Page 32 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ F or, you know,” Isobel said to Eliza as they dressed together, “I should be at the most fashionable events now I am a duchess.”

“I am so glad you’re finally understanding,” Eliza said, pinching her cheeks so they appeared flushed. “That is precisely the attitude you should have. And soon you should throw a ball of your own.”

“I will, although ye’ll have to help me.”

“ Gladly . What are friends for?” Eliza threw her arm over Isobel’s shoulders. “I shall give you a list of all my beaus and you shall invite them all. I’ll dance with every one and make them wildly jealous.”

At the thought of Lord Moreton, Isobel tensed, but she forced herself to breathe past the sudden rush of fear.

Yes, Lord Moreton would be in attendance, but that didn’t mean she had to dance with him. And even if she did dance with him, he wouldn’t be able to harm her. The ballroom was too public a place.

“Do ye ever not think of beaus?” Isobel asked lightly, forcing her mind away from Lord Moreton.

“Rarely. They are such fun to dance and flirt with. And who else am I supposed to talk with? Save for you, my dear friend, and you are going to be far too much in demand to spend the night by my side, no matter how I might wish it.”

Eliza ran a hand down her bodice, which was decorated with tiny pearls. “I look well, don’t I? Although I do wish I could wear a color that isn’t pastel. You’re fortunate that you can be more daring now that you’re a married lady.”

Isobel had chosen a gown of green silk to match the hidden hues of her hazel eyes. She hoped Adrian would appreciate it.

“Pastels suit ye very well,” she said.

“When I’m married, I will push the boundaries of fashion.”

Lady Northley appeared in the doorway, skirts swishing with every movement. Her hands fluttered nervously.

“You shouldn’t speak like that, Eliza,” she chided and glanced at Isobel as though she expected her to be the reason Eliza was so unmanageable. “What if someone hears you?”

“And who will hear me?” Eliza demanded. “The servants? They all know who I am and have heard me talking in such a way several times over the past three years.”

“Even so!”

“Even so, saying I am going to push the boundaries of fashion is not a crime in and of itself, Mama,” Eliza said, rising onto her toes and kissing her mother’s cheek. “Don’t be too worried for me. I’m not going to disgrace myself in public.”

Lady Northley didn’t look convinced, and for the first time, Isobel was inclined to agree with her. Eliza seemed in a mood to cause chaos and trouble, and although Isobel agreed with shaking up the staidness of London Society, she didn’t want Eliza to pay the price for any disruption.

“I’ll look out for her,” Isobel said, and Lady Northley looked even more alarmed.

The expression on her face seemed so natural Isobel could have believed she’d been born with it.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace,” she said, her hands fluttering even more.

“Mama!” Eliza said, exasperated. “Isobel got herself married to a duke, so if anything, I should be more like her, not less.”

“She got herself married to a duke through scandal’s sake,” Lady Northley whispered.

“The most exciting way to do it. And it’s hardly as though her duke husband dislikes her.

In fact, we’ll see today at Lady Milton’s ball just how fond he is of her.

” Eliza grinned at Isobel. “It’ll be enough to make everyone in the room wildly jealous, and calm any wagging tongues about the validity of your marriage. ”

“I should hope so.” Isobel held up her hand with the golden wedding band plain upon it. “Although I should think this would silence any questions. The duke put it on my finger himself.”

“You see, Mama?” Eliza asked. “There is really nothing to fear, unless you dislike the thought of me being a duchess?”

“But there are no other dukes in London,” Lady Northley said with another nervous flutter. A valid point, Isobel had to admit. “At least, not young, unmarried ones.”

“Then I shall have to entertain myself with my beaus until such a duke becomes available,” Eliza said cheerfully. “I don’t mind, you know. They’re great fun, and I’m in no danger of falling in love.”

Lady Northley groaned, a slim hand over her face, and Eliza winked at Isobel.

Leaving them to it, Isobel picked up her skirts and descended the stairs, finding Adrian in his study.

“Working when we are about to go to a ball?” she teased, leaning against the door.

He glanced up, then his gaze halted, passing over her dress, the silk clinging to her curves. It was not perhaps the most daring she had seen, but it certainly made a statement.

Heat sparked in his eyes. “You are certainly convincing me there are better ways to spend my time,” he said and patted his leg.

“I can’t crease my dress,” she told him. “Ye’ll have to kiss me from afar.”

“I say hell to that.” He crossed the room in five quick strides and caught her face in his hands, kissing her with so much enthusiasm that she found herself wondering if there was time for him to push her skirts up and have his way with her.

But no—they needed to leave very soon.

“Adrian,” she gasped and pushed at his shoulders. “We cannae.”

“I assure you, I can be efficient.”

“What of Eliza and Lady Northley?”

He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. “That is a surefire way to dim my ardor, wife of mine.”

“Good, because we have no time for it.”

“Cruel mistress.”

She laughed, half in awe that despite her nerves over seeing Lord Moreton again, she felt so airy and light. Happiness—she could hardly have credited it.

“When we return, you can have your way with me.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Aye,” she whispered as he trailed kisses to the follow of her neck and the diamond she wore there. “It’s a promise.”

