Page 10 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Seven

T rue to her word, Eliza escorted Isobel to other events. A ball, at which Isobel danced almost every dance and ignored the ladies whispering behind their fans.

A musical performance, held in a drawing room and featuring very indifferent performers.

And the opera, where Isobel heard her first English aria.

She gazed into the pit with wide eyes. A fiddle player at heart, she had always loved the freshness that came from Highland jigs and reels, but orchestral music always felt different to her.

Not like the bubbling brook but a restless beast, a mountain of color.

There was so much emotion that could be caught in a melody or a voice.

The violins’ melody soared to the rafters, and Isobel felt something in her chest give.

In a box opposite, Miss Wentworth pointedly ignored them. Most other young ladies followed her example, and whichever gentlemen vied for her hand did the same, but there were plenty other gentlemen who seemed intrigued enough by Isobel that they were prepared to brave Miss Wentworth’s disapproval.

One of those gentlemen leaned in closer. “Are you going to Lady Rutherford’s ball tomorrow?” he asked, the heat from his breath brushing her shoulder.

Isobel forced herself not to shudder and did her best to ignore the duke’s steely gaze between her shoulder blades.

They had barely spoken since their kiss four nights ago, and he did not accompany her and Eliza to most events, something Isobel told herself she was relieved about. Still, Eliza’s mother had fallen ill, and Adrian had stepped up, accompanying them both to their appointment to the opera.

And with Mr. Dunston, the gentleman who was currently breathing down her neck. She wished he would stop.

“I am, sir,” she said.

“Will you allow me the first dance?”

She did her best to give a coquettish smile. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

At the other side of the box, Eliza was busy flirting with two gentlemen of her own.

Although she had professed to have no desire to marry, Isobel could not help noticing the ways in which Eliza opened herself to the prospect of love.

One day, she hoped her newfound friend would find the romance she so craved.

Isobel felt as though her chances were somewhat less likely. But at least she had admirers.

The curtains rose, revealing the stage, and Isobel leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. The stage was made up as though it was the ocean, waves moving across the floor, and she stifled a gasp.

It was not the done thing to find such things so wonderful, but she couldn’t help it. Truly, it was something spectacular.

“I am excited for our dance,” the gentleman said, and habit had her returning a quick glance to him.

“ Chan eil mi ,” she muttered. I’m not .

He returned her smile, oblivious.

Adrian watched as Lady Isobel rested her head against her hands, braced up against the wall of the box, her eyes fixed on the stage beyond.

He’d had other things to be doing that evening—relating specifically to ignoring Lady Isobel and everything that had passed between them—but instead, he was here, watching an opera he had seen before.

Under other circumstances, he might have refused, but with Eliza and Isobel relying on him, he felt as though he could not.

She barely seemed to even notice the young buck at her back who so desperately wanted her attention. For all she claimed she wanted a husband—and certainly she did encourage the gentlemen who showed interest in her—it seemed feigned. Her intrigue for the opera felt far more genuine.

He scowled at nothing in particular. All his investigations into her past and history seemed to have revealed nothing of note.

The MacAlisters were prominent family in Scotland, and the Glenrannoch estate was a large one.

From what he could discover, the family was generally well-respected.

Rossburn Hall, her father’s seat, was reportedly very beautiful.

So, with that in mind, why had she fled? And why was she being so very secretive about it?

Nothing added up. Evidently something significant had happened, but he didn’t know how her family had connections with him. Never mind why she had come to his mother now and not relied on the power and wealth of her own family.

Could she be flying from them? He’d heard nothing notable about the earl that might suggest he was a problem—he was neither a drunkard nor had he a tendency toward violence.

So why was she here? And why was she encouraging the young fools that panted after her despite a lack of real interest?

He’d felt her body on his; he knew what she felt like when she truly wanted. He’d heard the low sounds she’d made in the back of her throat as she’d yielded to his kiss.

That had been passion. Desire. Not whatever lukewarm encouragement she offered to these gentlemen. Yet, despite her lack of interest, she still offered herself to them.

His jaw snapped tightly shut as he contemplated it.

Eliza leaned in closer. “Are you going to the ball tomorrow evening?”

He raised a brow at her. “Another shameless attempt to encourage me to chaperone you?”

“Oh no,” she assured him. “Mama will be there, of course. She only missed tonight because her health couldn’t cope—and her nerves dislike the violins.”

Adrian could not help glancing at Lady Isobel again and the dreamy way she watched the wooden ‘boat’ make its way across the stage, the singers inside declaring their love to one another. He thought he detected a tear on her cheek.

Her nerves, evidently, were not wrought by the existence of stringed instruments.

So why was he so moved by her amazement?

