"That's different."
"Is it? To her?" Norman leaned forward. "Andrew, I'm going to tell you something I learned the hard way: you cannot have it all. You need to choose your priorities. And whatever you choose, there will be consequences."
"That's not helpful."
"It's honest." Norman picked up his own glass. "When's the last time you thought about another woman? Before Isobel, I mean. When's the last time any of your other former... companions... crossed your mind?"
Andrew opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.
He couldn't remember.
Even before the marriage, since the moment he'd proposed, every woman he'd encountered had seemed pale and uninteresting compared to his feral darling. The thought of anyone else touching him the way Isobel had, with fire and frustration and an honesty that left him raw, was impossible to imagine.
Norman's laugh was knowing. "That's what I thought."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're already far deeper in than you realize." Norman raised his glass in a mock toast. "Welcome to matrimony, cousin. Where every certainty you ever had goes up in flames, and somehow you're grateful for it."
Andrew stared at him. "That's not it. I'm not grateful."
"Keep telling yourself that." Norman's smile was infuriatingly haughty. "But I give it another week before you're completely undone by that woman. Two at most."
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Someone should." Norman drained his glass. "Now go home to your wife. And for God's sake, actually talk to her instead of avoiding her like a coward."
Andrew stood outside his own bedchamber door, every instinct warring within him.
It was nearly two in the morning. Isobel would be asleep by now. He should retire to his own chambers, get some rest, perhaps attempt a proper conversation with her tomorrow over breakfast.
But his hand was already reaching for the door handle.
He pushed it open quietly, intending only to check that she was well, and make certain that she had everything she needed.
He froze.
Isobel sat in the chair by his fireplace, still fully dressed, a book open in her lap though her eyes were closed. The firelight painted gold across her features, softening the sharp edges of her pride into something almost peaceful.
She must have been waiting for him.
"What a pleasant surprise," he said softly.
Her eyes snapped open, and there was that fire he'd been craving. "I want to talk."
He closed the door behind him, noting the determined set of her jaw. "Very well. What's on your mind, Duchess?"
She stood, setting the book aside with deliberate care. "We have been living under the same roof more like competitors than allies or husband and wife. This cannot continue."
"I rather thought you enjoyed our competitions." He moved closer, drawn by that invisible thread that always seemed to pull him toward her.
"I don't enjoy being ignored." Her voice was steady and he marveled at how easily she shook off sleep and fell right into a serious mode of conversation. "If we are to make this arrangement work, we need... rules."
"Rules." Andrew felt his mouth curve into a smile. "I hate rules."
"I'm aware."
"However," he continued, stopping just in front of her, close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat, "with you, Duchess, perhaps rules could be... entertaining."
