Beatrice’s expression softened into something tender and understanding. “Perhaps you are thinking too hard about what you should feel and not enough about what you do feel.”
Isabella looked away. “Perhaps it would be best if I simply stay clear of him altogether. I cannot endure another moment with him like that.”
Beatrice seemed unconvinced, but she did not argue. Instead, she gave Isabella’s arm a squeeze and said softly, “If distance gives you peace, then take it. But please consider the fact that you may not dislike him as much as you would like to think you do.”
Isabella nodded, though her chest did not feel the least bit at peace.
By late afternoon, the family returned home, but Isabella’s thoughts remained in turmoil. She resolved she would keep her distance from the duke.
She might enjoy Lady Kendrick’s company, and she certainly would not abandon the Laurel Club, but she would refuse to let the Duke of Everthorne consume her thoughts unnecessarily. Even if that meant that she would be denying the longing that had suddenly taken hold.
A longing that she refused to acknowledge meant anything at all.
Chapter Eleven
Cassian sat hunched over his desk in his study, trying, but failing, to focus on his work. The ink on his documents had already dried in uneven patches, evidence of how long he had been staring at the same page without absorbing a single word.
Lady Isabella had haunted his mind ever since she had slipped under his arm and raced from his presence. What had she thought of the kiss? She certainly had not resisted in any way, shape, or form.
On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy the encounter as much as he had. The feeling of her body responding beneath his touch still seared into the tips of his fingers as she sat back irritably and allowed his quill to fall to the side.
How can I banish her from my mind?
He looked around irritably, wanting a distraction from his thoughts.
Michael stood at the side of the desk, finishing his verbal report of the household.
“And Lady Kendrick?” Cassian asked absently, only hearing half of the matters regarding the running of the house. He had not spoken to his grandmother since their argument, but he had been avoiding eating his meals in her presence as well.
Michael hesitated. “I… have not quite seen her, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat almost uncomfortably.
Cassian stilled, then he rose abruptly, pushing aside the parchment on his desk as he strode out of the room.
He had regretted raising his voice to his grandmother, but there was no reason for her to hide from him.
He walked swiftly through the corridor, each step echoing with dread he refused to name, until he reached his grandmother’s chamber and rapped sharply on her door.
“Grandmother?” he called before pushing the door open.
Lady Kendrick sat on a chair near the window, her back slightly bent, her features arranged in a frown. When she turned her face, Cassian felt a sharp crack inside his chest.
She looked defeated, and it was his doing.
“I upset you,” he said quietly, feeling the former anger drain from his chest.
She said nothing, but her eyes shimmered faintly.
Cassian felt a pang of guilt coincide with the regret in his chest.
“You must see it from my perspective,” he said. “A show of unclothed, dancing men is hardly something one expects to see organized by one’s grandmother.” He averted his gaze, not daring to enter her chambers until she showed signs of forgiving him.
His grandmother nodded, her sad eyes locked on her intertwined fingers.
He loathed seeing her like that.
Damn it.
Cassian let out a long sigh. “You may continue your club. As long as it does not involve partially naked men in my house, you may do as you please. However, this is only because I would rather keep the club running than have you remain in this room and not eat anything in protest. Your health matters to me, even if you are intent on defying me at every turn.”
