Page 34 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“ W hat did he say?” he murmured. “Are you all right?”

Adrian took Isobel’s hand and spun her around to face him. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and if they had not been in a ballroom, he would have called Moreton out then and there. As it was, with eyes on them, all he could do was bring her closer.

For a few moments, she merely stared up at him, eyes wide and lips parted, as though she was on the cusp of telling him everything.

Then she drew in a deep breath. “Nothing,” she said.

“Liar.” He led her to the corner of the room under the illusion of getting a drink. “Tell me, Isobel. What did he say to you?”

She hesitated a moment longer, but Moreton was nowhere within hearing distance, and when he squeezed her hand, urging her to speak, some of the tension left her body.

“He said… he threatened my life, which I always knew, said I should have known better than to think he would ever not target me. And he said…”

Tears filled her eyes, and he wanted to crush her to his chest, shielding her from the pain that was written so clearly across her face.

“He said he would kill you,” she whispered. “He all but confessed to having his brother killed, and to killing that poor girl. Not how, none of the particulars, but enough to tell me that he would have no compunction in ending another life.”

Adrian’s shoulders stiffened. All his life, he’d had his responsibilities and his duties.

He had been strong for his mother because his father had made him so, and he had carved himself a life defined by its isolation.

For all he held his responsibilities firmly, he had never allowed himself to become emotionally attached to anything.

The thought of losing Isobel terrified him. Far more than he ever could have accounted for.

Not just because she was his wife—another responsibility and duty to carry. But because he would miss her smiles when she looked at him. He would miss waking to the sight of her across her pillow, red hair in abundance, shining in the sunlight.

In the short time they had been husband and wife, she had grown on him, getting under his skin in a way he had not been ready for.

And he had known there was a danger from Moreton—he was even prepared to face it head-on—but seeing her fear, the consequences painted out in blood, he understood something else in perfect clarity.

He could not risk anything happening to him. After eleven years of being alone, he had finally found a weakness.

“Do you think I can’t handle it?” he snapped, his anger an easier emotion to process than any of the others. Fear, horror, dismay, frustration. “Do you think I can’t protect myself or you? I vowed to keep you safe, Isobel.”

“I know that, but it’s different now.” She looked up into his face as though pleading with him. “I cannae lose ye.”

“Nothing has changed. By marrying me, you brought me into this mess.” He turned sharply to the side, his heart a battlefield of emotion.

His pride and self-reliance—the things that had always kept him strong—felt like a chain around his neck. How could he keep her safe without breaking the very foundations of who he had become?

He was not a man given to affection. He did not care beyond the bounds of duty. As his wife, she was his duty.

But by God, he cared about her.

“We should save this discussion for when we return home,” he said, casting a glance at the crowd and everyone liable to overhear them. “Until then, do your best to smile, Isobel. Having Lord Moreton overcome you reflects poorly on us both.”

She looked as though she would argue, and he almost wanted to apologize for the cruelty of his words. But if he allowed himself too much weakness, he would crumble entirely. That was what weakness did—it undermined one’s strength.

He could not allow that to happen.

“Pretend as if he never spoke to you,” he said. “The situation has not changed. We knew he was a threat and he remains to be so.”

“It’s different now,” she insisted. “This time he threatened ye .”

“I do not feel threatened.” He raised a brow and offered Isobel his hand. “I am a duke, wife, and you are a duchess, and neither of us are going to come to harm. That was the vow I made when I married you, and it’s one I intend to keep. Now dance with me and let us forget this unpleasantness.”

She glanced over to where he knew Moreton watched them. No doubt he was hoping for some grand fallout. A scene from a tragedy enacted in the middle of the ballroom. Or even friction between them.

Adrian would not allow it.

What was to be done about his wife, however, was another question entirely and one he did not have the answer to.

But for now, they would dance.

Isobel felt awash with misery. The night, which had started out so perfectly, with her and Adrian in harmony, had disintegrated around her. Now Moreton’s threats hung over their heads, and she was powerless to do anything to stop him.

She could do nothing.

And Adrian?—

The husband she had so delighted in, the one whom she had realized she loved just a few moments before, had closed himself off to her.

