Page 63 of Her Beast of a Duke

Suddenly, she heard the scuff of footsteps behind her.

Stanton had followed her, and she whirled around, her eyes wide.

“Does the thought of such a thing make you heated?” he teased, still likely thinking he was charming her, that he wasenticingher. “I imagine your husband does not know what to do with such a beautiful wife. It is a shame, for I would have spoiled you.”

Before Isabella could find her breath to snap back at him, he spoke again.

“Is it not ghastly? Being married to such a fiend who cannot control his temper. Heaven knows what he must do to you behind closed doors.”

He strode toward her, and Isabella had often felt pinned beneath Oscar’s gaze, but this felt different. This felt suffocating, and her shaking fingers curled around the cold stone behind her.

“Lord Stanton—” her voice cracked out of fear, his face blurring with Lord Peregrine’s, both as horribly sly.

“I wish only for one torturous taste of the woman I gave up.” His voice was pitched low, as if he was trying to seduce her, when truly all he was doing was making her more afraid. “Your beastly husband would not know how to please you, butIcan.”

Just as he reached for her, and Isabella cringed back, her whole body going rigid, the door to the terrace was hit by something, and Isabella jumped.

She looked quickly enough to see Oscar’s fist slamming against the frame, his eyes fixed, deadly, on Lord Stanton.

“Get,” he growled, beginning to stalk forward, “away from my wife.”

“Your Grace?—”

Oscar’s fist came through the air, aimed and strong, and landed a solid blow on Lord Stanton’s jaw, sending him staggering back into the wall next to Isabella.

She quickly ducked out of the way, coming to Oscar’s side instead.

Lord Stanton snarled, getting back to his feet. “And you wonder why they call you a beast.” He spat blood, and Isabella swore a tooth poked out somewhere in the horrible glob.

Oscar ignored the insult and only breathed heavily, staring the other man down. “Do not come near her again. She ismywife, and I will always protect her from filth like you.”

A thrill ran through Isabella at the words, despite her fear.

My wife.

The possessiveness rang through his voice, and despite his reluctance to even take her as a wife in the first place, she couldn’t deny the happiness it brought her.

Perhaps not all is lost, she thought idly, watching as Lord Stanton hunched his shoulders up by his ears, thoroughly humbled and humiliated.

He clutched his jaw and strode away, muttering about the punch.

As soon as he was gone, Isabella turned to Oscar, curling her fingers in his tailcoat as she had done during their dance.

“I did not encourage him,” she said hastily, afraid he might think such a thing. “I did not. He advanced toward me in the ballroom, and I excused myself, but he followed me. I did try to avoid it. I do not want anything to do with?—”

Her wrists were clasped gently, pulled to be lowered, and he offered her a short nod. It wasn’t to remove her touch, but to reduce her desperation.

“I know,” Oscar told her, surprising her. “It is all right. I know what happened, Isabella, and do not ever think I do not trust you.”

She blinked, her brows knitting together. “You truly mean it? That you trust me?”

“I do. Do you trust me?”

She bit her lip, nodding.

They both pretended Oscar’s eyes didn’t fall to the way her teeth caught her lip, and then he looked away quickly.

“I am taking you back to Rochdale Castle tonight,” he said. “Your friend is content, dancing with lords, and your sister has taken to somebody. She also has your eldest sister to watch over her. You may relieve yourself of the familial role your mother holds you to for now; it is time to take care of yourself.”