"I know everything that's going on inside of that head of yours right now, even if you would prefer to avoid it." Andrew's fingers brushed against hers, trying to draw her back to him.
Leaning away from him, she arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “You cannot possibly know what’s going on in my head.”
“I might,” he teased just so he could get another reaction out of her.
“Not a chance.” Isobel shuffled away from him in her seat.
It was going to be harder to win the bet with her if she had the control to keep shuffling away from him even when she shivered each time he touched her.
Still, he would win it and before long, she would beg for him. His name would fall from her lips like a siren song, and he would give her everything she was wishing for.
Andrew leaned back in his seat, draping one arm over the back of hers. His long fingers brushed her shoulder, enjoying that slight shiver. “I know that for your entire life, your father has manipulated you. I know that you put yourself between him and your sister, even if it was to your own detriment. I know he was willing to sell both of you to pay his debt and that must infuriate you.”
“Of course it would.” Isobel’s jaw gritted. “You hardly can proclaim to know what’s going on in my head. You were in the room with all three of us. You could glean what was happening.”
“You haven’t had a single good experience with a man due to him and the sniveling child you were engaged to prior.”
Isobel’s lips twitched. “Is that a fair assessment when you don’t know Lord Sinclair?”
“If a man is foolish enough to allow you to slip through their fingers, then I believe they deserve to be called far worse.” Andrew reached out, putting his fingers beneath her chin and turning her face until she was looking at him. “Because of horrible men in your past, you find it impossible to feel safe with me.”
Her tongue darted out and wet her full bottom lip. He wanted to lean in and drag her lip between his teeth, nipping at her until he drew one of those addictive whimpers out of her.
“Are you about to make another savior speech?” she asked, her voice nearly breathless as she leaned into him a little.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Andrew brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You have made it quite clear that you’re interested in me being your ruin, not your savior. All you have to do is say the word.”
“Which would make you the enemy, would it not?” Her gaze searched his before dropping to his mouth.
Heat built between them. He wanted to lean in and claim her. There was no doubt in his mind that he could make the temptation great enough, but now wasn’t the time.
“I’m not your enemy. I would much rather prefer that we’re allies.” His thumb slipped just between her lips. The tip of her tongue flicked against it. As he bit back a groan, her soft sigh had him questioning his decision to not toy with her much that night.
“If we are allies, does that mean you’re going to stop seeing other women for me?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
He had to restrain a laugh. Leaning in, Andrew let his mouth hover inches from hers. Their gazes locked. “Are you jealous, wild cat?”
She pressed her lips together as he drew his thumb back slightly. “Would you give up the Mayfair Fox?”
Andrew withdrew from her completely. His hand dropped from her face. He slid back in his chair so there wasn’t a chance they would touch. “My business is my priority. It’s the most important thing in my life.”
There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes that came and went so quickly he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.
Isobel leaned into him, placing her hand on his cheek, her fingers trailing down the side of his neck and over his pulse, lingering there. “You and I will never be allies if the Mayfair Fox and your dalliances are your priorities.”
The brief flash of disappointment in her eyes stirred a different urge—a desire to prove he could be loyal, that he would not let temptation sway him. He wanted to kiss her, lightly, a promise in gesture rather than possession. If he had his way, she would be begging for him now, but the stubborn set to her jaw made it clear tonight was not the night.
Fifteen
Isobel sat up in the soft sheets of her bed. She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling a distinct pit in the bottom of her stomach.
Supper had hardly gone according to plan last night and now she was expected to face Andrew at breakfast.
There was a knock on the door before it eased open slightly. The maid from last night, Selene, popped her head into the chambers.
“Your Grace, would you like to get ready for breakfast or would you rather take it in your room this morning?”
Isobel glanced at the little table with the dining chairs in front of the massive window. It was appealing to spend the day in her room and avoid having to talk about the night prior, but she would have to face her new husband sooner or later.
