Chapter 4 #2
The Duke’s eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat, then turned back to the guests.
Once Lord Harcross left, Lady Mary and Isabella’s sisters—Hermia, Sibyl, and Alicia—all approached her.
Lady Mary’s eyes were shiny with tears as she embraced Isabella. “I am so very happy for you,” she whispered in her ear. “It may not be a love match, but it is what you wanted, no? Security?”
“I know,” Isabella assured her, but she did not know. Not at all. “Thank you. I will write, and perhaps you can visit…” She glanced at the Duke. “You can visit Rochdale Castle, I am sure.”
“You are a duchess now,” Mary teased. “Surely you can decide your own visitors.”
The Duke narrowed his eyes at Lady Mary. “The Duchess may receive visitors… provided I am given notice. I do not tolerate surprises.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mary offered, “I would never be so rude as to barge in uninvited or without alerting you and Her Grace.”
The duke only gave a curt nod. His gaze remained dark and watchful, as if measuring every potential threat.
Isabella hugged her friend once more, feeling the weight of his protection in every line of his stance, before she bid farewell to her sisters.
“Do keep your heart open, sister,” Sibyl murmured. “Look at how Hermia did. Do what feels right.”
Isabella could only nod, but she didn’t believe in such things. After hugging Sibyl, Alicia shouldered her way in.
“Do not let him take away your fierce spirit. I know it’s there, no matter how much rouge you pile over it,” Alicia warned. “He seems… insistent. Simply be careful, Izzie.”
“Have I ever been anything but?” Isabella smiled.
Alicia only nodded, hugging her quickly, before giving space for Hermia.
As Hermia embraced Isabella, she whispered, “Do not forget that I am a letter away. Just say the word, and I’ll be at Rochdale Castle. You are never, ever alone, Isabella. No matter what.”
The words came with such sincerity that Isabella had to fight back an unexpected prickle of tears as she nodded.
“Thank you. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right,” she told Hermia with a curt nod, and although Hermia returned the gesture with a kind smile, Isabella could see the concern still there in her older sister’s eyes.
The two parted, and then her parents were there, tight-lipped and with chins held high.
“Be a good wife, Isabella,” her mother intoned. “And do not forget to be an even better Duchess. I trust we shall hear of your progress.” Her head inclined with measured gravity, and Isabella inclined hers in acknowledgment.
Who requires me to be the better Duchess most—him, or the two of you?
“See that our family’s name is restored, daughter,” her father said quietly, standing with a rigid dignity.
They offered no embraces, only solemn regards. Isabella bowed her head once more.
“Of course,” she murmured, disappointment spreading through her chest like frost on a dark morning, seeping into every hollow, leaving a chill that no warmth could touch.
She’d grown accustomed to this kind of icy treatment by her parents, but it hurt all the same.
A firm hand brushed over her elbow, and Isabella turned to meet the Duke’s unreadable gaze.
“It is time to leave, Duchess,” he said, low and deliberate, every word carrying weight.
“I am ready,” she replied, though her heart still raced.
He inclined his head once, then led her down the aisle with slow, purposeful steps, his presence close enough that the warmth of him pressed against her, every movement radiating control.
Climbing inside, Isabella gave one last look at central London before they set off for Rochdale.
After two hours of buzzing silence, Isabella couldn’t take it anymore.
“Where is Rochdale Castle?” she asked, fidgeting with her gloves. “I have never heard of it. It sounds… remote.”
The Duke’s dark eyes met hers, unblinking. “It is.” His voice was low. Each word was pronounced after a beat of deliberation. “Far enough that most are too timid to visit.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Timid? Or merely wise?”
He let a faint smirk tug at one corner of his mouth, but his gaze did not waver. “Perhaps both. How do you think you will manage to endure the solitude, Duchess?”
“I can endure much, Your Grace,” she said, keeping her tone light, though her pulse quickened.
He leaned just slightly toward her, the heat from him brushing against her shoulder, and the carriage felt smaller in an instant. “We shall see.”
Isabella tilted her head to the side. “You are… rather difficult to read, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps.” His jaw was rigid. Isabella was beginning to understand that this inflexibility was part of his nature. His gaze flicked over her, and for a moment, pinned by his searching stare, she held her breath in anticipation of what he might say next. “Or perhaps I am exactly as I appear.”
“And how do you think you appear?”
