Page 46 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Indeed, he did. So, for a mistake so great it forced his absence from the altar, I am gladIam the one to carry the burden of not fixing the situation.” Her dry tone was biting, her irritation flaring uncontrollably.
Her mother had always chided her temper and the way she was not always afraid to speak her mind, trying to school her into the flawless meekness of a diamond.
And Isabella had obliged, pretending to be the quiet, gentle flower that her mother wanted her to be. When she was at home, though, and her mother wasn’t around, she was free to bicker with her sisters.
It has been a while since I had to worry about controlling my rare bouts of ill temper, she realized.
But the thought was quickly followed by a humorous acknowledgment that, compared to her husband’s boldness, her own was hardly anything to be concerned about.
Except for when it made her do foolishly vulnerable things, like sit on his lap and kiss him.
“I know I ought to respect your mother?—”
“Oh, you do not,” Isabella laughed. “She has not done a great deal to garner respect. I only do so because she is my mother, and my siblings have always been taught to keep the peace above all.”
“Regardless, I am very unhappy with her right now. Not to mention that Lord Stanton disappeared! So even if you had wanted to approach him about your abandoned wedding, he hardly gave you the chance.”
“My thoughts precisely.”
Around them, Hollowtree Park was bright with rose bushes and low-hanging flowering trees that swept petals around the pathways below. Summer was not yet on the cusp of autumn, but the breeze toyed with the blooms.
Isabella had the strangest thought of how the Duke might look with fallen, pink petals scattered in his dark hair.
The image of that was enough to chase her annoyance for a moment.
“There is another thing,” Isabella found herself confessing. “Something I am rather confused about.”
Mary halted her steps, her eyes lighting up. “It has to do with your husband.”
“You surely cannot know that!”
“I surely can, for your voice changes whenever you are about to speak about him.”
Isabella scowled, huffing. “He… kissed me yesterday, after my parents left.”
“Oh, Isabella!” Mary squealed, laughing. “Oh, this is wonderful!”
“It is most confusing,” Isabella argued. “For the kiss was passionate, more passionate than I could ever imagine a kiss being. But then…” Even as they slowly walked, linking arms, she wished to move faster, to match the pace of her thoughts. “And then he pulled away and left. We have not spoken a word to one another since. But how can he want to kiss me in one moment, and then not in the next?”
“Are you a good kisser?” Mary asked.
“Mary!” Isabella gasped. Frowning, she added, “I had not thought of that.”
What she thought of instead was that she had felt his arousal beneath her, that he had sought friction against her, and then he had left. Isabella had learned some ways of intimacy through Hermia, and she had found Sibyl’s more recent acquisition of…intimateromance books and had been enthralled at the idea.
Most ladies would have been scandalized, and although Isabella had felt some embarrassment at her eagerness to learn, it had indeed piqued a heated curiosity in her.
Only, it seemed she would not get to explore such things, not if her husband didn’t want her.
“I should not be confused,” she said resolutely.
Her eyes remained fixed on the park, on the others promenading early that morning.
In the distance, she swore she saw a familiar face but discarded the thought. Her mind was wary, and she didn’t even trust her own thoughts, let alone her eyes.
“After all,” she continued, “His Grace made it clear that our marriage was for practical purposes. I agreed to that. I cannot push him to want me, even if…”
She trailed off, her shoulders tightening.
