She gave a small, almost reluctant smile. “Well. Then I shall continue doing so.”
Andrew nodded, feeling something shift. “Good. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He stepped back onto the gaming floor, watching as she strode off to address another issue. He didn’t feel the urge to intervene.
For the first time… he trusted someone else with the club.
Andrew grabbed his coat and stepped out into the cold night air.
The ride home in his carriage should have cleared his head. Instead, it only made things worse.
With each step, the pull toward his house, towardher, grew stronger. It was irrational, this need to see Isobel, to hear her voice even if she was only hurling insults at him. But rationality had abandoned him somewhere around the third day of their marriage.
I should go straight home. She might still be awake. I could knock on her door. We could talk...
No. He couldn't. Because if he knocked on that door and she answered in her dressing gown with her hair loose and those amber eyes still sharp despite the late hour, he wasn't certain he'd have the strength to keep his promise. To wait for her to come to him willingly.
His feet carried him past his own street and toward Norman's townhouse instead.
The door was opened by a footman, who looked momentarily startled before bowing.
“The Duke of Foxdrey,” he announced, stepping aside.
Norman appeared in the doorway behind him, still dressed despite the late hour. "Andrew? What are you doing here?"
"I need a drink."
Norman studied him for a moment, then stepped aside. "Come in."
They settled in Norman's study, glasses of whiskey in hand. Norman waited patiently while Andrew stared into his glass, searching for words that wouldn't make him sound like a complete fool.
"You know you cannot continue these nightly escapades," Norman said finally, his tone gentle but firm.
"I'm not having escapades."
"Seems to me that you are." Norman leaned back in his chair." And you are running from something. Or someone. Given that you just got married, I'm going to assume it's your wife."
Andrew took a long drink. "I'm not running."
Norman's voice held a note of exasperation. "What's really going on?"
"I don't know!" The words burst out of him. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Norman. I wanted a convenientarrangement, something simple and beneficial to us both. But nothing about Isobel is simple. And somehow that makes me want her more."
"So, you're hiding at your club?"
"I'm maintaining the business that defines who I am," Andrew shot back. "The Mayfair Fox is everything I've built. It's proof that I'm not my father, that I can succeed where he failed. Without it, I'm nothing."
"You truly believe that?" Norman shook his head. "You're more than your business, Andrew. You always have been."
"Am I?" Andrew set his glass down harder than necessary. "Then tell me who I am without it. Because I don't know."
“You are one of the hardest-working people I know. You are determined, smart, and have a knack for charming others.” Norman was quiet for a moment. "But you're also afraid."
"I'm not. I want to make her trust me," he said quietly. "I want her to feel safe with me, to know that I'm not her father or any of the other men who've controlled her. But how can I do that when the two things that define me are the very things she despises? The club she sees as a scourge, and the women, though I haven't touched another woman since I proposed."
"Haven't you?" Norman's eyebrow arched. "Because from what Kitty tells me, you've been spending an awful lot of time at said club. Gossip goes around a lot."