Oh, he was a good actor, his hand in hers, his gaze fixed on her face, and a smile gracing his expression, but his eyes remained remote. Distant. As though they had been plunged into a frozen bath. Any warmth that had once been there for her, gone.

How could everything have gone so wrong so fast ?

“What’s wrong?” Eliza asked as Isobel escaped from Adrian long enough to pour herself some punch. Her hands shook. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nothing,” Isobel said mechanically.

“Have you argued with Adrian again already?” Eliza sighed. “He can be such a brute sometimes. But you must put up with him when he is out of sorts, and he will recover soon enough.”

“I don’t think this is something that can be resolved so easily,” she muttered.

They had intended to go home and make love the moment they were alone again. Her body ached for him, but an instinct told her that he would not make such advances toward her again.

Could she even seduce him if she tried? She had never thought to attempt such a thing.

She gripped the glass still tighter.

“Did Lord Moreton say something to upset you?” Eliza demanded. “I will find him and tell him what for.”

“Nay, please.”

“Then what?”

What could she tell her friend? When she’d first come to London, Eliza had been the first person to accept her wholeheartedly as she was. Even Adrian, the man she loved, had not done so immediately. In fact, he had taken far longer to warm to her.

“I met him in Scotland,” she said awkwardly. “It’s… complicated.”

“Lord Moreton? Did he want to marry you?”

Isobel shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Is Adrian jealous?”

She shook her head again. “It’s not like that. I…” In truth, she didn’t know how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. “I suppose I made Adrian feel as though he couldn’t protect me.”

“Protect you?” Eliza’s head tilted. “From what?”

This had been a mistake. She should never have said anything. Isobel drew in a long, shuddering breath.

“It’s complicated,” she said again. “But stay away from him, Eliza. He’s not a good man.”

“Oh, well I knew that ,” Eliza said with a little laugh. “I’ve not spent all my time with young gentlemen for naught, you know. I could tell almost from the beginning that he was not a good man. Will you tell me what you know?”

“I—I can’t.” Isobel threw her arms around Eliza’s neck. “But stay away from him, and be safe.”

“Of course,” Eliza said, patting her back. “But your husband has come to collect you, and he is wearing a terrible scowl.”

Isobel drew back to find Adrian was indeed behind her, and he was indeed scowling. Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Are you ready to depart?” he asked, a chill in his voice.

Eliza squeezed her hand. “You should consider speaking more nicely to your wife, Adrian.”

“I’ll speak to her how I like.” But something flickered across his eyes, and he reached out a hand to her. “Come home with me, Isobel.”

There were things to discuss, and Lord Moreton lurked here somewhere. Isobel couldn’t wait to leave, and yet she dreaded going home. She didn’t want to have to face this new coldness, as though they had never been married.

The ache in her chest made her want to cry.

But she took his hand anyway. “Let’s go,” she said quietly, then glanced back at Eliza. “Remember what I told ye.”

“I will,” Eliza promised. Then, in Gaelic, she added, “ Innis dhomh ma tha thu sàbhailte .”

Tell me if you’re safe.

“Aye,” Isobel said. “I will.”

They nodded at each other, and Isobel followed Adrian through the thinning crowd. In front of prying eyes, they appeared to be the perfect couple, but the moment they stepped outside, he dropped her arm and stepped away from her.

“Adrian,” she said, but he shook his head.

“Not here.”

The carriage arrived, the coachman yawning, and Isobel allowed herself to be handed into it.

Adrian kept his peace all through the short journey, and that continued until they reached the townhouse. Until they went up, up, up, to his bedchamber, and he shut the door.

She sucked in a breath. “Adrian?—”

“I didn’t like seeing you dance with him.”

Isobel dropped her hands. “What else did ye expect me to do?”

“I don’t know.” He paced the room, hands tucked behind his back. “I didn’t like thinking that he was speaking to you and getting to you.”

“He threatened ye .”

“And you seemed to think that you needed to keep it from me.” He gave a bitter laugh. “For what reason, Isobel? Because you don’t believe I can keep you safe?”

“I wanted to protect ye,” she whispered.

“I don’t need your protection.” The words cut through her defenses, leaving her bare. “I am your husband. I am your defender. You do not decide to step in front of me in some short-sighted attempt to protect me. I don’t need protecting.”

“We can?—”