Chapter 14
Fourteen
Andrew couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made him feel so restless.
He paced back and forth across the dining room, hoping it would be enough to shake the desire coursing through his veins. It had been hours since he and Isobel danced together and yet all he could think of was having her in his arms again.
Winning the wager was going to be more difficult than he thought.
Even when he knew his new wife was fuming due to his distance at breakfast, he found it hard not to want to be around her. However, the distance was to give her space to enjoy her day.
Isobel’s heart could use a little fondness where he was concerned, he was sure of it.
Andrew checked the time on his pocket watch once more. “Where is the Duchess?”
“Would you like me to fetch her?” a maid, Selene, asked, her soft French accent lilting.
“Please tell her that I would like her to join me.” Andrew paced his way to the head of the table, pulling out the chair and sitting down as trays of food were brought out and placed in the center.
Selene dipped her head before turning and heading out of the room, leaving him alone to wonder what kind of mood his bride would be in. He was hoping that she would have missed him after spending most of the day in the same room but not speaking.
The lids remained on the trays as he drummed his fingers on the table. The scent of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots filled the air. His stomach growled as he pulled out his watch and checked it once more.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before Isobel strode into the room with her head held high. She barely glanced at him as she took her seat at the table, spreading her napkin across her lap.
Selene appeared near the door, standing off in the shadows. She was to be Isobel’s maid, but if she struggled to even get the Duchess to supper, Andrew wasn’t sure how well that arrangement would work.
His wife said nothing to him but smiled as the servants doled out food to her plate, whispering her thanks to them. He studied Isobel. After having met Lord Leyton, he hadn’t expected her to be the kind of woman who thanked the staff.
He admired this behavior. After the years he had been without, he had earned an appreciation for his staff and all the work they did.
“I hardly know any woman who dines with me and is willing to thank each individual who brings her food,” Andrew said, trying to goad her into a conversation.
“You must spend a great deal of time with the wrong women then,” Isobel said, a sharp edge to her voice.
They fell silent. Too quiet. Andrew disliked the silence. He cleared his throat and looked at her. “It was a good wedding day, was it not?”
“Surely you must be jesting.” Isobel put her fork and knife down a little harder than necessary. He had the urge to take the knife from her, not liking the look in her eyes.
“I’m not.”
Isobel scoffed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Tell me something, Your Grace. Does this wedding day of yours look like the freedom you promised me?”
He put his own cutlery to the side, trying to gauge what had happened between their dance this morning and now. “What is the problem?”
“I may be your wife, but that does not give you permission to govern me as you please,” she seethed, anger flashing in her eyes.
“I hardly ordered you to do anything.” Andrew turned his attention to Selene. “What was the message you delivered to the Duchess?”
Selene’s cheeks turned red as she looked between Andrew and Isobel. “I told Her Grace that she must join you for supper.”
Andrew nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind going to unpack the Duchess’ belongings while we dine?”
Though it was said like a question, the intention was clear.
He wanted her out of the room while he tried to explain the matter to Isobel.
He would not argue with her in front of the servants if he had a choice.
The last thing either of them needed was whispers about their marriage falling apart on the very day they were wed.
With a dip of her head, Selene left the room, scurrying out as if she was afraid of being called back in once more. Andrew could hardly blame her for that. While he doubted that Isobel had said anything to her, the anger rolling off the Duchess in waves was enough to suck all the air from the room.
"My request was not transferred correctly," Andrew said, though even as he spoke, he felt the old instinct rising—the need to maintain control, to manage every detail of his household the way he managed every detail of the Mayfair Fox. "I wouldn't deign to tell you what to do."
"Wouldn't you?" Isobel's eyes flashed. "Because it seems to me that ordering people about is what you do best. At your club, in your household, with me."
The words struck deeper than she likely intended. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" She set down her fork carefully. "You've built an empire on control, Andrew. On managing people, manipulating situations, ensuring everything runs according to your design. And now you expect me to simply fall in line like one of your employees or your patrons."
"I don't." He stopped, because there was truth in her words that he didn't want to examine.
The Mayfair Fox had taught him control. After watching his father destroy everything through lack of it—gambling away fortunes, seducing women without thought for consequences, drinking himself into oblivion—Andrew had sworn he would be different.
He would be disciplined. Controlled. Master of his domain.
And he'd succeeded--mostly. The club was proof. Every detail of the establishment was perfect, every operation ran smoothly, and every outcome turned out exactly as he designed it.
But Isobel wasn't a business to be managed.
"You're right," he said quietly, the admission costing him. "I am used to control. The Mayfair Fox requires it. But that doesn't mean I view you as something to overpower."
