“Yes, marriage. I shall come to Ironstone house to discuss the marriage contract, but please, do enjoy the rest of your evening. If you’ll excuse me,” he said and bowed, the motion crisp and almost curt.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, disappearing around the bend before her father could form another word.
Silence had dropped behind him like a curtain, even all the way home. The carriage ride was an uncomfortable one, and when they arrived home, her father barely waited for the footman to open the door before rounding on Isabella.
“What on earth,” he exclaimed, pacing before the drawing room fireplace with agitation, “has just happened at Everthorne house?” he shook his head angrily as if the motion alone could turn back time.
Isabella clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking as she sat up straight.
“Father,” she began carefully, “the duke and I… have had an understanding for some time. Thanks to Lady Kendrick. Therefore, marriage seemed a practical?—”
“Practical?” Edwin thundered. “Since when have you sought marriage?” He turned to Christine, bewildered. “Did you know of this?”
Christine, to her credit, kept her tone soothing. “My dearest, perhaps her time under Lady Kendrick’s guidance has brought about a… change of heart.” She finished confidently, shooting Isabella a warning glance.
“Yes,” Isabella said quickly, seizing the lifeline. The situation had to be handled as delicately as possible if her father was expected to keep his cool. “Exactly that.”
Her father ran a hand through his hair in disbelief, looking like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle. “I simply do not understand. You never showed interest in any suitor. Not a single one. And now the Duke of Everthorne? The two of you are nothing alike.”
Isabella swallowed. The truth, that she had been compromised, lodged in her throat like a stone, but she refrained from saying a word.
“I have had a very long evening,” she said quietly. “May I please be excused? We may discuss the matter further in the morning.”
He stared at her, worry softening his frustration. Christine touched his arm gently, silently urging him to relent. He sighed.
“Very well. We shall… discuss this further in the morning.”
Isabella nodded gratefully and escaped before her trembling gave her away.
Outside in the hallway, she leaned against the closed door, pressing her fingers into the coolness of the wood.
Images of the duke’s head moving subtly beneath her skirt flooded her mind. He had caressed her with his tongue, pleased her in ways she had not thought were possible.
Her skin suddenly flushed hot again as she raised a hand to her breast, the same breast he had squeezed after finishing her off.
He asked me to marry him.
The thought startled her from the reverie.
And I, accepted?
It was almost too difficult for her to breathe as she sucked in a sharp breath. How would it be between them once they were married? Had he not said that their first kiss had been a mistake? A moment of weakness?
Anger flared in her chest as she raised her fists, burying her fingers in her hair as she silently stifled a scream.
The man was driving her insane with his changing moods and contradictory actions. He had almost ruined her, but she had allowed it. Had she not pushed her head deeper between her thighs and groaned in pleasure? None of it would have happened if she had only stopped him in his tracks.
Her heart stilled again for a moment as a simple question floated into her mind.
Do I love him?
She had spent so much time questioning his intentions and affections that she had not paused enough to question her own.
Chapter Eighteen
By the next morning, the entire ton seemed to know. And before noon, Beatrice and Leo arrived, with Beatrice practically bursting through the entryway.
“Where is she?” Beatrice demanded before even removing her cloak and handing it to a maid.
