Page 14 of Her Beast of a Duke
The Duke stiffened, unshaken.
“Your Grace,” her father said, voice tight, one hand flicking toward Isabella, which she quickly understood was a signal that was urging her to refuse the Duke’s proposal, “I will remind you that I cannot give my daughter away without her consent. I hear no such consent, nor shall I grant it.”
Her mother, now standing behind the Duke, mirrored the gesture, tilting her chin and spreading her hands, silently signaling Isabella to reject him, eyes blazing with expectation.
The Duke’s gaze flicked once more to Isabella, cold and steady.
Her stomach twisted—only to drop once again when she realized she was now being watched once more by the Duke of Rochdale.
The ballroom lights caught his eyes. She was startled to see how bright green they were. She had once read one of Sibyl’s books, a fictional romance about an old Chinese empress who coveted the jade gemstone. That was what his eyes reminded her of. She could see the pictures in the book so clearly, and she could not stop wanting to get a closer look at the Duke’s eyes, to know what was in them that intrigued her so.
Around her, the balcony both spun and stopped, and she had the sensation of falling even as she stood firmly.
“Lady Isabella,” he said, his voice low, as if just for her. “I wish to marry you to protect us both from this mess. Should you accept, no one will dare question your honor. I promise.”
Her eyes flitted to her parents. Her mother glowered at her refusal, a silent encouragement to turn down the Duke. Her father merely shook his head once, indicating his disapproval.
Beside them, Sibyl remained wide-eyed, her hand clasped to her mouth.
Isabella looked away from her sister’s hopeful, love-fueled eyes. This proposal did not spring from a loving place. In the ballroom, people danced, yes, but they still stared, still pried for more gossip to feast on. They still hungered for a story to write and read over their breakfasts tomorrow morning.
The mere thought twisted Isabella’s stomach sickly.
Her breath loosened from her, deep and resigned. She did not love a stranger, unfortunately for Sibyl’s hope, and she did not want to be ruined, nor rushed into a marriage. But she saw the Duke’s logic. He was offering her a solid way through the mess.
Not to mention it would get her away from the insufferable marriage mart.
It would quell questions of her innocence, too.Maybe.
“Yes,” she heard herself say.
“No,” her mother insisted.
Isabella ignored her. It was high time she did. “Your Grace, I accept your proposal.” She kept her voice as stoic and businesslike as he had. She agreed to an arrangement between the two of them, and that was all.
“Isabella!” Her mother gasped. “How?—”
“Well, Mother, you wanted me to find myself a quick match,” she interrupted. “So, you cannot look a gift horse in the mouth, it seems.”
Her parents stepped back, both appalled. They looked between her and the Duke, their mouths moving as if neither knew what to say anymore. As if they knew they would not be listened to.
It was only Sibyl who moved forward and reached for Isabella’s hands.
“Congratulations, sister.” Her voice caught, as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say, and Isabella smiled, appreciative, but sharing the lack of surety.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes lifted back to her…betrothed.He merely nodded at her.
Was it approval or a simple acknowledgment?
He extended his hand toward her, scarred and rough-looking.
“Dance with me,” he told her.
“Excuse me?” the question came unbidden, surprised.
“Dance with me, Lady Isabella.” It was not a request.
