Page 26 of Her Beast of a Duke
A scratch of claws on the floor and the brush of fur against her ankle had her looking down.
Morris trotted in, affectionately rubbing against her leg, and then loping toward the Duke.
“We have nothing left to discuss,” the Duke finally told her, nodding at the door he held open.
Isabella did not break his stare for another moment. Then, she turned on her heel and left through the adjoining door instead.
Oscar Guildeford, the Duke of Rochdale, was largely unsettled by the new presence on his estate. He didn’t like what Isabella was doing in his castle. Despite the drawn drapes, it seemed she brought a certain sort of light to the rooms.
With their whirlwind betrothal and engagement, Oscar was left untethered and off-kilter, disliking the whole arrangement. He feltwrong, as if he was betraying himself by allowing Isabella to be his wife, to be in his life altogether.
Day by day, he worked on putting up his walls, locking more and more doors to keep her at bay.
He watched her—her, and her upholding ways. She spoke so eloquently, yet he could hear the bite on her tongue that ached to come out. Perhaps that was the only part of her he liked: the way he could rile her up and receive as well as he gave.
But then there were her eyes, as brown as the woodland trees on the outer grounds of Rochdale Castle. They caught the light and became as deep as coffee, dark and alluring in a way that made him want to lean in and find out what hid there. For he suspected that Isabella had as many concealed elements within herself as he did.
And her hair—it was not quite brown, but not quite blonde, either. The hue was caught somewhere in between, creating a shade that he couldn’t stop looking at whenever she was near. When the locks caught the light, the tresses resembled wheat, but when she moved through the shadowy corners of the hallway, it turned darker.
He did not want to admit that his wife was attractive, nor would he even mentally admit he found her intriguing, but he turned whenever he heard her voice in another room or coming down the hallway. He always found somewhere else to be, but that jolt of her presence never failed to make him aware.
Oscar walked down the main hallway now, hearing her voice coming from the dining hall.
“We ought to be eating in here,” Isabella was insisting. “There should be candles lit, and the table set for breakfast.”
“Your Grace, the orders exist as given by?—”
“I understand, but I am also the lady of the house, too. I do not wish to spend my life dining alone.”
Although her instructions were insistent, Oscar could hear the gentle way she delivered them to a maid. He leaned in the doorway, unnoticed by either woman.
Tilting his head and folding his arms across his chest, he merely observed.
“What do you think about peonies for a centerpiece?” Isabella thought aloud, glancing at the maid. “If I cannot have light, then they will brighten the place up a bit. Yes, yes, do arrange that. Peonies and snowdrops.”
“They are not in season right now, Your Grace.”
“Hmm. Perhaps lilies, then?”
A flower for death, Oscar noted.
Darkly, he wondered if that was how she viewed her life here: a death sentence, draped in darkness and secrets, barred by walls he put up.
Turning away, he disregarded the idiotic notions. He didn’t need to think about such things. Isabella could stand up for herself. She had agreed to their arrangement; he did not need to pity her for her consent to become his wife.
Instead, he returned to his study and slammed the door behind him. There was a new racehorse he wished to check on a few villages over the following day, and he had yet to confirm his travel arrangements with the stable owner.
Rather than the patient tone of Isabella’s voice, Oscar focused on his work but soon found his thoughts wandering.
A week passed in the same manner. They each ate separately, and Oscar tried not to overhear the clink of silverware from the adjoining room, or the low curses Isabella clearly thought could not be overheard.
The gnawing in his stomach was definitely not guilt for leaving her to eat alone in her room. It seemed that she had not migrated to the dining hall yet.
He did not disagree; there was a reason he had taken to eating in his room. The dining hall was far too large for one person.
Perhaps you could make it so two people can dine in there, he thought idly, but quickly shook the thought away.
He had no interest in dining with a lady who was his wife in name only. They did not need to keep one another company, not when it only brought about more frustration. Oscar felt enough of that even without her being in the same room.
