Page 41

He needed to soften the hostility.

He needed... he needed... he needed to heed the advice that his good friend, Richard, had given him yesterday. What to do if he found himself on the backfoot. And how to turn a fight into an apology.

A deep breath and Duncan forced a smile. “Might I also add, you are looking rather splendid this morning, Isabella. That dress...” He swept his hand over her dress; it was simple daywear, nothing too extravagant but nothing too scandalous either. “Stunning.”

Isabella blinked. “Oh.” She blinked again. “That is... thank you?”

“Of course.” Duncan noticed the immediate change in her; the hostility in her eyes fading, that coy smile receding. Sensing the moment, he decided to push a little bit further. “It has occurred to me, in fact, that I didn’t tell you yesterday how wonderful youlooked. That is an error of the highest order on my part – no wife should have to wonder if their husband finds them beautiful. From this day on I will do better.”

“That is...” She could not have looked more confused. And from the way that she struggled to keep her smile at bay, just a little bit smitten. “That is very kind.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“And...” She licked her lips and focused on him again and Duncan was certain she was going to go back to their fight. But he saw a shadow pass behind her eyes, a sense that she didn’t quite have it in her anymore. “And me too.”

“You too?” Duncan frowned.

She gave her head a little shake, as if in surprise. “I apologize for my sisters, I should have... I should have told you that they were coming.”

“Think nothing of it,” Duncan assured her.

Well, that was interesting...

“Isabella! I do hate to interrupt, but may I please use the washroom!” Duchess Northwick cried. “Please!”

“What -- oh! Yes!” Isabella spun about awkwardly, her mind clearly anywhere but on her sister’s impending burst bladder. “Ah... Your Grace --”

“Duncan, Isabella,” he chuckled, offering her a friendly smile. “I think we can dispense with the titles, don’t you?”

She blushed. “Duncan... might it be alright if my sister...”

“You do not have to ask. But I appreciate that you did.” He stepped aside and waved Isabella and her two sisters inside. And as she passed, because Duncan could not help himself, he whispered in her ear “Very wellbehaved.”

He saw her shiver at the comment, cheeks flushing even more red. Smiling to himself, he watched as they hurried through the manor in search of a washroom, feeling a tinge of pride because he was rather pleased with what had just occurred, and what it might mean for the future.

That was the key. He needed a way to keep Isabella and himself from fighting. He needed a means by which to control himself so that he wouldn’t do something that he might regret. And it seemed now that he had found one.

Compliments and false niceties. Perhaps even a gift, if he thought it might help. Anything that would diffuse Isabella’s hostility such that she wouldn’t risk accidentally igniting his more amorous desires. Well... at least not until she asked him to.

Chapter Fourteen

Isabella was becoming more confused by the day.

This marriage was supposed to be suffocating. It was supposed to be hostile and incompatible. It was supposed to be a constant assault on her ideals and freedoms as she sought for a way to escape the horror that was married life. Married life to Duke Fangsdale, no less.

So far, it had been nothing of the sort. Hence the confusion.

If anything, as the first week of marriage proved, it was the complete opposite. Heck, it was so far removed from what she had been anticipating that it was almost boring.

“What are those?” Isabella asked as she wandered into the dining room to break her fast on the second morning of her marriage. She had not chosen that time because Duncan also happened to be eating – it was not as if she wanted to spend anymore time with him than she already had.I don’t!It was just a coincidence...

As for what she was pointing at in confusion, that was the bouquet of purple and yellow colored flowers arranged by her seat.

“They’re called flowers,” Duncan responded as if it was obvious.

“Wh -- Where did they come from?” She paused by her chair, confused by the gesture. Sensing a trap.

“They are for you,” Duncan said with what looked to be a genuine smile. He watched her closely, taking note of her reaction. “As to their origin? The garden. I do not know if you’ve had time to explore but my gardeners have done a rather impressive job with the horticulture.”