Page 29 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Twenty

“ W hat else have you discovered?” Joseph asked, his fingers tapping the side of his whisky glass.

Adrian leaned back in his seat. White’s was busy. Servants carried trays of drinks to the seated gentlemen, the cardrooms were full, and scantily dressed ladies perched on the knees of their paying clients.

“I had a letter from my Scottish contacts confirming that Isobel was at the ball with Moreton,” he said. “I didn’t doubt it, but it helps to have confirmation. No one saw them together, but that doesn’t matter. If he thinks she knows the truth, then his priority will be silencing her.”

Joseph watched him with unusual seriousness. “You’ve gotten yourself in deep this time, my friend.”

“I hadn’t exactly known about the mess when I asked her to marry me.” He threw his drink back, the scotch burning his throat.

Joseph cradled his whisky without taking a sip. When they discussed serious matters like this, they rarely drank heavily.

“Would you have done things differently if you’d known?”

Adrian sighed. “No. It was that or ruin her, and that would have put her in a worse position.” His stomach twisted at the thought of her not only not being his, but being in more danger.

“The reason she fled the ballroom that night was because she saw Moreton. If she was now vulnerable to his advances—well, I don’t want to think about what might have happened. ”

“You are fond of her, then?”

“She’s my wife.”

“My question still stands.”

“Yes, by God.” Adrian glowered at his friend. “I hardly see why you need to demand that answer from me at all hours of the day. Yes, I am fond of her. She is my wife, and I will not let anything happen to her.”

“What now?”

“Have you discovered anything about Moreton?”

“Very little,” Joseph admitted. “He has some debts, but not large ones, and the bulk of them were paid off when he inherited.”

“Convenient,” Adrian muttered.

“Very much so. But it proves nothing. I found no evidence of connection to shady people, but I’ll continue making investigations.”

“My valet told me he sacked every member of staff when he inherited from his brother. Everyone replaced, including all the old retainers.”

“Hmm.”

“Precisely,” Adrian said dryly. “But again, it proves nothing. Isobel tells me that she believes her friend was poisoned—she fell ill rather abruptly. I asked around, and my Scottish contact informs me that her illness was sudden, but not suspicious. No doubt Isobel would have thought nothing of it if she hadn’t seen Moreton threaten the girl. ”

“And she told no one else?” Joseph asked.

“Not that I know of. I’m investigating, but I can’t afford to let Moreton know that I know.” He opened his mouth to continue discussing the situation when Joseph elbowed him.

When he glanced up, it was to see the man himself walking toward them.

“Gentlemen,” Moreton said with a cold smile.

Adrian assessed him. A large man, but not overly so—tall, but not as tall as him, and thin rather than broad. He dressed with meticulous care, and it was obvious that he wanted no one to forget his newfound status of marquess.

No doubt he had been planning to attain it for quite some time.

“Lord Moreton,” Adrian said, inclining his head and neglecting to rise.

“Your Grace.” Moreton gave him a little bow and turned to Joseph. “Lord Rowton.”

“Moreton,” Joseph said pleasantly. “I remember your brother. Very sorry to hear of his passing. Tragic that he should have left us so young.”

“Tragic indeed,” Moreton said, his voice giving no signs of grief or sorrow. “But I hadn’t come here to speak of tragedies. I wanted to offer you my congratulations on your recent nuptials, Your Grace.”

Adrian smiled, not letting his anger reach his face. “She is an angel. I am the luckiest man in the world.”

Moreton’s inclined his head again. “She made quite a splash when she arrived in London, I understand. You are the fortunate man who proposed in time. Many gentlemen are disappointed, I assure you.”

The implication that she would have accepted another gentleman, had he asked, made Adrian’s fingers tighten on the arm of his chair.

But he merely smiled. “I’m gratified to think so. Tell me, are you one of the disappointed few?”

“Me?” Moreton’s brows rose. “I have barely exchanged a handful of words with her.”

“Then I need not worry you’ll steal my wife from me.” Adrian’s smile was just as cold as Moreton’s. He raised his glass. “Many thanks for your congratulations. And may I offer some of my own—you have risen in the world.”

“Ah, but at what cost?” Moreton bowed, then moved away, the conversation at an end.

Adrian scowled at his back, fighting the urge to strike the man. He could not. Would not. Should not.

Wanted to. Desperately.

“He was feeling you out,” Joseph murmured. “Trying to see how much you knew.”

“Do you think he suspects anything?”

