Page 69 of Her Beast of a Duke
Isabella held herself very, very still, for Oscar never shared anything, and it was the most she had heard him speak in one go. She didn’t want him to go back into that impenetrable silence.
“My father tried to refuse, tried even to toss him out into the garden. I found Morris once more, hiding in the underbrush where we had found him before. He was shivering, and I feared he would not live through the night. I took him to the veterinarian myself and stayed throughout his recovery. I returned to my father two days later with a dog I was determined to see to full strength once more. A proud owner indeed.”
He gave a fond smile down at Morris, still petting his ear. Isabella reached out to stroke the other one, her pale hand so soft-looking, so unblemished compared to Oscar’s.
“Is that…” She hesitated, unsure if she should push him further. “Is that why you reacted so stiffly in the washroom?”
Oscar shook his head, and she prepared herself for that to be his only response.
Again, he surprised her by continuing to talk.
“As you pointed out in the gallery, I fought in the war. I was a captain in the army, and there… I saw too many men who were fatally wounded, unable to be saved. And Morris’s wound… itreminded me of that time. It is not the blood, but the anguish that comes with never knowing if I can do enough for a wounded thing. Person or dog, it is the same pain.”
Isabella’s stomach dropped, not knowing what to do with his vulnerability. She shifted her hand to cover his on the dog’s head. His hand was so warm, and she brushed over it.
“I do not know about your time in the war,” she murmured, “but I am certain you always did what you could.”
He shook his head, harsh enough that Morris stirred. “I am a fighter and have always been. I am not a healer, nor a savior, and sometimes… there is just not enough one man can do. I feared that earlier. I could not help but remember every man I had not carried to the medic tent in time.”
Isabella’s heart broke at the wound of his own, ringing through his voice.
“You are not to blame for such things,” she told him. “And you were not always a fighter.”
She thought of him as a young student, bright-eyed and hopeful.
After a minute of silence, she spoke up. “I should not have trespassed, but I do wish you had just told me it was private.”
“I did.”
“I should have knownwhy.”
“One does not need a reason to obey orders, Isabella.”
He gave her a hard look that she pretended not to notice, fixing her focus on the dog.
“If I recall, you can follow them when you wish to, but I believe you like being rebellious, no?”
His voice was less vulnerable now, and she knew the moment of him opening up was gone, but Isabella still kept her hand on his. She squeezed lightly.
“You may continue to be haunted by those you could not save,” she acknowledged gently, carefully, “but Morris will make it through the night. You were his hero, and you continue to be.”
And perhaps, just perhaps, you might be mine, too, she thought, reflecting on her sister’s words from the past week.
Oscar only nodded wordlessly and let his head fall back against the wall.
“Isabella—” he began, faltered, then tried again. “I am sorry for raising my voice at you.”
That apology, more than anything that night, surprised her most.
For a minute, their eyes met, and she only nodded in the way he did.
Just a simple nod, no words needed.
For once, she understood why he favored silence.
Chapter Sixteen
Isabella didn’t realize the two of them had fallen asleep next to one another until she was awoken by a soft yip and a panting tongue licking eagerly up her face.
