The duke frowned, his eyes hardening as he guided her to the closest cushioned seat.
“How do you feel? Do you want me to call on Mr. Charles?” He asked, his face now etched with concern.
Lady Kendrick shook her head. “Heed this old woman’s request. I would ask for nothing more.”
The ’duke’s jaw twitched for a moment, evidence of his disapproval. “Marguerite,” he growled in warning.
Lady Kendrick stood upright, as though nothing had happened at all. “Please, my boy. It’s the thing I desire most.”
The duke narrowed his eyes at her, not speaking. After a long pause, he finally nodded.
“Fine. But only on the condition that you both will keep this venture out of my way.”
And with that, he stormed out of the room.
Isabella hurried toward the Dowager; her hand clasping Lady Kendrick’s in bright excitement.
“Now, you must return soon, my dear, so we may begin preparations for our club,” the older lady said, her eyes sparkling with amusement and anticipation.
Isabella nodded eagerly and was soon escorted from the mansion to her carriage.
“There you are. All is well with Lady Kendrick?” Christine asked with a soft smile.
“Yes. Everything is in order for us to begin,” Isabella answered.
Then, her gaze drifted to the tall silhouette at the window, watching her with an intensity that sent a flutter through her chest.
But as quickly as she noticed him, the duke was gone, vanishing like a shadow the instant she tried to focus on him.
Her mind raced with curiosity and a twinge of frustration, even as the carriage rolled onward.
And a secret part of her yearned to have that dark gaze upon her once more.
Chapter Four
“There you are, my friend.” Cassian groaned, rolling his eyes as his friend, Tristan Willingham, the Marquess of Haskett, approached him with a wave in his direction.
He’d gone in search of liquor to soothe his troubled mind and ended up in a pub filled with dozens of people, who smelled like ale and stale cigars. He had already begun to regret his decision to come when familiar whispers had followed his path all the way to his table.
The stolen duke.
He hated the name almost as much as he hated the incident that had caused it.
Men stole glances in his direction with veiled expressions of concern. It did not seem to matter how long it had been since hisreturn to London; the stories of his past still followed him day and night.
He could not quite pinpoint exactly what troubled him, yet he had not been able to sleep ever since that night of the fencing match. For some reason, his nightmares had grown worse.
More so, he did not want to think of it, because deep down, he knew that behind the many issues he had at hand, he would most definitely find a certain blue-eyed lady with thick brown curls, staring up at him as though he were a raging beast.
What does she think of me?
The thought troubled him more than he cared to admit.
“I must say, I was quite worried when you sent word to my residence to meet with you here. However, gazing upon you so, it seems your heart must be greatly troubled if you couldn’t wait and began drinking without me,” Tristan observed and took the seat on the right of Cassian, his light brown hair flopping to the side as he took a seat, his lean frame strikingly smaller than his friend’s.
Cassian didn’t confirm or deny Tristan’s words. He simply finished the remains of his drink, clenching his fingers around the glass as the amber liquid burned his throat.
“I’ll take that as a confirmation, my friend.” Tristan nudged his side and continued, “Tell me then, what troubles you? Can I be of any help?”