“He certainly will if you attack him in the middle of White’s. Easy, old boy.” Joseph offered an easy smile. “Remember, he might be a marquess, but you are a duke, and you will find a way of ruining him. He won’t get to her.”

Adrian inhaled deeply. No, she wouldn’t get to him—he wouldn’t let her.

“Thank you, my friend.” He rose suddenly. “I should get back. I feel uneasy leaving her alone at the house too long.”

Joseph hid his smile behind his whisky. “Marriage changes us all.”

When he got home, he found Isobel still awake, reading in the library. He came up behind her, kissing her on the cheek.

“I thought for certain you’d have gone to bed,” he said, and she leaned into his embrace.

“I thought ye would wake me up when ye joined me,” she said with a delightful curve to her mouth. Sometimes, he thought he was transfixed by the sight of her mouth. “Besides, I’m enjoying my book.”

“You didn’t mind that I was gone so long?”

“Of course not. Ye are still a man with a man’s pleasures.”

He sat on the sofa beside him and drew her onto his lap. “You sate many of those desires, wife.”

She dimpled at him. “I’m very pleased to hear it. Did ye have a good time?”

He kissed her, deciding not to tell her about Moreton. No need to worry her, and every time she thought about him, he felt the way she tensed. Uncomfortable. Unhappy.

“I drank a little,” he said when he came up for air.

“I can taste it on you. Whisky.” She smiled, eyes crinkling. “I hope it was the good kind.”

“And what’s the good kind?”

“Scottish,” she answered immediately, and he laughed.

Now, the prospect of returning to her at their home had become more appealing.

“I believe it was. Or Irish.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Terrible stuff.”

He tweaked her chin. “What would you know about it?”

“I used to steal my father’s whisky when necessary.” She nuzzled closer. “I’m glad you came home.”

“Oh?”

“It gets cold in the evenings.”

He held her closer, suspecting that wasn’t the true reason. But she had never been particularly good at admitting weakness to him, even if confessing to being scared of a very real danger didn’t strike him as weakness at all.

“Eliza came to visit me today,” she said. “She said we should return to society.”

“Do you want to?”

“Mm.” Her breath brushed his neck, and he resisted the urge to kiss her again.

Being apart from her made him mad to taste her in a way he’d never experienced before, but his concern for her wellbeing overrode even his lust.

An odd feeling.

“I think it would make sense to. But Lord Moreton is still in London,” she continued.

“Now he’s found you, I doubt he’ll leave again,” he said, and stroked a hand up and down her spine. “Are you afraid? I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I want to show him that I’m not afraid. And…” She leaned back and looked into his face. “I want to show him that I have your support. Your affection.”

He laughed softly down at her. “Are you afraid I’ll accompany you to a ball and spend my time flirting with other ladies? I won’t, you know. I know my duty.”

“I would rather it wasn’t a duty.”

“Very well.” He leaned in and kissed her, long and deep, taking his time with her.

“Then let me say this instead. There is no other lady I have any desire to dance with. And I have absolutely no desire to see my wife in the arms of another, so I suppose I shall have to dance every one with you to prevent any of your other beaus from claiming you.”

She laughed a little, but her shoulders relaxed. “I don’t have any other beaus.”

“From what I hear, half of London is jealous of me.” He said the words with some satisfaction.

There was very little that flattered his male pride as much as having claimed something that everyone else wanted.

“And no doubt there’s more than one green boy who would try to seduce you away from me.”

“Seduce me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. It’s hardly uncommon for married ladies to find entertainment elsewhere.” He’d done his fair share of sharing married ladies’ beds over the years, though now he was finally a husband, he deeply disliked the thought. “And I will defend what’s mine.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Well, there’s no need. I would never be interested in anyone else’s seduction.”

“Good.” As he kissed her again, he felt the slow curve of her mouth against his.

The curtains had long since been closed, and candles cast them in a soft glow. The embers of the fire still burned, pumping out a remarkable amount of heat, and he palmed her breast over her dress.

“I missed you,” he said roughly. “Did you miss me?”

In answer, she climbed off him, lay back on the sofa, and drew her skirts up around her thighs.

“Feel for yourself,” she said, her voice husky.

He trailed his fingers up her inner though until he felt the evidence of her desire, the sticky heat of it bringing his lust raging to the surface. Surely, soon enough, the intensity of this need for her would ebb, but until then, he would bathe in it.

“I hope you didn’t touch yourself while you waited for me,” he said roughly.

Her legs moved together, as though to capture his hand there. “No,” she whispered. “I wouldnae.”