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“Do not look now but there is a tall, dark, rather terrifying individual coming toward us. He can only be your husband.” He sounded amused by the thought.

“Isabella.” Duncan swept in beside her. “Might we have a word?”

“Oh, Duncan.” She took a hurried step away from the duke. “I was just about to come and find you.”

“Is that so.” He did not sound happy about it.

“It is,” she said with a smile, trying her best to diffuse what felt like an unnecessarily tense situation. “This is Lord Hermon. Have you met?”

Duncan frowned and tilted his head. “Hermon... the name rings a bell.”

“As does yours, Your Grace.” Hermon winked. “And might I say, your wife is a peach beyond compare. You are a lucky man.”

“Yes.” Duncan did not return the smile, eyeing Isabella in a way she knew only too well. “She is something. But if you do not mind...”

“Not at all,” Hermon said with a large smile. “And I am sorry I could not oblige you. Truly, I am.”

“It is fine,” she said with a touch of bitterness. “But we shall speak again soon, yes?”

“Anytime.” Hermon stepped back and offered a shot bow. “Now, if you both do not mind, my glass is empty and that is a crime against humanity any way that one might look at it.” He laughed and shuffled off into the crowd.

Isabella exhaled and turned to face Duncan. “Husband, how is your evening --”

“We need to talk,” he cut her off. “Now.”

She frowned. “About?”

“Not here.” He looked about them, taking note of a balcony that extended off the side of the ball room. “This way --” He turned to leave, only to turn back and glare a warning at her. “Now.”

Duncan stormed toward the balcony and Isabella finished her glass, handed it to a passing waiter, and then followed suit. Already her thighs were growing warm as her heart began torace with anticipation. Her husband was angry and that could mean only one thing...

Chapter Twenty-Four

The night air was cool on Isabella’s face as she stepped outside, but she did not feel it. Such was how hot her body was already turning. Face flushed. Chest burning. She was shaking but again, it was not from the chill.

Duncan stood waiting at the balcony’s edge. It was a larger space than it had looked outside and he stood to the right, away from where he might be seen if anyone was to curiously poke their head outside. Hidden in the darkness and watching her, it was impossible to make out the expression he wore on his face.

Not that she needed to see it to know how he was feeling.

“You wished to speak with me?” she asked as she approached.

“We have a problem,” he began, sounding a little confused, as if not certain that he even wanted to speak.

“Do we?”

“The Duke of Hermon, whom you were just speaking with. That was his name. Yes?” Duncan asked instead.

“Oh...” She frowned as if unsure. “Yes, that is right. Do you know him?”

“I know of him – his reputation. Putting a face to the name and his reputation makes all the more sense.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Duncan said. “I will state it for fact. He is a rake,” Duncan said simply. “A known scoundrel whose modus operandi is to lure women into his bed through promises of showing them the world. Or promising it to them.”

“And why does this concern me?”

“Let me guess,” Duncan continued, still neutrally. “You asked if he might tutor you? Or something of that nature.”