Page 15 of Her Beast of a Duke
Isabella scowled at him. “A gentleman generally asks politely.”
She thought his mouth pulled tightly at the corners as he stared her down.
“You are my fiancée now,” he bluntly stated. “We must dance together.”
“I do not wish to return to the ballroom,” she said, shaking her head. His hand still hovered toward her.
“Your dress is repaired,” he said, voice low, sharp. “Let them talk. They always will. You decide your own story. Soon enough, everyone will know the truth: we are to be wed.”
Hearing the facts stated so unflinchingly made something in Isabella shift.
You are being saved.
You are being condemned.
And still, Isabella slipped her hand into his and swallowed back her further protests that desperately rose.
The ballroom lights glittered behind him, a wasp’s nest of venom waiting to sting. But the moment her palm met his, she did not feel as worried as she had upon entering the ballroom earlier.
The Duke of Rochdale took her through the balcony doors. Step by step, they approached the dance floor to a chorus of whispers scarcely hidden behind fans.
“Heavens, what amess.”
Isabella fought the urge to look toward the lady who sniggered, but she was horrified to find the Duke slowing them down, his head turning to the lady.
“Lady Ashford, if you have words for my betrothed, speak them boldly. Do not hide behind your fan as though it shields you.”
His words were knives, cutting and inescapable, especially when he knew her title.
Isabella fought her own stunned reaction, realizing how he had referred to her.Betrothed.Clearly, he was employing a tactic—and it worked. Lady Ashford immediately turned to another, ignoring the confrontation, and began to fan herself profusely.
“Come,” the Duke beckoned Isabella, and they continued to the dance floor.
The steps stretched for an eternity as both fear and intrigue knotted Isabella’s stomach, a colliding war inside her that she didn’t know which side to follow.
Who is this man?
Once they were on the dance floor, he turned to her fully. Flooded into full view by the chandelier above them, she saw the full map of his facial scars. They were even more terrifying in the light, but she didn’t flinch. She only tracked them, every ragged line that cut through his face. Yet they couldn’t hide what was beneath: a handsome man with the brightest green eyes.
Despite the stoic expression that remained fixed on his face, he truly was more handsome than she had realized. His scarred hand still held hers as he pulled her closer. It was assured, not the clumsy motions she had assumed a recluse would use.
“A lady generally does not stare so boldly,” he told her, a mirror of her own words.
Isabella’s face warmed at being noticed for her staring, even as her chin remained high. She didn’t avert her gaze as they took their first steps. Eyes stuck to her back like tiny pinpricks, unavoidable but able to be ignored if only she focused on something else.
Like the Duke’s eyes.
Moments into the dance, she found her voice.
“Thank you,” she said belatedly. “For rescuing me. In… in both ways.”
He nodded sharply. “It was a practical solution for both of us.”
“Yes, but you obviously care about your own reputation if your offer is anything to go by,” she acknowledged. “For a man rumored to be?—”
“A beast?”
“A recluse,” she countered.