He leaned forward, needing her to understand. "The club isn't just a business to me. But you, Isobel, are important.”
"But not more important than the club."
It wasn't a question, and he couldn't bring himself to lie.
"The Mayfair Fox is part of who I am," he said carefully. "I can't simply set it aside, not without understanding what that means for me. But I'm here now, aren't I? I stayed away from the club all day and even had you summoned here so we could enjoy dinner together. I'm trying to find balance."
"Are you?" Her voice was quiet but firm. "Or are you just avoiding the club temporarily while you figure out how to have both without truly choosing either?"
The observation was too close to the truth. He stood, moving to the window to avoid her penetrating gaze.
He could feel her disappointment even with his back turned, but he couldn't give her the vulnerability she was asking for. Not yet. Not when he wasn't certain what it would cost him.
She continued, watching him carefully. "Who are you? Now that we are married, I deserve to know the truth. If the Mayfair Fox disappeared tomorrow, would there be anything left? Anyone left? Or would you just... vanish?"
He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that he was more than his business, more than his fear, more than his father's shadow.
But being there, looking into her knowing amber eyes, he wasn't certain.
Andrew turned his full attention on her. "I know you think I'm going to be a man like your father, but I'm not. I won’t squander my income or treat you abominably."
She pursed her lips before turning to her food, cutting a piece of the roast and eating it, not saying anything.
"I know everything that's going on inside of that head of yours right now, even if you would prefer to avoid it." Andrew's fingers brushed against hers, trying to draw her back to him.
Leaning away from him, she arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “You cannot possibly know what’s going on in my head.”
“I might,” he teased just so he could get another reaction out of her.
“Not a chance.” Isobel shuffled away from him in her seat.
It was going to be harder to win the bet with her if she had the control to keep shuffling away from him even when she shivered each time he touched her.
Still, he would win it and before long, she would beg for him. His name would fall from her lips like a siren song, and he would give her everything she was wishing for.
Andrew leaned back in his seat, draping one arm over the back of hers.
His long fingers brushed her shoulder, enjoying that slight shiver.
“I know that for your entire life, your father has manipulated you. I know that you put yourself between him and your sister, even if it was to your own detriment. I know he was willing to sell both of you to pay his debt and that must infuriate you.”
“Of course it would.” Isobel’s jaw gritted. “You hardly can proclaim to know what’s going on in my head. You were in the room with all three of us. You could glean what was happening.”
“You haven’t had a single good experience with a man due to him and the sniveling child you were engaged to prior.”
Isobel’s lips twitched. “Is that a fair assessment when you don’t know Lord Sinclair?”
“If a man is foolish enough to allow you to slip through their fingers, then I believe they deserve to be called far worse.” Andrew reached out, putting his fingers beneath her chin and turning her face until she was looking at him.
“Because of horrible men in your past, you find it impossible to feel safe with me.”
Her tongue darted out and wet her full bottom lip. He wanted to lean in and drag her lip between his teeth, nipping at her until he drew one of those addictive whimpers out of her.
“Are you about to make another savior speech?” she asked, her voice nearly breathless as she leaned into him a little.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Andrew brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You have made it quite clear that you’re interested in me being your ruin, not your savior. All you have to do is say the word.”
“Which would make you the enemy, would it not?” Her gaze searched his before dropping to his mouth.
Heat built between them. He wanted to lean in and claim her. There was no doubt in his mind that he could make the temptation great enough, but now wasn’t the time.
“I’m not your enemy. I would much rather prefer that we’re allies.” His thumb slipped just between her lips. The tip of her tongue flicked against it. As he bit back a groan, her soft sigh had him questioning his decision to not toy with her much that night.
“If we are allies, does that mean you’re going to stop seeing other women for me?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
He had to restrain a laugh. Leaning in, Andrew let his mouth hover inches from hers. Their gazes locked. “Are you jealous, wild cat?”
She pressed her lips together as he drew his thumb back slightly. “Would you give up the Mayfair Fox?”
Andrew withdrew from her completely. His hand dropped from her face. He slid back in his chair so there wasn’t a chance they would touch. “My business is my priority. It’s the most important thing in my life.”
There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes that came and went so quickly he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.
Isobel leaned into him, placing her hand on his cheek, her fingers trailing down the side of his neck and over his pulse, lingering there. “You and I will never be allies if the Mayfair Fox and your dalliances are your priorities.”
The brief flash of disappointment in her eyes stirred a different urge—a desire to prove he could be loyal, that he would not let temptation sway him.
He wanted to kiss her, lightly, a promise in gesture rather than possession.
If he had his way, she would be begging for him now, but the stubborn set to her jaw made it clear tonight was not the night.