Chapter 13 #2
There was a loud crash, glass shattering. Isobel looked up, hoping that the cause of the glass breaking wouldn't be Father, but sure enough, there he was in the middle of the mess, drunk and swaying on his feet more than he had been in the church. It was hardly even noon.
Before Isobel could move, Andrew was already striding across the room, his expression cold and controlled. He reached Lord Leyton in seconds, gripping him firmly by the arm.
"Lord Leyton." The Duke’s voice carried just enough to be heard by those nearby, but not enough to cause further scene. "I believe you've had enough refreshment for one day. Allow me to arrange transport home for you."
"Unhand me!" Father tried to pull away, but Andrew's grip was made of iron.
"You have two choices," Andrew said quietly, leaning close so only Father, Isobel, and presumably Joan and Eleanor were able to catch the words.
"You leave now, quietly, with dignity intact.
Or I have my footmen carry you out like the drunk you are and ensure every person in this room knows exactly how you've treated your daughters. Your choice."
Father's face went pale, then red with impotent fury. But he nodded jerkily.
Andrew signaled to a footman. "Please escort Lord Leyton to a carriage and see him safely home. Miss Joan, would you accompany your father? I'll send additional staff to ensure he causes no further trouble."
Joan stood, relief evident on her face. She leaned toward Isobel and squeezed her hand.
"Thank you," she whispered, though her gratitude was clearly directed at Andrew as well.
As Father was led away, Andrew returned to Isobel's side. His hand rested on the small of her back in a gesture that was both possessive and comforting.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
Isobel nodded, throat tight with unexpected emotion. He'd handled it. Smoothly, efficiently, without letting it become the disaster it could have been.
"Thank you," she managed.
"He'll not ruin another moment of your day," Andrew promised. "Not while I'm here to prevent it."
As Joan walked away, Isobel felt a little piece of her heart slipping away with her sister. She didn’t know what to do without being able to see Joan every day and ensuring that she was fine. She didn’t like the feeling of not knowing what was going to happen to Joan now that she was gone.
At least the Duke’s threat will keep Father subdued for a while.
Eleanor took her by the hand again and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I know this might not be the way you intended your wedding to go, but I hope the present I got you more than makes up for it.”
“You got us a present?” the Duke of Foxdrey smiled charmingly at his cousin.
Isobel didn’t look at him, instead focusing on Eleanor.
Though, from the corner of her eye she could see the Duke staring at her, making her blood rush through her body.
There was something that pulled her to him, whether she liked it or not, and when she finally met his gaze, it seemed like everything around them started to slow.
She hated the tingle that crawled across her skin as he moved closer to her, his hand brushing further up her back as he gripped the back of her chair.
Eleanor nodded, a smile stretching. “I did get you a present.”
“Well, we’ll get back to that later. But for now, I’d love to take my beautiful wife here into the ballroom and dance with her. It would be a shame to let the musicians’ hard work go to waste,” he said suddenly.
The Duke’s fingers brushed against Isobel’s back again, right at the small sliver of skin from the slight dip at the back of the dress. She shivered against her will when his fingers caressed one of the miniscule buttons, sending a flood of warmth going through her body.
He chuckled. “Duchess, if you will?”
He held his hand out in front of her and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand into his. With an easy smile, he pulled her to her feet and led her out of the dining room and into the ballroom.
“I do love a waltz,” he said, his voice husky as he spun her beneath his arm before pulling her back.
With their bodies angled close together, his hand pressed to the small of her back and his other hand clasping hers, it was hard to think straight. She should be angry at him for leaving her throughout breakfast.
But all she felt was gratitude. She appreciated this man for showing up when her father had almost ruined the day. And now, the Duke spun her around the room, holding her like she was precious to him.
When he was that close to her, it was hard to remember that she was supposed to keep her distance from him, especially with each plane of his muscled body pressed against hers, making it all too easy for her to think about what he would look like in those most intimate moments.
It was too easy to forget herself. To lose herself in those ocean eyes and the fantasy of being wanted by someone like the Duke of Foxdrey.
He is only doing this for the sake of his gaming hell. To him, our marriage is nothing but another wager to win.