He leaned closer.
She remained silent. Her shoulder blades rested against the wall at her back, and she knew if he moved even a fraction of an inch nearer, their lips would touch.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his hand coming up to rest on the shelf beside her head, "and I will."
"I know," she whispered. And that simple acknowledgment, that she trusted him to stop if she asked, made her chest tighten with something far more pressing than desire. “You’re not going to start this again.”
Her mouth went dry as his hand left her jaw and found her waist, holding her in place.
“You’re right,” he said, voice low, lips brushing over hers slightly. “I’m not going to start this again. I have other matters I must attend to.”
It would be nothing at all for her to lean forward just a hair and press their bodies together. She would be able to feel the ridges of muscle, the heat of his skin. If she were only to lift herself to her toes, she could close the distance between them and kiss him.
Focus, Isobel. You’re not supposed to be giving in to his game and that’s all this is to him. Your feelings will never be real to him. Not when he’s still chasing around other women and working at the Mayfair Fox.
“Where will you be?” she asked, an idea of what he was doing with his day already in her mind. The thought of him being at the Mayfair Fox was enough to quell some of the desire running through her veins.
“Out,” he said, the stern tone suggesting that she would receive no more details on the matter. His body finally pressed into hers.
With every ounce of willpower she had, she gripped the wall behind her, resisting the urge to run her fingers through the messy strands of his hair.
His gaze searched hers for a moment, fire burning bright between them. “Unless you have something to say that would make me want to stay?”
Isobel pressed her lips together. The thought of giving in and just asking him to kiss her was tantalizing. She could already feel his hands as they squeezed her waist, holding her close while his lips slanted against hers.
It was hard to think straight with his body pressed against hers, but she couldn’t give in. Shewouldn’tgive in.
She put her hands on his chest, fingers aching to trace the planes of his body. Instead, she pushed him back a step gently, confidently seizing the power in their relationship.
“You may as well go to your club.” Isobel sidestepped away from him, heading for the door. “I have breakfast to attend.”
With her head held high, she strode out of the room, leaving him standing there.
Isobel nearly crowed with delight when she snuck a glance at him over her shoulder and saw the shocked look on his face. She felt like she had the upper hand, but she knew with the way theDuke operated, it would likely only be a matter of time until she lost control again.
There was something appealing about losing to him, as much as she didn’t want to admit it.
“Your Grace,” Selene said, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. “Your breakfast is in the conservatory this morning. Mrs. Brendan thought you might like it best in there.”
“Thank you,” Isobel said, looking at the halls spreading from the foyer. “Which way is the conservatory?”
“Right this way.” Selene led the way down one of the halls, past the drawing room and library and out a set of doors at the end of the hall.
The walls of the room were glass. Plants grew wildly around the room, making the space look like a lush tropical garden as sun shone in from the glass roof above. Isobel eyed the little table toward the far corner of the room where a full array of breakfast items was already spread out there.
“Selene, please ask Mrs. Brendan to come join me. I’d like to speak with her about my duties while having breakfast.”
Isobel looked at the soft blue and white striped couches in the middle of the room, and admired a polished wood table between them, before going to the corner and sitting down. She lifted thecover off her food, her mouth watering at the sight of fruit and some sausage.
As she dug into her breakfast, an older woman entered the room and curtsied before approaching the table.
“Your Grace,” the woman said with a warm smile, the corners of her eyes and mouth wrinkling, gray hairs showing from beneath the cap she wore. “Selene fetched me and said you would like to speak. I’m Mrs. Brendan, the housekeeper.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Isobel sliced into the sausage and speared it with her fork. “I would be grateful if you would sit and tell me about my duties as Duchess. I’m afraid I only have a faint idea of how to run a household.”
Mrs. Brendan looked unsure for a moment, glancing between the other chair and Isobel before finally sitting down. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
As Isobel ate, Mrs. Brendan told her about the staff members and the schedule the household ran on. There was little chance that Isobel would remember it all, but she hoped in time it would become easier.
