And what hasshedone?”
“I don’t think I’d accept if she asked me.”
“Brat,” he muttered, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile.
Truly, the evening had been far more enjoyable with her by his side than he ever could have predicted.
That was, until they came to a large figure, his shoulders back and his eyes narrowed. Lord Moreton bowed and extended a hand to Isobel.
“Your Grace, I must congratulate you on your marriage. You are a fortunate lady indeed.”
One glance at Isobel told Adrian his wife had gone pale.
“Thank you,” he said, diverting Moreton’s attention. “You’re too kind.” His tone said anything but.
“I thought I might steal her away for a dance, if you can spare her. I know you are a man who rarely dances, and it would be an honor to dance with the new duchess.” Moreton gave a shallow bow, his gaze still fixed on Isobel. “What do you say, Your Grace?”
Adrian almost intervened, the words ready to fall from his tongue, that he would not be prepared to relinquish his wife so easily, and so early in the night?—
