Page 63 of Married to the Icy Duke
Sybella folded her arms. “Do you intend to lock Tommy up forever? Will you keep him a prisoner, forcing us all to ask your permission to do thesmallestthing for him? I cannot agree with that, Isaac. You are Tommy’s uncle, to be sure, but I am his aunt, and soon Charlotte will be his aunt, too. I do not regret taking him on this picnic.”
“Nor do I,” Charlotte chimed in. “I won’t beg your pardon, and nor will I promise not to do it again. You must trust us, Isaac, to do the right thing for the boy.”
Isaac uttered a short laugh. His heart was pounding, and he could hear blood rushing in his ears.
“Trust? Let me tell you, if I hadtrustedmore often on the battlefield, I would not have returned at all.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. He could almost feel her gaze boring into him, cool and steady. He could not quite meet her eyes, and that felt like weakness.
“This is not a battlefield, Isaac,” she said quietly. “This is not a war.”
He rounded on her. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” she shot back, holding her ground. “I intend for us to raise Tommytogether. This is not a war. We are not fighting against each other. For heaven’s sake, we have the same goal!”
Isaac took a moment to respond, tightening his jaw. Glancing briefly around, he saw that Sybella was staring at him with a faint frown between her brows. Mary had clearly noticed, although she was trying her best to keep Tommy distracted. Even the two footmen, lounging in the shade of a tree, had at some point straightened up, clearly uncomfortable.
Breathing in deeply, he returned his gaze to Charlotte. She was still looking at him, her eyes focused and sharp. There was an expression in them that he could not read, and it made his chest tighten. Clearing his throat, he looked away.
“Nevertheless, I am responsible to my brother for raising his child, not you,” he responded crisply. “I am the duke. What I say, goes.”
“Oh,pshaw,” Sybella snapped. He ignored her.
“Pack everything up and return to the carriage,” Isaac continued, holding Charlotte’s stare. “We are going back to the house immediately. The picnic is over.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” Sybella began, but Charlotte held up a hand to silence her. To Isaac’s intense surprise, his sister did fall silent. Interesting.
“We’ll return to the house,” Charlotte said, her voice quiet. There was something in her voice that she could not place. When he understood what it was, his chest constricted.
It was disappointment. She was disappointed in him.
She didn’t wait for a response. Turning on her heel, Charlotte strode back to the picnic blanket. Sybella threw him one reproving stare, then followed. The two women began the process of packing up the things, leaving Isaac standing by himself with his horse.
He breathed in and out deeply, squeezing his eyes closed.
Calm down. None of this matters. Yes, they disagree about going home, but the point is that we are all getting out of this wretched park and back to where it’s safe. It isnotsafe here. Not for Tommy.
Heart thumping, Isaac scanned the park. A gawping woman with a cluster of young misses behind her hastily averted her gaze. A pair of gentlemen made a brazen attempt to stare him out, but both dropped their eyes first.
And then he saw him.
A familiar figure lounged up against a tree, a little way off. When their eyes met, the man smiled faintly and walked around the tree, sheltered by the thick trunk. Had he disappeared, or was he still there? Isaac stared in that direction until his eyes stung, until a hand on his arm made him flinch.
He whipped his arm away, glowering down at whoever had the temerity to touch him.
It was Sybella, staring up at him in surprise.
“I was only coming to tell you that we are all packed up now. Shall we go?” she managed, blinking.
He clenched his teeth. “You all go on home. I’ll follow shortly.”
Sybella uttered a short, incredulous laugh. “Really?Really? You made all this fuss about us going home, then you remain while we’re sent away? You are a cad, Isaac.”
Usually, Isaac would roll his eyes at something like this, coming from Sybella. He might make a sharp comment in return.
Today, though, he found that his mouth was dry and his store of wit was drier.
“I have a bad feeling, Syb,” he murmured at last. “I can’t say what it is, only that I’ve learned through hard experience to trust my instincts.”
