Isobel lifted her chin. "Do I? Because all I know is that my husband of one week prefers the company of his gambling house to his own wife. What else am I to think?"
"Perhaps that I'm trying very hard not to..." He trailed off, jaw clenching.
"Not to what?"
"Nothing. It's late. You should retire." He turned to continue up the stairs.
"Andrew, wait. Please." The plea slipped out unbidden, and they both froze at the intimacy of it. She hadn't asked him for anything so specifically or imploringly until this moment.
He stopped but didn't turn around.
She climbed another step, close enough now to smell the brandy on his breath mixed with that forest-rain scent that seemed to cling to him. "I know what it's like to have a difficult father."
His shoulders tensed.
"I know what it means to carry burdens that aren't yours to carry," she continued softly. "To feel responsible for fixing what others have broken. It must have been painful, rebuilding everything alone."
"I wasn't alone." His voice was rough. "I had Mrs. Brendan and my cousins. "
"But you were alone in the ways that mattered." Isobel moved closer, her hand hovering near his back before she thought better of touching him. "No one else could bear the weight of restoring your family's name. That was yours alone."
He let out a long breath, his head dropping forward. "Do you know what the worst part was?"
"Tell me."
"Every day, I would look in the mirror and search for him. For any sign that I was becoming him." Andrew's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "The gambling, the drinking, the women—I watched him destroy everything our family had built overgenerations. And I was terrified that one day I would wake up and realize I had become exactly what I despised."
"But you didn't." Isobel's chest tightened at the raw pain in his voice. She had not the heart to tell him the truth. From what she knew, Andrew did gamble, drink, and consort with various women. Instead of reminding him of those facts and forcing him to face what he had become, she searched his weary eyes and told the story she knew he needed to hear. "You built something from nothing. You succeeded where he failed."
"Did I?" He laughed, though there was an edge to it. "The Mayfair Fox used to be the most sought-after establishment in London. Now I see empty tables on nights when the place should be full. Patrons who once fought for membership now avoid my gaze at social events." He turned to face her. "My reputation isn't ruined, but it's tarnished. And in our world, perception is everything."
"So, you married me to restore that perception. Allow time and our bond to…"
"I married because it was the smart move." Andrew's tone was matter-of-fact and controlled. "The club is profitable. Very profitable. But it could be more. It should be what it was—the premier destination, not just another gambling house."
"And me?"
"You are my wife. A beautiful, intelligent woman who happens to challenge me at every turn." A ghost of his usual smirk appeared."I rather enjoy it, actually. You’re not like the others. You don’t simper or fawn."
"That's not what I asked."
Andrew's jaw tightened. "The club has been my life for twelve years. Everything I've built, everything I've accomplished—it all stems from that establishment. I won't apologize for prioritizing my business dealings."
"No one's asking you to apologize." Isobel leaned forward. "But Andrew, if you keep holding everyone at arm's length, including me, you're going to end up alone. Wealthy, successful, and completely alone."
"Better alone than destroyed," Andrew said coolly.
He’d been avoiding her since that night they were supposed to have dinner in his study.
She had planned to speak to him candidly about Joan’s future and try to better understand what she might expect from him going forward. But the Duke did not meet her on that occasion. And he did not share breakfast with her the next morning, either.
While she stewed over what was to become of her and her sister, Andrew caroused at his gaming hell and did things Isobel could not fathom.
He comes home drunk. Smelling of brandy and…
She leaned in slightly, catching another scent beneath the alcohol—perfume. Something floral and cloying that definitely wasn't hers.
The ache in her chest turned to ice.
