Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you make everything sound like an invitation to sin." But there was no real heat in her words, just exasperation and something else, something that made his blood warm.
"My apologies." He wasn't sorry at all. "Please, continue with your rules."
Isobel took a breath, gathering herself. "We should get to know each other better. To improve our... coexistence. Therefore, once every week, we should do something together. Attend social events. Show thetonthat we are a proper married couple."
Andrew studied her carefully. There was more here than she was saying. "And what prompted this sudden desire for my company? On our wedding night, you could barely stand to be summoned to share a meal with me."
"On our wedding night, I was still adjusting to being married."
"And now?"
"Now I realize whether I like it or not, we are bound together. We might as well make the best of it." She met his gaze. "My sister needs to find a suitable match. She requires a chaperone at social events, and I wish to be there by her side. But if I attend alone, people will talk. They'll wonder where my husband is and ask outright why he's not accompanying me."
There it was. The real reason behind her proposal.
Isobel's hands twisted together. "If people start whispering again, like they did at our wedding…"
"Have you been listening to those whispers?" The question came out sharper than he'd intended. "Do you care what they say?"
"Of course I care!" She stepped toward him, her composure cracking. "Those whispers can ruin someone's life. They can destroy reputations, prospects, and entire futures. You should know that better than anyone. The censure of thetonwas what forced you to marry me in the first place."
The words hung between them, heavy with accusation and truth.
Andrew felt something shift in his chest. He'd been so focused on his own fears, his own struggles with their arrangement, that he hadn't fully considered what it cost her. To walk into ballrooms knowing people whispered about her. To bear the weight of social judgment while trying to secure a better future for her sister.
She was braver than he'd given her credit for.
"So, you want me to help your sister find a suitor," he said slowly. "And silence any murmurs about our marriage in the process."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.
He expected her to bargain, to beg, or even to offer something in return. Instead, she simply stood there, chin raised, waiting for his answer with a dignity that made his chest ache.
To hell with distance. To hell with restraint.
Andrew closed the space between them in two steps, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck as he pulled her into a kiss.
She made a small sound of surprise, then melted into him, her hands clutching at his coat as if she needed something to anchor herself.
His breath hitched before he kissed her again, deeper this time, as though the restraint he always wore had snapped clean in two.
“Isobel,” he breathed against her mouth, his voice rough, undone. “God?—”
He pressed her back against the wall, his hands framing her waist to hold her—not trap her, but ground her. Her fingers threaded into his hair, and he felt her respond to him, urgent and needy.
Andrew’s sigh broke against her mouth, part relief, part surrender. His hands slid up her ribs, stopping before they went too far, each movement a fight against himself. When he finally pulled back, both were breathing hard.
“Consider it done,” he murmured. “I’ll accompany you to whatever events you wish. We’ll ensure Joan finds a worthy match.”
He watched for her reaction, noting the flash of surprise in her eyes. Before she could respond further, he stepped back.
“You should go to your room now,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.
Confusion and disbelief flashed in her gaze. “What?”
