Page 88 of Her Beast of a Duke
She stepped forward, her jaw square. “Lord Henry, you have plenty of cruel things to say about my husband, but be glad that I will not stoop to your level to discuss the particulars of your own family. I do hear Lady Katherine has been under question herself for certain… actions around the ton.”
Lord Henry’s eyes widened, and he spluttered a little, but Isabella only stared him down.
“Lord Greenick, I am certain we are needed…over there.” Lord Henry made a hasty excuse while glancing around at nobody in particular. “We will take our leave.”
“The next time you insult any member of my family,” Isabella continued before he could leave, “I will not be so publicly forgiving.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Henry mumbled.
“I will not be forgiving at all.”
The growl came from behind Isabella, and her spine went ramrod straight at the dark tone in her husband’s voice. She recognized the level of fury from the night on the terrace with Lord Peregrine, and then again with Lord Stanton. She went to turn to Oscar, but he was already meeting her stride, a hand clenched on Lord Henry’s shoulder to stop him from going anywhere.
“Apologize to the Duchess,” Oscar demanded.
“She has already forgiven me.” Lord Henry laughed, looking between the two of them. “Surely you do not need to force her to listen to an apology she does not need for the sake of your pride. You must not be able to stand it that your wife spoke up for herself. Do you wish to control her and every situation she is in so much so that you cannot help but be involved?”
“Apologize.” The order came barely audible, so layered with anger and roughness, that Isabella’s hands began to tremble. Not out of fear but worry. She worried that Oscar would react in a way she could not control. “Now.”
“I shall not apologize to a beast or the wife of one.”
And then Oscar snapped, and Isabella couldn’t move forward fast enough to stop Oscar from launching himself at Lord Henry. He seized the man’s cravat in his fist, dragging him up so his feet dangled in the air. Oscar’s mouth split into a snarl, teeth bared, and Isabella’s breath was lost in her throat.
“Oscar—”
Her cry of his name got lost when her husband slammed Lord Henry into the nearest wall, scattering guests who rushed out of the way. The deafening crack of Lord Henry’s body hitting the wall, crashing a nearby vase to the floor, made Isabella freeze entirely. Ladies shrieked, and another collapsed right there on the floor.
Oscar leaned into the man’s face, a low growl coming from deep in his throat, mindless of the crowd gathering. One man rushed forward to break him away from Lord Henry, but Oscar’s head whipped around, a warning rumble loosening.
Facing back to Lord Henry, Oscar rolled his neck, his knuckles white with the hard grip he had on his cravat.
“Your… your Grace—” Lord Henry stammered, breaking off when he got shoved into the wall even harder.
“Oscar,” Isabella begged, finally unfreezing her body from the panic enough to approach him. She slid her hands over his shoulders, trying to bring him back to her. She could see the vacant, crazed look in his eyes, the way he had lost himself to his rage.
He jerked her off, and Isabella swallowed back the pain of the rejection, trying again. She softened her voice.
“Oscar,Oscar,” she pleaded. “Come back to me.”
“Yes,beast,” Lord Henry sneered. “Go back to your wife. Go and be tamed again by the ton’s jilted bride. Heaven knows she needed something to keep her busy after Lord Stanton walked away from her. She needed a pet.”
His words were once again cut off by a groan as he was gripped harder.
“Do not listen to him,” Isabella urged in his ear, trying once again with touch to bring him back. Softening her voice had not worked, so she hardened it this time, speaking in commanding tones. “I am your wife because I want to be. You are not a pet, nor a beast, and you are not something to be tamed. But I need you to come back to menow.I need you to step back, Oscar.”
But her husband didn’t listen to her. He had his sights fixed only on Lord Henry, his body heaving with ragged breaths. Isabella didn’t care about the crowd or who watched them. She dug her fingers into his shoulder, trying to force him back into reality. Yet she couldn’t reach him.
“Apologize,” Oscar demanded. “Apologize to my wife, and I will let you walk out of this ballroom with your legs still working.”
“Ah.” Lord Henry dragged out the noise as if pleasantly surprised. A horrible sneer marred his face. “The beast bares his teeth and proves that we are all correct in our opinion of him. You can put wine in your hand, Your Grace, and dress in fine clothing, but you will never be able to hide your scars. You will never be more than a hideous, unlovable beast.”
Oscar’s chest heaved, the veins on his hand pronounced with the force as he strung up the lord. Isabella clasped a hand over her mouth, the words stunning her. She could see what it did to Oscar.
They did not break him—no, they made him snap.
“Look at him,” a lady nearby whispered. “Exactly what we always say. How violent, howbrutish. Heavens, he is utterly unfit for our society. I do not know why he has not been escorted out. I pity the Duchess of Rochdale.”
Oscar tensed beneath Isabella’s hold. She still had one hand on his shoulder, still trying to give him a tether, but she felt the moment he reared back with an arm, and she knew he was lost.He was lost as he was during his night terrors, a man trapped in his own mind, but she didn’t know how to release him.
