Eleanor nodded, a smile stretching. “I did get you a present.”
“Well, we’ll get back to that later. But for now, I’d love to take my beautiful wife here into the ballroom and dance with her. It would be a shame to let the musicians’ hard work go to waste,” he said suddenly.
The Duke’s fingers brushed against Isobel’s back again, right at the small sliver of skin from the slight dip at the back of the dress. She shivered against her will when his fingers caressed one of the miniscule buttons, sending a flood of warmth going through her body.
He chuckled. “Duchess, if you will?”
He held his hand out in front of her and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand into his. With an easy smile, he pulled her to her feet and led her out of the dining room and into the ballroom.
“I do love a waltz,” he said, his voice husky as he spun her beneath his arm before pulling her back.
With their bodies angled close together, his hand pressed to the small of her back and his other hand clasping hers, it was hardto think straight. She should be angry at him for leaving her throughout breakfast.
But all she felt was gratitude. She appreciated this man for showing up when her father had almost ruined the day. And now, the Duke spun her around the room, holding her like she was precious to him.
When he was that close to her, it was hard to remember that she was supposed to keep her distance from him, especially with each plane of his muscled body pressed against hers, making it all too easy for her to think about what he would look like in those most intimate moments.
It was too easy to forget herself. To lose herself in those ocean eyes and the fantasy of being wanted by someone like the Duke of Foxdrey.
He is only doing this for the sake of his gaming hell. To him, our marriage is nothing but another wager to win.
Fourteen
Andrew couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made him feel so restless.
He paced back and forth across the dining room, hoping it would be enough to shake the desire coursing through his veins. It had been hours since he and Isobel danced together and yet all he could think of was having her in his arms again.
Winning the wager was going to be more difficult than he thought.
Even when he knew his new wife was fuming due to his distance at breakfast, he found it hard not to want to be around her. However, the distance was to give her space to enjoy her day.
Isobel’s heart could use a little fondness where he was concerned, he was sure of it.
Andrew checked the time on his pocket watch once more. “Where is the Duchess?”
“Would you like me to fetch her?” a maid, Selene, asked, her soft French accent lilting.
“Please tell her that I would like her to join me.” Andrew paced his way to the head of the table, pulling out the chair and sitting down as trays of food were brought out and placed in the center.
Selene dipped her head before turning and heading out of the room, leaving him alone to wonder what kind of mood his bride would be in. He was hoping that she would have missed him after spending most of the day in the same room but not speaking.
The lids remained on the trays as he drummed his fingers on the table. The scent of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots filled the air. His stomach growled as he pulled out his watch and checked it once more.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before Isobel strode into the room with her head held high. She barely glanced at him as she took her seat at the table, spreading her napkin across her lap.
Selene appeared near the door, standing off in the shadows. She was to be Isobel’s maid, but if she struggled to even get the Duchess to supper, Andrew wasn’t sure how well that arrangement would work.
His wife said nothing to him but smiled as the servants doled out food to her plate, whispering her thanks to them. He studied Isobel. After having met Lord Leyton, he hadn’t expected her to be the kind of woman who thanked the staff.
He admired this behavior. After the years he had been without, he had earned an appreciation for his staff and all the work they did.
“I hardly know any woman who dines with me and is willing to thank each individual who brings her food,” Andrew said, trying to goad her into a conversation.
“You must spend a great deal of time with the wrong women then,” Isobel said, a sharp edge to her voice.
They fell silent. Too quiet. Andrew disliked the silence. He cleared his throat and looked at her. “It was a good wedding day, was it not?”
“Surely you must be jesting.” Isobel put her fork and knife down a little harder than necessary. He had the urge to take the knife from her, not liking the look in her eyes.
