Page 10 of The Beastly Duke's Christmas Bride
She froze, sensing ill tidings. “Yes, Wesley?”
“You have a guest.”
“I have a…?” A minute was required for her to acknowledge this. She never had guests. Not unless it was Emilia, who walked right through the house like she lived here. “Are you certain?”
“In the parlor, my lady.” He motioned to the door at his side that was cracked open.
Her cheeks flamed as she wondered if they had been overheard. She fumbled with her thin cloak and hat. Once Amber had them in hand, Isabel moved on stiff legs to the doorway, and opened it while bracing herself for a nightmare.
“My lady.”
The man rose to his feet, casting out the sunlight from the window behind him. She inhaled deeply as she recognized his figure at once as the man who had saved her just three nights before. Was he taller today? She couldn’t be certain. She was taller than nearly every woman she knew, even her father by two inches. But she was still smaller than him.
“You.” A lump formed in her throat as she recalled Lucy shouting in the street. Extremely unladylike but also extremely successful. She felt her cheeks begin to burn as she recalled the words. And the title. “Your Grace.”
“Call me Vale.”
“Eastwynd,” she chose instead. The title felt a little safer than his family name.
A slight grin, twisted like a grimace almost, showed on his face before he waved at her to join him. Like this wasn’t her home. But she accepted it, not knowing what else to do. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth so she couldn’t talk even if she wanted to.
“I came to inquire after your health,” the duke said as they took their seats on opposite sides of the room. He didn’t have to raise his voice, low and deep as it was. She suppressed a shiver though she felt no cold or fear. “The physician confirmed you were well, but I thought I might see for myself.”
She started. “The physician reported to you?”
“I paid him,” he pointed out.
Like she couldn’t have paid herself. Isabel felt a flush creep up her cheeks. “It wasn’t necessary. I was well enough. If memory serves, you are the one who needed assistance.”
“I was fine.” He leaned back. Her eyes darted to his forearm. While she thought she could see a slight bulge there like there was a bandage dressing under the dress coat, she couldn’t be sure. “It wouldn’t be the first time there was a knife stuck in me.”
The duke had appalling manners, clearly. Isabel attempted to size him up. He was composed of so many opposing concepts, however, it was fairly difficult.
He was a duke and yet he fought like a ruffian. Everyone whispered about him still fighting publicly. Her brother had seen him once, apparently, said there was nothing ducal about him in the ring. The man spoke with a clean and gentlemanly accent but spoke crudely on certain matters. His size and dark gaze frightened her, and yet the open gaze he offered her shared no threat or promise of hurt. He was, if anything, brooding. But something about him almost seemed harmless. It was a fascinating paradox.
“My lady?”
Realizing she had leaned forward to study him, Isabel hastily righted yourself. “Your Grace.”
“You don’t have to call me that.”
“It befits your station.”
That garnered a grimace. He danced his fingertips on his knee for a minute before looking at her again. His green eyes pierced her. “Is all well for you, then?”
In that moment, Isabel could sense he was asking after more than her health. Most likely he had noticed the household was struggling. Why else would he have bought them coal? But she didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want his curiosity.
“I’m very well.” She came to her feet, and he immediately followed. “Is that all?”
“Well…”
Isabel swallowed and gave a nod. “Very good. Thank you for your visit, Your Grace.”
“Vale.”
“Eastwynd,” she said tersely. “You have confirmed my health, and you have provided more than enough recompense for anyslight or injury that might have befallen me the other evening. You may now take your leave.”
He stepped forward. “I would marry you.”
