Page 20 of Her Beast of a Duke

“See that our family’s name is restored, daughter,” her father said quietly, standing with a rigid dignity.

They offered no embraces, only solemn regards. Isabella bowed her head once more.

“Of course,” she murmured, disappointment spreading through her chest like frost on a dark morning, seeping into every hollow, leaving a chill that no warmth could touch.

She’d grown accustomed to this kind of icy treatment by her parents, but it hurt all the same.

A firm hand brushed over her elbow, and Isabella turned to meet the Duke’s unreadable gaze.

“It is time to leave, Duchess,” he said, low and deliberate, every word carrying weight.

“I am ready,” she replied, though her heart still raced.

He inclined his head once, then led her down the aisle with slow, purposeful steps, his presence close enough that the warmth of him pressed against her, every movement radiating control.

Climbing inside, Isabella gave one last look at central London before they set off for Rochdale.

After two hours of buzzing silence, Isabella couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where is Rochdale Castle?” she asked, fidgeting with her gloves. “I have never heard of it. It sounds… remote.”

The Duke’s dark eyes met hers, unblinking. “It is.” His voice was low. Each word was pronounced after a beat of deliberation. “Far enough that most are too timid to visit.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Timid? Or merely wise?”

He let a faint smirk tug at one corner of his mouth, but his gaze did not waver. “Perhaps both. How do you think you will manage to endure the solitude, Duchess?”

“I can endure much, Your Grace,” she said, keeping her tone light, though her pulse quickened.

He leaned just slightly toward her, the heat from him brushing against her shoulder, and the carriage felt smaller in an instant. “We shall see.”

Isabella tilted her head to the side. “You are… rather difficult to read, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps.” His jaw was rigid. Isabella was beginning to understand that this inflexibility was part of his nature. His gaze flicked over her, and for a moment, pinned by his searching stare, she held her breath in anticipation of what he might say next. “Or perhaps I am exactly as I appear.”

“And how do you think you appear?”

He leaned in. “How doyouperceive me, Duchess?”

Dangerous. Unpredictable.Were the words that came to her head.

“Do you find me…beastly?” he pressed, voice low, a growl threading through each word, daring her to answer.

Isabella met his eyes evenly, refusing to betray even a flicker of hesitation. “I… avoid making quick judgments,” she said lightly, though her heart thumped against her ribs.

A shadow of a frown crossed his features, but he did not retreat. “Cautious,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Good. You will need that.”

“Why?” she asked softly. “Am I supposed to fear you?”

His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to hum. “No. Fear is unnecessary. Respect… that you may learn quickly.”

“In my experience, respect is earned, not demanded.”

He tilted his head to the side. “For a diamond, you talk back a lot.”

“So, you have done your research on me,” Isabella smirked, only to be defeated by the Duke’s raised brow.

“You are my wife,” he said flatly. “Did you expect me not to?”