Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“What are you doing here?” He barked at her.
The deep words hung tightly between them, unconsciously binding them together as silence engulfed the space.
“I…” Isabella began, not because she had something to say but because she was overwhelmed with the need to say something.
Anything at all to distract herself from staring at him and the glistening muscles of his chest and arms.
Even sitting, his broad shoulders and wide chest left no doubt of his strength, the strands of dark hair sticking to his skin with sweat as he worked.
The golden glow of his skin in the candlelight, streaked with smudges of sawdust and dirt, made him seem like some carved masterpiece—so commanding, so masculine that Isabella could not tear her eyes away.
She had never imagined a man so powerful and yet so strikingly beautiful.
As though sensing her gaze, he rose in a fluid motion and pulled the shirt, carefully hung on a nearby plank, over his head.
Isabella swallowed her sudden disappointment and hastily slipped her mask of composure back into place.
“For-forgive my manners, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She bowed her head slightly, all the while keeping her eyes steadily on him.
He kept his gaze on her as he began to approach her in fluid, strong movements, like a predator stalking its prey.
Isabella’s heart hammered against her chest with every step that he took.
Who is he?
She did not know him, and she was here alone with him. Yet that hardly stopped him from getting as close as he could get.
“Perhaps you did not hear me. I asked what you are doing here.” The firmness in his voice, mixed with the faint smell of mint and sweat and the nearness of him, made Isabella’s head spin, but she forced herself to respond.
“I-I was intrigued by the sound. I didn’t realize that a person would be working here. I wouldn’t have come otherwise,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady.
His dark eyes lingered on her a fraction. “You are a guest, are you not?” he asked, a full brow raised.
Isabella nodded, her pulse racing.
“So, it is right of me to assume you know basic manners, isn’t it? You do not wander around places you are not appointed to. This is a private space,” he stated in a cool tone, his eyes fixated on her with an intense gaze that took her breath away.
He is so handsome.
She shuddered a little as her eyes dropped to the muscles still visible through his shirt. “I apologize. Again, I didn’t mean to intrude or disturb your work,” she said softly, and with a deliberately casual movement, she made to turn and leave, his next words halted her motion.
“Was it my grandmother?” he inquired, his brow still rigid with concentration.
“I beg your pardon?” She met his gaze once again.
He took one step forward, forcing her to take one back.
“I’m asking if my grandmother sent you here. To me.”
“Your grandmother?” Isabella asked, only for the words to dawn on her a moment later.
It was no wonder the man spoke with so much confidence and authority; of course, he would.
For he was none other than the Duke of Everthorne himself.
Her eyes widened. He was the one person the ton was most curious about, with discussions about him buzzing across every ballroom and drawing room corner. Yet, here he stood, right before her in the flesh.
“Your Grace, I…” she paused to catch her breath. “Your grandmother didn’t send me here. I have barely spoken to her this evening.”
“Is that so?” he muttered, arms crossed over his chest like thick wooden barges. “For someone who wasn’t sent, you’ve come a long way from the ballroom.”
The accusing tone of his comment made her head tilt to the side. “I do not know you, Your Grace. Had you not mentioned your grandmother, I would’ve thought you a servant of the family.”
A small, self-deceptive lie. She hadn’t believed him to be the Duke of Everthorne, true, but a servant? Not even close. If she were honest, there had been little room for reason at all the moment her eyes fell on him.
That bare chest, the taut muscles flexing with each movement… it had entirely robbed her of coherent thought.
A faint, unwelcome blush crept across her cheeks at the wanton images her mind refused to suppress. She chastised herself silently, though the heat in her skin betrayed every scandalous thought.
“Even in this dim light, the color in your cheeks betrays you. More proof that you’re not telling the truth.” He accused in a cool tone that could freeze a fire.
Another silent shiver of pleasure ran down her spine.
There was something utterly captivating about the sound of his voice, even if he was talking down to her.
“I am not a liar, Your Grace, and the accusation leaves a bitter aftertaste,” she bit back almost instantly without so much as a hint of fear in her voice.
A dark chuckle escaped his throat, and her anger flared. “I have not called you a liar, but what you have said is a lie.”
