Page 43 of Her Beast of a Duke

“Good.” Lady Wickleby hummed as she sipped her tea, saying nothing further. Oscar bit back his frustration, disliking that he had to entertain the couple. “Ah, speaking of better choices, darling Isabella, you will never guess who I saw the other day!”

“Oh, heavens,” Isabella whispered, her face paling further.

Oscar waited with bated breath.

“It was Lord Stanton, my dear,” Lady Wickleby beamed. “It was a massive surprise, but there he was, riding astride a most impressive stallion right through Hyde Park. He was ever so handsome and sweet. Oh, he could not apologize enough to us when he saw us, but we assured him all was well. If anything, he is most disappointed to hear of your new marriage, but he wishes you well.”

The older lady scowled at Oscar for a moment, but he caught it.

“You know, I cannot help but think that it is a pity you didn’t try harder to beg his forgiveness, to win him back, darling,” she added.

“Forgiveness?” Oscar’s mood darkened further, and he knew he had used up his generous silence. “Lady Wickleby, it is Lord Stanton who ought to have fallen to his knees and begged Her Grace for forgiveness. How can you sit there, view her as my Duchess, as the highest rank she could have married into, and speak of her begging for a man?”

“I—”

He didn’t give either Lady or Lord Wickleby a chance to speak.

“Isabella ismy wife,” he growled with more possessiveness than he realized he had. “She is mine, and nobody else matters. Do not come into our home and speak of such things. In fact, you may take your leave altogether.”

“I do not believe you came to check on me at all,” Isabella agreed, her eyes narrowing. She set down her teacup with enough force to rattle the teapot. “You have simply come to stir up trouble and try to throw me off with a mention of Lord Stanton. I do not care for him, not after what he did. It seems you have forgiven him easily, considering the shame you crowed about him bestowing upon us.”

“Isabella,” Lord Wickleby berated. “Do not speak to your mother that way.”

“But I shall,” she snapped. “And I agree with my husband. You may both take your leave and give my regards to Uncle Bernard.”

“But—”

“Good day, Mother, Father.”

Pointedly, Isabella turned her face away. After a second, she gestured for a maid to come and clean up the prepared tea.

“We are finished here,” she told the maid, smiling politely.

The silence after the Wicklebys’ departure was a blessing. The air still trembled faintly from their raised voices, but Oscar stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, as if their presence could be banished through stillness alone.

“You are all dismissed,” he said quietly.

The servants scattered like birds freed from a cage. As the last maid passed, Oscar plucked a sugar cube from the tea tray. He rolled it between his fingers before placing it on his tongue, eyes half-closing as it dissolved.

When he opened them again, Isabella was watching him from the settee, one brow arched. “You eat sugar like that?”

He turned slightly toward her, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. “On occasion. It is one of life’s simpler pleasures.”

She laughed softly. “You, of all men, finding sweetness enjoyable? Thatisunexpected.”

Oscar tilted his head, as though studying her from across an invisible line. “You think me incapable of sweetness?”

“I think you prefer to hide it.”

His gaze lingered on her—longer than was polite. “Perhaps I do.”

Her eyes dropped to the sugar bowl still sitting between them. “Does it truly taste so good?”

His tone deepened, almost a rumble. “Would you like to find out?”

Her breath caught, but she reached for the bowl. “I’ll be the judge,” she murmured.

Oscar watched her fingers as she lifted a cube, small and white, holding it up as if to weigh his challenge. “It melts quickly,” he said.