“Then I’ll make sure you keep it.” He leaned back and reached down for her hand. “Now I suppose we should see what havoc my cousin is wreaking.”

“I think Lady Northley is on the brink of a heart attack.”

“Not a new sensation for her, don’t fear.”

“It must be difficult feeling so anxious all the time.”

“No doubt, but she indulges Eliza to the point of stupidity and then gets concerned at her wildness, so is it really so very surprising?” He rolled his eyes. “Eliza is a holy terror and I pity her husband.”

“Ye could say the same about me.”

“I am your husband, so I know precisely how much I should pity myself.”

“Which is no doubt a great deal,” she said, amused.

“No doubt.” He looked down at her with a lopsided smile, and Isobel wondered how she could ever have thought him cold. This man here, the one who teased her and loved her body with such thoroughness, could not be the same man who had all but turned her out of his house in a storm.

“What are you thinking?” He flicked her chin. “Your eyes are pensive.”

“I’m thinking that I like ye.”

“Finally, you admit it.”

“And ye like me.”

For a second, the fondness in his eyes wavered, and she wondered if he would back away, telling her that he did not like her, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Instead, he frowned a little.

“Yes,” he said after a long moment. “I suppose I do.”

“Daenae sound as though that’s such a problem,” she teased.

In answer, he bent and kissed her—but although his kiss was soft, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was kissing her to prevent the necessity of replying.

“You truly are disgusting,” Eliza said from above them. “Heavens, keep that up at the ball and everyone will believe you married for love alone.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Or other reasons.”

“Eliza!” Lady Northley said from behind them.

Adrian straightened slowly, as though he had all the time in the world and as though it had not so much as occurred to him to be embarrassed about what had just occurred.

“Are you both ready to depart?”

“I most certainly am,” Eliza said. “And I cannot wait to arrive on the arm of a duchess.”

Adrian held Isobel’s arm still. “I shall arrive on the arm of a duchess. You will have to make do with your mother.”

“Cruel,” Eliza said, but although she stuck her tongue out at Adrian, she didn’t seem too upset.

Isobel tightened her hand on Adrian’s arm and looked up at him with a grin. He winked at her.

They took the carriage to the ballroom, and when Isobel and Adrian were announced as the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, she felt the whispers, the eyes on her.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel as though she needed to shy away or find somewhere to hide.

Having Adrian by her side gave her courage. Security. No one would harm her so long as he remained by her side. At her smile, he gave her a questioning look.

“What’s making you smile like a cat with the cream, fey girl?”

“I’m just thinking that I’m fortunate.”

He snorted. “I could have told you that.”

“Not because ye’re a duke,” she insisted, tugging at his arm. “Although perhaps that’s part of it. But because ye make me feel safe.”

“That has always been the goal, Isobel,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. You are safe with me.”

“Stay by my side,” she said.

“Of course.”

They greeted his mother, who had arrived under her own steam, and made their way around the room.

True to his word, Adrian remained by her side, his head bent toward her as he took part in her conversations. When he didn’t, he rested a hand on the small of her back. A small gesture, but one that united them and offered her silent support.

From another perspective, she suspected that he enjoyed having the weight of his hand resting against her. Only two layers of material separated his skin from hers, and given their intimacy over the last week or so, she knew he was thinking about the feel of her skin against his.

No doubt it pleased him to think that of everyone in the ballroom, only he had the right to touch her in that way. It would feed into the possessiveness she had seen. His determination to make her his .

Even so, he said and did nothing that made him appear as though he was thinking of lewd acts. The only indication he gave was when they passed out of sight of the ballroom, shielded by a large potted plant, and his hand slid down to her backside and squeezed.

“Adrian!” she said, trying not to smile. “Ye know ye can’t.”

“No one saw.”

“Even so.”

“Are you not my wife?” he demanded. “If I cannot touch you in private, then what can I do?”

“This is hardly private.”

“I can’t wait until this ridiculous farce is over.” He leaned in still closer, his breath hot against her temple. “And I can have you back in my bed where you belong. Too many gentlemen are looking at you.”

“I dressed to turn heads,” she said serenely.

“In that dress, no one else but me should be able to see you.”

She grinned up at him, entertained by the very idea that he could be this possessive. “Are ye jealous?”

“Of them? No. They don’t get to have you.” He pulled her closer, indecently close, and she only allowed it for a moment or two before drawing back. “But they shouldn’t be able to see as much of you as they do.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scolded.

“Am I? But you look delectable.”

She laughed. “No one else is thinking that.”

“Are they not? I think I can see those precise thoughts behind at least three gentlemen’s eyes.”

“And ye?” she demanded, brows raised. “Half the ladies in this ballroom had hoped to marry ye. I endure that with equanimity.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous,” he said, a tenderness in his voice as the hand on her back stroked up to her shoulder blades. “No one here is looking at me with you beside me.”

Isobel’s heart swelled. She looked up at Adrian, feeling as though her chest was too full, as though she might float away.

And she had a horrifying, terrifying realization.

This man, cold and quiet, who had warmed only for her, who touched her as though she was something special and delicate, as though she was his to break—this man who had tried to save his cruel father for the sake of love, even though it near killed him—had become everything to her.

She loved him.

She was in love with him.

And she had no idea if he could ever love her back.