He leaned in. “How do you perceive me, Duchess?”
Dangerous. Unpredictable. Were the words that came to her head.
“Do you find me… beastly?” he pressed, voice low, a growl threading through each word, daring her to answer.
Isabella met his eyes evenly, refusing to betray even a flicker of hesitation. “I… avoid making quick judgments,” she said lightly, though her heart thumped against her ribs.
A shadow of a frown crossed his features, but he did not retreat. “Cautious,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Good. You will need that.”
“Why?” she asked softly. “Am I supposed to fear you?”
His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to hum. “No. Fear is unnecessary. Respect… that you may learn quickly.”
“In my experience, respect is earned, not demanded.”
He tilted his head to the side. “For a diamond, you talk back a lot.”
“So, you have done your research on me,” Isabella smirked, only to be defeated by the Duke’s raised brow.
“You are my wife,” he said flatly. “Did you expect me not to?”
With Isabella’s lips pressed together, her pulse quickened; the carriage suddenly too small for the heat and weight of him.
His hard counter had silenced her, and only then did she realize how hard she breathed. Her eyes fell to the sharp rise and fall of his chest, as riled up as she. Her words suddenly left her tongue, and she knew she had nothing left to snipe at him with.
All that was left were his eyes—those infernal eyes that kept on catching her. She had looked at that Chinese dynasty book only last night, unable to stop thinking of the Duke who had saved her, emerging from the darkness.
She turned away from him, watching the countryside. She was vaguely reminded of the journey her family made to Wickleby Hall the day her parents took Hermia there after she’d been branded a spinster.
The silence grew too thick, and when Isabella turned to face the Duke once more, she found his eyes piercing hers, and her stomach turned over itself in something that she did not like nor understand.
“Do you always glower like that?” she asked, letting her eyes roam over him, careful to keep her tone light.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze sharpened, dark and deliberate. “I do not glower. I assess.”
“And what exactly are you assessing?” she asked, a sly note in her voice.
“You,” he said simply.
“Should I feel honored by your assessment, Your Grace?”
“No, Duchess. You should feel warned.”
Her pulse raced, heat spread all over her chest, her neck, her face.
“What is your warning, then?” she asked, trying her best to maintain composure.
“Behave,” he said, leaning ever so slightly closer, “that is my warning.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And if I behave poorly?”
“Then,” he said, voice dropping, low and dangerous, “you will learn how to.”
Isabella arched a brow, voice lightly mocking. “I do hope you are merciful, then.”
“Only if you beg, wife,” he said, low and deliberate, the edge in his tone sending a shiver down her spine.
“I do not beg, Your Grace,” she shot back, lifting her chin with practiced defiance, though a heat bloomed across her chest at the way his gaze lingered.
He studied her, dark eyes sharp, tracing the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips, his presence pressing close enough to make the air between them electric. “We shall see about that.”
She shifted slightly, almost unconsciously closer, a tremor of anticipation threading through her. “I am not so easily intimidated, Your Grace,” she said, voice steadier than her pulse, which fluttered like a caged bird.
“Best not to wake the beast, wife,” he murmured, low and dangerous, so close that she could feel the heat of him against her arm. “You don’t want to know what he’s capable of.”
Once again, she felt the heat of their conversation linger, each sharp word leaving them both slightly breathless.
Her mind went blank, entirely consumed by the space between them. Her legs ached from the long journey, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the awareness of how close she had moved, how deliberately, almost unconsciously, she had closed the gap between them.
His eyes flicked to her lips, and hers immediately followed his. She remembered the dry, chaste kiss at the altar, and a shiver ran down her spine.
A man who had secluded himself so completely—had he kissed another woman before?
And… had he done more?
Her cheeks flushed, betraying her pulse, and she sensed his attention on it, felt the weight of it. The carriage seemed to shrink, the air thickening with unspoken promise. She dared a subtle lean toward him, and she was certain he leaned closer in response, as well.
Then, with a jolt, the carriage screeched to a stop. Isabella gasped, heart hammering, realizing just how dangerously near they had been. She stumbled back instinctively as the door swung open, the crisp evening air slicing through the tension and leaving her flustered and breathless.
“Your Graces, we have arrived,” the driver called out.
The Duke seemed as taken aback as Isabella at their closeness, and quickly moved away from her, hopping off the carriage.