Chapter 17 #2
But his hand was already reaching for the door handle.
He pushed it open quietly, intending only to check that she was well, and make certain that she had everything she needed.
He froze.
Isobel sat in the chair by his fireplace, still fully dressed, a book open in her lap though her eyes were closed. The firelight painted gold across her features, softening the sharp edges of her pride into something almost peaceful.
She must have been waiting for him.
"What a pleasant surprise," he said softly.
Her eyes snapped open, and there was that fire he'd been craving. "I want to talk."
He closed the door behind him, noting the determined set of her jaw. "Very well. What's on your mind, Duchess?"
She stood, setting the book aside with deliberate care. "We have been living under the same roof more like competitors than allies or husband and wife. This cannot continue."
"I rather thought you enjoyed our competitions." He moved closer, drawn by that invisible thread that always seemed to pull him toward her.
"I don't enjoy being ignored." Her voice was steady and he marveled at how easily she shook off sleep and fell right into a serious mode of conversation. "If we are to make this arrangement work, we need... rules."
"Rules." Andrew felt his mouth curve into a smile. "I hate rules."
"I'm aware."
"However," he continued, stopping just in front of her, close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat, "with you, Duchess, perhaps rules could be... entertaining."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you make everything sound like an invitation to sin." But there was no real heat in her words, just exasperation and something else, something that made his blood warm.
"My apologies." He wasn't sorry at all. "Please, continue with your rules."
Isobel took a breath, gathering herself. "We should get to know each other better. To improve our... coexistence. Therefore, once every week, we should do something together. Attend social events. Show the ton that we are a proper married couple."
Andrew studied her carefully. There was more here than she was saying. "And what prompted this sudden desire for my company? On our wedding night, you could barely stand to be summoned to share a meal with me."
"On our wedding night, I was still adjusting to being married."
"And now?"
"Now I realize whether I like it or not, we are bound together.
We might as well make the best of it." She met his gaze.
"My sister needs to find a suitable match.
She requires a chaperone at social events, and I wish to be there by her side.
But if I attend alone, people will talk.
They'll wonder where my husband is and ask outright why he's not accompanying me. "
There it was. The real reason behind her proposal.
Isobel's hands twisted together. "If people start whispering again, like they did at our wedding…"
"Have you been listening to those whispers?" The question came out sharper than he'd intended. "Do you care what they say?"
"Of course I care!" She stepped toward him, her composure cracking. "Those whispers can ruin someone's life. They can destroy reputations, prospects, and entire futures. You should know that better than anyone. The censure of the ton was what forced you to marry me in the first place."
The words hung between them, heavy with accusation and truth.
Andrew felt something shift in his chest. He'd been so focused on his own fears, his own struggles with their arrangement, that he hadn't fully considered what it cost her.
To walk into ballrooms knowing people whispered about her.
To bear the weight of social judgment while trying to secure a better future for her sister.
She was braver than he'd given her credit for.
"So, you want me to help your sister find a suitor," he said slowly. "And silence any murmurs about our marriage in the process."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.
He expected her to bargain, to beg, or even to offer something in return. Instead, she simply stood there, chin raised, waiting for his answer with a dignity that made his chest ache.
To hell with distance. To hell with restraint.
Andrew closed the space between them in two steps, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck as he pulled her into a kiss.
She made a small sound of surprise, then melted into him, her hands clutching at his coat as if she needed something to anchor herself.
His breath hitched before he kissed her again, deeper this time, as though the restraint he always wore had snapped clean in two.
“Isobel,” he breathed against her mouth, his voice rough, undone. “God—”
He pressed her back against the wall, his hands framing her waist to hold her—not trap her, but ground her. Her fingers threaded into his hair, and he felt her respond to him, urgent and needy.
Andrew’s sigh broke against her mouth, part relief, part surrender. His hands slid up her ribs, stopping before they went too far, each movement a fight against himself. When he finally pulled back, both were breathing hard.
“Consider it done,” he murmured. “I’ll accompany you to whatever events you wish. We’ll ensure Joan finds a worthy match.”
He watched for her reaction, noting the flash of surprise in her eyes. Before she could respond further, he stepped back.
“You should go to your room now,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.
Confusion and disbelief flashed in her gaze. “What?”
“If you stay much longer, Duchess, I won’t be able to let you leave.” He forced himself to turn away, to put distance between them before his control shattered completely. “I promised to wait until you asked. Until you begged.”
“You’re sending me away?” Her tone held disbelief, almost challenge.
“I’m protecting us both,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Because if I touch you again tonight, I won’t stop. And you’re not ready for that yet.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and wild.
She moved toward the door, pausing to glance back once. Andrew caught the soft tilt of her head, the parting of her lips, the unspoken words. “You’re more complicated than I expected, Your Grace,” she said.
“Andrew,” he corrected softly. “When we’re alone, call me Andrew.”
She nodded, and slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with the ghost of her warmth and the certain knowledge that Norman had been absolutely right. He was already undone.