“Thank you, Lady Kendrick. You’re as gracious as ever.” Lady Rebecca plastered a sickly-sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then murmured, “Unlike some.”
Isabella’s fists clenched, but Lady Rebecca was already walking away, arm-in-arm with her friend.
The crowd’s attention drifted back to the game, but the heat of anger that consumed Isabella was unlike anything she had felt before. She knew the unmarried status she bore bothered many in the ton as it drew the attention of gentlemen, yet she would not trap herself in a loveless match simply to please others.
Lady Kendrick placed a light hand on her arm, a rare softness in her stern gaze. “Do not let them see you ruffled, my dear. Anger is a temptation best contained, or it will undo the dignity you have so carefully maintained.”
Isabella met her gaze briefly, then let her jaw tighten. “Thank you, Lady Kendrick,” she said quietly, her tone polite yet icy. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Without another word, she spun on her heel, letting the hot surge of anger dictate her steps.
Each stride was longer, sharper than the last, carrying her past familiar corridors, down quiet hallways, and deeper into the townhouse, far from the ballroom’s prying eyes and judgmental whispers.
The echoes of laughter and applause faded behind her, replaced by the faint hush of empty halls.
Just as she thought she had put enough distance between herself and the world of polite society, a rhythmic pounding reached her ears.
What could that be?It was a steady, deliberate sound that stirred her curiosity despite herself. She followed it, her anger giving way to intrigue as she turned another narrow corner.
At last, the source revealed itself in a side section of the mansion, quieter, almost hidden. The pounding grew louder as she approached, emanating from behind a sturdy wooden door that stood ajar.
Tentatively, she pushed it open, the tips of her fingers pressing against the hard wood.
Inside, rows of chisels, planks, and half-finished furniture filled the space…
But it was the man at the center of it all who captured her attention.
Shirtless, with short black hair, he swung the hammer with precision, every muscle in his back and arms flexing painfully under the effort. He was so absorbed in his work that Isabella almost forgot to breathe. Gnarled scars crisscrossed over hisback, weaving a pattern that she yearned to trace with her fingers.
How did he get those scars?
Isabella was so mesmerized by the view before her that she hadn’t noticed she’d knocked over a plank in her haze.
Drat.
The man looked up from his work, dark grey eyes boring into hers.
“What are you doing here?” His deep voice almost smoldered like the burning embers of a fire.
Chapter Two
“What are you doing here?” He barked at her.
The deep words hung tightly between them, unconsciously binding them together as silence engulfed the space.
“I…” Isabella began, not because she had something to say but because she was overwhelmed with the need to say something.
Anything at all to distract herself from staring at him and the glistening muscles of his chest and arms.
Even sitting, his broad shoulders and wide chest left no doubt of his strength, the strands of dark hair sticking to his skin with sweat as he worked. The golden glow of his skin in the candlelight, streaked with smudges of sawdust and dirt, made him seem like some carved masterpiece—so commanding, so masculine that Isabella could not tear her eyes away.
She had never imagined a man so powerful and yet so strikingly beautiful.
As though sensing her gaze, he rose in a fluid motion and pulled the shirt, carefully hung on a nearby plank, over his head.
Isabella swallowed her sudden disappointment and hastily slipped her mask of composure back into place.
“For-forgive my manners, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She bowed her head slightly, all the while keeping her eyes steadily on him.
