Page 95 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“I’ll send for you once I’ve dealt with Moreton.”
“And until then, would ye like me to look pretty at yer estate?” she asked sweetly. “May I make household decisions without yer input, husband dear? Or must I wait for written confirmation?”
“You may do whatever you see fit, within reason.”
There was so much she could do with that, but she didn’t have the energy. Being in his estate without him would be like sharing his bed while he slept elsewhere.
“It’s not so very unusual for a wife to remain on the estate while her husband remains in town to finish some business,” he said impatiently. “It won’t be forever. I hardly see why ye’re pouting over it.”
The callousness of his words struck her deep.
Just another way of pushing me away.
But for all that, she couldn’t stop the rush of pain.
“If ye don’t understand, then I won’t be able to say anything that will make ye see,” she said, and waved her goblet for another refill of her wine. “It’s no matter.”
“Good.”
She smiled at the servant who poured wine in her glass, then held it up to Adrian, giving him a mocking a toast.
His nostrils flared, but he said nothing, and she drank through the remainder of the meal.
When they’d been happy, they would have talked constantly, only pausing to eat—and sometimes not even then. They would have sat beside one another, his foot toying with hers, teasing her under the table.
He would have taken her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing every finger in turn as he ate her alive with his eyes. When the meal was finally over, he would have taken her upstairs and had his way with her in his bedchamber.
Now, unnatural silence settled over them. She cut into her meat with unwarranted ferocity, until her knife scraped against the plate, and when he looked at her in irritation, she just smiled sweetly back.
If he was going to be cold and cruel, she would meet him with indifference.
Still, by the end of the evening, she’d had more wine than was good for her, and when she rose, she stumbled, blinking as the room spun around her, tilting alarmingly.
“Och,” she said in surprise, squinting at the room in an attempt to order them back into their proper place.
“I told you to stop drinking.” Adrian sighed beside her, his hand coming to her elbow and her waist.
Isobel pushed away from him, staggering as she regained her footing. “Don’t touch me. Don’t be ridiculous, Adrian. If ye think I’ll allow ye access to my body again after this, ye’re wrong.”
He pinched his nose, the lines of his head blurring and splitting into two before rejoining. “I know you don’t want to leave London, but you needn’t punish me for it.”
She sneered. “How would ye know?” She took a couple of steps toward the door. “Ye don’t give a damn about my feelings, Adrian.”
“That’s not true.” His hand clasped around her upper arm again, and this time, she didn’t attempt to escape him.
He picked her up and scooped her into his arms, carrying her through the door and up the stairs.
“Let me go!”
“I will when you’re safely in your room and your maid has come to assist you.”
“I don’t need ye.”
“So you’ve made perfectly plain,” he said dryly. “But I would argue you need some assistance getting up the stairs.”
“Ye are a small-minded, big-headed, low-hanging pile of sheep’s bollocks,” she cursed.
“Inventive.”
