Page 62 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Have you had the pleasure of dancing with any handsome suitors yet?” Isabella asked, eager to have the attention off her.
Between her visit to her sisters and her own ruminating thoughts, she was seeking a distraction from herself.
“I have indeed. Lord Benedict has put his name down on my dance card, along with Lord Gregory. Both are rather good, advantageous matches should the evening go well. My mother is hopeful I will have at least four visitors tomorrow, all bearing bouquets.”
“And you shall pick the one who, by the hands of fate, guesses your favorite flower correctly without ever having to ask?”
“Precisely,” Mary laughed. “Ah, speaking of the woman herself.”
Isabella looked to where Mary’s mother was bustling her way over, followed by yet another lord who looked slightly bewildered.
“Mary, you must speak with Lord Torrington. He is most eager to dance with you, are you not, my lord?”
Lord Torrington looked half fearful of the persistent woman, and Isabella spared a moment of gratitude that while her own mother had been forceful, she had not dragged suitors directly to her feet. Still, she was growing desperate, and Isabella worried for the rest of Sibyl’s Season.
“I shall arrange a quieter corner where you may speak,” Lady Newbrook insisted, sparing a glance at Isabella.
She rather assumed the countess still did not like her very much. Politely, Isabella inclined her head but offered no greeting. The two women departed. Despite her efforts, she found herself looking for Oscar in the crowd, but he was always good at hiding.
As she craned her neck slightly to look further, she felt a shift in the air behind her.
“Good evening, Lady Isabella.” The voice that came from behind her made her stiffen.
She turned around slowly, ensuring her hands did not tremble, and that she retained her composure.
But facing Lord Stanton after thinking she might never have to again was no easy feat. Not when he looked at her as though he was ever so smug, pleased he had caught her alone.
“Heavens, you are all alone,” he noted, pointedly looking at her side. “With the stories going around theton, one would assume your husband would not be far from you. Word is that he israther protective of you. Lord Peregrine still raves about the ghastly attack that unhinged man exacted upon him.”
“Lord Peregrine implicated himself,” Isabella answered. “You, of all people, should not gossip when you do not know the full story.”
His smile was broad and charming, unfazed. “Wise words, my former betrothed.”
“Do not call me that,” she muttered. “Be careful, Lord Stanton, for it almost sounds like you regret the decision you yourself made.”
“Would it be so wrong to admit that I do?” His words were smooth, casual, as if he cared but not greatly, as if he didn’t wish to reveal too much vulnerability.
She had heard such softness be used as a playing tactic to garner favor and forgiveness.
“I am immune to feeling sympathy for you,” she told him, and although her words remained strong and firm, her hands trembled, buried in the folds of her gown. “You shamed me, Lord Stanton. I had no part in our engagement ending.”
“I know, I know.” He sighed, as though weary. “Now, I look upon you and see how you come alive beneath these ballroom lights. It takes me right back to the night we met, to the night I knew I had to make you my wife. Like I said the last time we spoke, Iwas a cowardly fool, and I am willing to go to my knees to beg forgiveness.”
His eyes lowered beyond her face, lingering on her neckline, and Isabella stepped back.
“You may stay standing, for I am not interested in forgiving you. In fact, I do not care enough to even think you need forgiving. You are nothing to me, Lord Stanton, so do save yourself the trouble of exacting an apologetic stance.”
He leaned closer than she was comfortable with. Her body froze. For a moment, she was on the balcony with Lord Peregrine’s smoke-scented breath too close to her, his hands reaching for her dress.
He will not hurt me. Not right in the middle of a ballroom.
“Then I shall willingly go to my knees for a different reason when it comes to you, Lady Isabella.”
Isabella reared back, both insulted and uncomfortable.
Without saying another word, she hurried away, fleeing out onto the terrace.
Now alone, she gripped the stone wall that stopped anybody from toppling over the edge and leaned over to try to gulp in as much air as possible.
