She was going to march to Andrew's chambers and tell him exactly what she thought about his accusation of rejection. She was going to make him understand that she wasn't the only one maintaining distance. That his games and his teasing and his careful control were just as much barriers as her walls.
And then... well, she'd figure out the rest when she got there.
Decision made, she strode to her door and yanked it open?—
And nearly collided with Andrew.
He stood in her doorway, hand raised as if he'd been about to knock, his cravat missing and his shirt partially unbuttoned. His dark hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his eyes widened as he took in her appearance—damp hair, thin nightclothes, bare feet.
"I was just coming to find you," they both said at once.
Then stopped.
Stared.
"You were?" Isobel asked, her prepared speech evaporating from her mind.
"I was." His voice was rougher than usual, his gaze traveling over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness. "I couldn't stop thinking about what I said earlier. About rejection."
"Neither could I."
"I need to—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "May I come in?"
She stepped back, letting him enter, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Twenty
They stood facing each other in the candlelit room, the air thick with everything unsaid between them.
"I shouldn't have said you were rejecting me," Andrew said finally, his voice rough. "That wasn't wholly accurate."
"It wasn't," she agreed, lifting her chin. "But you weren't entirely wrong either."
His eyebrows rose. "No?"
"No." She wrapped her arms around herself, acutely aware of how thin her nightclothes were, how his gaze kept dropping to where the damp fabric clung to her skin. "I have been pulling away. Every time we get close, I panic. I think about all the ways men have tried to control me, and I—" Her voice cracked. "I retreat. Because being vulnerable terrifies me more than anything."
Andrew moved closer, slowly, each step deliberate. "And the other night? When I told you to return to your room?"
"I felt denied," she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "I know that's not what you intended, but I felt... dismissed. As if you didn't want me."
"Didn't want you?" His laugh was harsh, almost pained. "Isobel, the only reason I sent you away was because I wanted you too much. Because if I'd let you stay one moment longer, I would have begged you to let me touch you."
Her breath caught. "Then why didn’t you?"
"Because I didn't want you to wake up the next morning and regret it." He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek with devastating gentleness. "To feel like I'd taken advantage of a moment of weakness."
"That's not true." She stopped, emotions tangling in her throat. "I wouldn't have regretted it."
"Wouldn't you?" His thumb traced the line of her jaw, sending sparks dancing across her skin. "You've spent weeks convincing yourself that I'm going to choose the Mayfair Fox over you. That I'm going to cage you the way your father did. Would you have believed it was real? Or would you have told yourself it was just another game I was playing?"
The accuracy of his words stole her voice.
"I know you, Duchess," he continued softly, his other hand finding her waist. "Better than you think I do. And I know that for you to truly trust this, trustus, you need to be the one who decides."
"You're infuriating," she managed.
"I know."