“It is one and the same, and I wonder what about me has given you that impression, Your Grace. That I would come all the way down here simply to lie to you. Perhaps it would be best if you confirm with your grandmother if she did indeed send me or not.” She paused to catch her breath.
“Heavens, I merely wanted some time to myself, then I heard the sound and followed it here. I have absolutely no reason to lie to you, and the fact you thought so, with no evidence whatsoever, is very telling.”
Silence met the end of her words, his dark eyes simply boring into her face, making her pulse gallop.
“You should leave then,” he finally declared, his voice a rich baritone that reverberated through her skin, burning away even her earlier anger. “Lest someone comes looking for you,” he finished, glancing over the entire length of her body.
A wave of heat washed over her skin beneath his gaze, yet Isabella did not wait to be told twice. She turned on her heel and fled as quickly as she could.
Yet the Duke’s piercing gaze still followed her after she’d returned home.
Even in her dreams.
A couple of days had passed, and Isabella was now back at Ironstone House in London, her parents and half-siblings returned from the countryside.
Yet Isabella’s cheeks still burned red with just a simple thought of a certain duke with dark eyes and thick arms.
In her defense, she hadn’t planned to be mesmerized by him, nor did she actively seek him out in her memories. He’d just simply… appear out of nowhere, no matter what she was doing, and take hold of her entire being, replaying that one encounter over and over.
“Why have you gone so red, Isabella? Has the tea burned you?” Her stepmother’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
There she’d gone again, thinking about him.
“N-no, it hasn’t,” Isabella replied, wishing the tea had indeed scorched her.
At least then, she’d be able to focus on something other than that man.
“Are you all right then? You’re as red as a beet,” Christine observed, concern etched on her face as her hazel eyes searched Isabella’s with motherly concern. Her dark blonde hair had been neatly pinned to the back of her head.
Isabella nodded, for it was a far better response than admitting to being in the company of a half-naked Duke of Everthorne, especially in the presence of her father and younger siblings.
Eleanor, her half-sister, looked up from her teacup to Isabella’s face, giggling slightly at the sight. Her dark golden hair and bright hazel eyes made her look like a carbon copy of her mother with a few slight differences. Even at the tender age of ten, she was quite pretty.
“How horrible must I look to have you laugh in my face, Ellie?” Isabella teased, narrowing her eyes at the younger, mischievous girl, who all but giggled.
“You look fine to me, Bella,” Henry, her half-brother, chimed in, and Isabella sent him a grateful smile.
If Ellie was a close copy of her mother, then Herny, her older brother, was a perfect likeness of their father.
His dark brown hair had been cropped short, highlighting the deep flecks in his dark brown eyes.
“I tried to withhold myself from asking, Isabella, but I can hardly help myself. I hear the Duke of Everthorne never showed his face at the fencing competition days ago. Is that right?” Christine’s eyes sparkled with curiosity while Isabella’s face heated up.
She nodded.
“That hardly surprises me. Everthorne has been a recluse for years. He merely does his business and goes on his way. I wonder why anyone would believe he would show himself at that event. Had it not been for his eccentric grandmother, the doors to that townhouse would’ve been shut,” her father, Edewin, said, shaking his head as he leaned back against his chair, looking like a more mature version of his son.
“I wouldn’t call Lady Kendrick eccen—” Isabella began to say, but the presence of their trusted butler, Mr. Jameson, cut her off.
“Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace, but a letter has just arrived for Lady Isabella,” the man said, his eyes darting from Isabella to her father, waiting for an instruction.
“From whom?” Isabella asked.
“It’s from Everthorne House, My Lady,” the butler replied.
“I’ll have it, Mr. Jameson.” Isabella’s voice was surprisingly steady, considering the storm of confusion in her mind.
Jameson inched closer, handing the note over to Isabella before walking away.
Silence loomed around the drawing room. With a deep breath and a quick exhale, Isabella peeled open the white envelope. Her eyes skimmed over the elegant writing, unable to comprehend what she was reading or perhaps the intention behind it.
“Well? What does it say?” Christine, her stepmother, asked, eyeing the letter in Isabella’s possession.
“Lady Kendrick is inviting me to Everthorne House.”
Even as she said the words, Isabella could not believe them herself. It had to be why she didn’t mind the utterly shocked faces of her father and stepmother.