Page 87 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Be careful, little thistle,” he said. “Our game has only just begun.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What did he say?” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
Adrian took Isobel’s hand and spun her around to face him. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and if they had not been in a ballroom, he would have called Moreton out then and there. As it was, with eyes on them, all he could do was bring her closer.
For a few moments, she merely stared up at him, eyes wide and lips parted, as though she was on the cusp of telling him everything.
Then she drew in a deep breath. “Nothing,” she said.
“Liar.” He led her to the corner of the room under the illusion of getting a drink. “Tell me, Isobel. What did he say to you?”
She hesitated a moment longer, but Moreton was nowhere within hearing distance, and when he squeezed her hand, urging her to speak, some of the tension left her body.
“He said… he threatened my life, which I always knew, said I should have known better than to think he would ever not target me. And he said…”
Tears filled her eyes, and he wanted to crush her to his chest, shielding her from the pain that was written so clearly across her face.
“He said he would kill you,” she whispered. “He all but confessed to having his brother killed, and to killing that poor girl. Not how, none of the particulars, but enough to tell me that he would have no compunction in ending another life.”
Adrian’s shoulders stiffened. All his life, he’d had his responsibilities and his duties. He had been strong for his mother because his father had made him so, and he had carved himself a life defined by its isolation. For all he held his responsibilities firmly, he had never allowed himself to become emotionally attached to anything.
The thought of losing Isobel terrified him. Far more than he ever could have accounted for.
Not just because she was his wife—another responsibility and duty to carry. But because he would miss her smiles when she looked at him. He would miss waking to the sight of her across her pillow, red hair in abundance, shining in the sunlight.
In the short time they had been husband and wife, she had grown on him, getting under his skin in a way he had not been ready for. And he had known there was a danger from Moreton—he was even prepared to face it head-on—but seeing her fear, the consequences painted out in blood, he understood something else in perfect clarity.
He could not risk anything happening to him. After eleven years of being alone, he had finally found a weakness.
“Do you think I can’t handle it?” he snapped, his anger an easier emotion to process than any of the others. Fear, horror, dismay, frustration. “Do you think I can’t protect myself or you? I vowed to keep you safe, Isobel.”
“I know that, but it’s different now.” She looked up into his face as though pleading with him. “I cannae lose ye.”
“Nothing has changed. By marrying me, you brought me into this mess.” He turned sharply to the side, his heart a battlefield of emotion.
His pride and self-reliance—the things that had always kept him strong—felt like a chain around his neck. How could he keep her safe without breaking the very foundations of who he had become?
He was not a man given to affection. He did notcarebeyond the bounds of duty. As his wife, she was his duty.
But by God, he cared about her.
“We should save this discussion for when we return home,” he said, casting a glance at the crowd and everyone liable to overhear them. “Until then, do your best to smile, Isobel. Having Lord Moreton overcome you reflects poorly on us both.”
She looked as though she would argue, and he almost wanted to apologize for the cruelty of his words. But if he allowed himself too much weakness, he would crumble entirely. That was what weakness did—it undermined one’s strength.
He could not allow that to happen.
“Pretend as if he never spoke to you,” he said. “The situation has not changed. We knew he was a threat and he remains to be so.”
“It’s different now,” she insisted. “This time he threatenedye.”
“I do not feel threatened.” He raised a brow and offered Isobel his hand. “I am a duke, wife, and you are a duchess, and neither of us are going to come to harm. That was the vow I made when I married you, and it’s one I intend to keep. Now dance with me and let us forget this unpleasantness.”
She glanced over to where he knew Moreton watched them. No doubt he was hoping for some grand fallout. A scene from a tragedy enacted in the middle of the ballroom. Or even friction between them.
Adrian would not allow it.
