He moved forward, matching her retreat step for step.
Her back hit the door. She expected him to say something, but he remained quiet and watchful. She eyed him cooly, then continued, "So, I can also go out at night?"
Andrew's hand came up, bracing against the wood beside her head, his body a wall of heat in front of her. "What could you possibly need to find in the night that I can't offer you here?"
"That's not—" Her breath hitched as his free hand found her waist.
"Answer the question, Isobel." His voice dropped to that low, rough tone that made her knees weak. "What are you searching for out there that you can't find with me?"
"I'm not the one going out every night." She pressed her palms flat against the door, resisting the urge to touch him. "You are. Which makes me ask that exact question myself. What areyouseeking out there? What's keeping you away?"
His jaw clenched. "Work."
"Work." She let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
"What exactly are you accusing me of, Duchess?" Curiosity edged his words.
"I'm asking what you do every night at that club of yours." Isobel met his gaze. "Who you see. Who you?—"
Andrew stepped closer instead of answering. His mouth brushed her neck first, slow and deliberate, before drifting to her ear.
"Does it matter what I do?" he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Do you care about the other people I meet?”
He lingered there just long enough for her breath to hitch.
"Have you missed having me here at home with you?"
His mouth captured hers, stealing her words, her breath, and her thoughts. The kiss was fierce, claiming, a brand that marked her as his even as she tried to remain angry.
She made a sound—protest or surrender, she couldn't tell—and reached for his lips, wanting to take back control, to show him she wouldn't be distracted by?—
She gasped, and only then did he pull back, his eyes gleaming with unmistakable amusement at her reaction.
"Ask for it," he said, his eyes dark with want.
"What?" The word came out dazed.
"Ask me to kiss you properly." His thumb brushed her bottom lip, the touch feather-light and maddening. "Say the words, Isobel. Tell me what you want."
She stared at him, her entire body trembling with need and frustration and something else she didn't want to name. Hewas testing her. Still playing their game even now, when she desperately needed real answers.
"Are you seeing other women?"
The question hung between them, sharp and painful. She needed an answer.
Andrew's expression shifted, the heat in his eyes giving way to something that looked almost like hurt. "No."
"No?" She searched his face for any sign of deception. "That's all you have to say? Just no?"
"What else would you have me say?" His hand dropped from the door, leaving cold air in its wake. "I told you I would be faithful, and I meant it."
"Then why do you reek of perfume when you come home?"
He blinked, genuine confusion crossing his features. "Perfume?"
"Don't lie to me, Andrew. I smelled it. Last week, when you came home drunk. You smelled like brandy and a woman’s perfume. So, either you're bathing in it at your club, or?—"
"Or I was settling a dispute between two of my employees." Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Lady Holford and a waitress got into an argument. The waitress threw her perfume at LadyHolford, the bottle shattered, and the entire room reeked of roses for hours. I had to physically separate them, which meant I ended up covered in the damn stuff too."
