Page 13 of Her Beast of a Duke
“I do not care,” Harcross cut him off. “Right now, you are causing a commotion I will not tolerate. Leave, or I will see you personally escorted out.”
If Lord Harcross cared about the shocked noises coming from the gathered attendees behind him, he did not show it. Isabella could only watch in wonder as Lord Peregrine spluttered more, shot her an enraged glare, then stormed up to the Duke.
“I hope you rot,beast.”
“Lord Peregrine,” Lord Harcross demanded. “Now.”
With another sniff of disdain, Peregrine shoved his way through the multitude, still cursing.
In a moment, Lord Harcross put on a beaming smile just as he turned back to the ballroom. “My esteemed guests, I do implore you to continue your revelries. The night remains young, andtoo many ladies have not been called upon to dance. Claim your partners for the next set!”
He clapped twice, and the music struck up again.
Beneath the blanket of sound, the host turned back to her. “I shall have your dress mended.” He beckoned a nearby footman, who held a tray of wine, and Isabella caught the instruction for a maid to come to tend to her dress.
Blushing, Isabella waited to give her gratitude, but her stomach dropped.
Before she could say anything to Lord Harcross, her mother’s face appeared over his shoulder, making her apologies as she pushed through to the balcony. Behind her was Sibyl, her face pale and eyes wide.
“Isabella!” her mother cried. She and Sibyl were closely followed by Isabella’s father. “Isabella,what on earth happened? People are saying you have been compromised. Heavens, do not say that. Do notsay!”
“Mama,” Sibyl complained. “Let us not assume and insteadhelp.”
“Who must I speak with?” Isabella’s father demanded. “Who is the man who has defiled your innocence? He must marry you immediately!”
“Lord Peregrine made advances toward Lady Isabella,” the Duke said, voice low and controlled, carrying easily across the balcony. “He tore her dress. I stopped him.”
A maid apologized as she beckoned Isabella toward the end of the balcony so that she could mend the torn seam. Isabella, remaining stunned, merely felt like she was outside of herself, wondering what had even happened.
Isabella’s mother’s voice was sharp and frantic. “What? A man tore her dress? First Hermia, then you with Lord Stanton, and now this! Goodness, the shame does not end. I cannot abide this any longer. Four daughters, and two have already ruined us.”
“Mama, do not be so cruel!” Sibyl cried. “Isabella is innocent!”
Once the dress was mended, the maid curtsied and removed herself from the balcony. Isabella envied how she managed to slip away so easily.
Her father jabbed a finger at Isabella. “And you! How could you allow this to happen? Speak!”
The Duke’s eyes flicked to Isabella briefly, then back to her parents. His voice, low and dangerous, cut through their clamor.
“I will marry Lady Isabella. To restore her honor—and mine.”
For a moment, only the music from the ballroom filled the balcony.
Isabella heard her own breath, loud and ragged, as her heart hammered so fast that she leaned back against the balustrade, fighting internally against a bout of dizziness.
Then laughter erupted from her parents, sharp and incredulous.
“Your Grace, I do not wish to insult you, but what absurdity!” Lady Wickleby exclaimed. “Do not bring such notions to my daughter’s head. She has endured enough.”
The Duke remained unmoved and silent. He waited, letting the pause stretch, and gradually their laughter faltered.
“You truly are offering such a thing?” her father asked cautiously.
“I am,” the Duke confirmed in a firm tone. “And I do not appreciate Lady Wickleby’s remarks. I am offering to marry your daughter. Her reputation is at stake, and I will see it preserved.”
“By sacrificing your own reputation?” Lady Wickleby’s voice shook timidly, and her lower lip quivered.
It was evident that she knew not how to respond to the intimidating Duke, even when he was offering Isabella a form of salvation.