“Why should I attend?” he asked frostily.

“Well,” Eliza said slowly, glancing back at Isobel, “because I thought it was your responsibility to look out for her while she’s under your care.”

Adrian clenched his jaw.

His mother had to return. Quickly. Very, very quickly.

Lady Rutherford’s ball was one of the biggest of the Season, at least according to Eliza. Isobel prepared for it as she would any other ball, wondering how she could prevail upon one of the English lords who had been courting her to propose.

Was this too soon to expect a proposal? How much time did she have? And how soon could she expect the Duchess of Somerset to return?

Once the duchess returned, she would finally be able to reveal all the sickening details and the danger that she might very well be in.

She could not trust the duke. Especially when he seemed not to trust her.

But when she came downstairs, ready to receive Eliza and her mother and travel to the ball with them, it was to find the duke himself pacing the hallway.

She paused on the stairs.

They had barely spoken since the ill-fated kiss, and that had been several days ago. In truth, she’d been hoping he wouldn’t be attending the ball at all, and certainly not waiting for her.

He glanced at her, and she couldn’t read the expression in his blue-gray eyes. “You’re late.”

“Eliza has yet to arrive, so I don’t think I am that late,” she retorted, even as her stomach twisted into knots. If only she had taken a little longer over her preparations. “I didn’t know ye were attending.”

“I feel it is my duty.” These words escaped through clenched teeth. “Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

“Of course not,” she muttered.

“You ought to be careful.”

She folded her arms, still on the stairs, unwilling to come any closer. “With what?”

“Encouraging all the young lads to make passes at you.”

“They are not making passes ,” she said, outraged. “And if engaging them in conversation is somehow improper, then every young lady I have seen is guilty of the same crime.”

“You barely know them.”

“I barely know ye ,” she snapped. “And yet ye expect me to trust ye?”

“I am a duke.”

“Ye are insufferable.”

His eyes glinted at her. “Is that so? By your account, I must have a number of failings.”

“Does not every man?” At the thought of Lord Moreton pushing his hands against that struggling girl—the feeling of her hand connecting against his cheek with a satisfying crack —she shuddered.

Something flickered across the duke’s expression, and he took a step toward her. “Tell me what it is you’re fleeing from, Lady Isobel.”

Isobel felt herself freeze. Damn his cleverness. Why couldn’t he be an idiotic, complacent, indifferent cur, like many others of his kind?

Before she could answer, to her relief the door opened, and Eliza arrived with her mother.

“Thank heavens you’re ready,” Eliza said. “We are late and Mama is having kittens!”

“Eliza,” her mother said in a weary tone. “I wish you would not speak like that.”

“But you are ,” Eliza said, kissing Isobel’s cheek in greeting. “Oh, cousin, you are coming too? How delightful!”

“I would beg to differ,” he muttered.

“Don’t mind him,” Eliza said under her breath. “He has never enjoyed attending these events.”

“Then why does he?”

“I imagine tonight it’s so he can keep an eye on you.”

“But—”

“Oh, you must admit that it is admirable on his part. He can protect you from some of the rumors that are circling. And no one will dare pick on you—including Miss Wentworth. I believe the reason she is so nasty to you is because she’s jealous.”

“Aye, and because I am from Scotland,” Isobel said under her breath.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter to Adrian, it shouldn’t matter to anyone else.”

Isobel opened her mouth to say that it did, in fact, matter to Adrian, but aside from the occasional comment at the beginning of their acquaintance, casting doubt on her story for having traveled such a long way, he had not said anything against her heritage.

In fact, he had gone as far as to protect her reputation against those who would cast aspersions.

“Well,” she said, gathering herself, “it is not very pleasant to have him glowering at me all evening.”

The coachman handed her and Eliza into the carriage. Eliza settled beside her. “Then perhaps you should dance with him?”

“What?” Isobel demanded too loudly.

Lady Northley entered the carriage, followed by the duke himself. Although it was dark, she could practically feel his gaze scorching into her.

Why was he here? And why did he always look at her as though she had displeased him, when she knew that at least something about her pleased him greatly?

Or perhaps that is the problem , she thought wryly. If he disliked that he had given into temptation, then of course he would blame her and take it out on her. That was just like a man, never able to face the consequences of their own actions.

Again, she thought of Lord Moreton and her stomach squirmed.

This ball had to go well. No matter what she thought about the men courting her, she would have to convince one of them to marry her, or she risked far more than people laughing at her.

In the scheme of things, she could bear that price very easily.

She raised her gaze to find the duke, his eyes dark in his shadowed face, staring at her.

She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but hostility emanated from him. Eliza was wrong—dancing with him would not solve anything.

As it happened, she suspected it would make everything a lot worse.