Page 3 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

Isaac did not wait for them to arrive. Seizing the tablecloth, he tore it fully away from the table. The last of the glasses cascaded to the ground, and foaming champagne splashed onto his freshly-polished Hessians. He barely noticed.

Sitting underneath the table, hands pressed to his mouth, sat Thomas. His eyes were wide behind his spectacles, and it took Isaac a full, horror-struck moment to realize that the little boy was laughing .

People had gathered, of course. He was aware of them whispering urgently behind his back, keeping to a discreet distance.

“Thomas,” Isaac said at last, glad that his voice did not waver in the slightest. Showing weakness would do nobody any good, certainly not a child.

Thomas needed to see strength and certainty, not emotion.

Emotion muddied matters. “Thomas, you were supposed to stay in your room. Mary has been most distressed, searching for you.”

Thomas’ smile faded, and Isaac felt a rush of disappointment for having been the one to take the smile off the child’s face. He reminded himself that it was necessary. Thomas hung his head, a sure sign that he was sorry.

Isaac held out a hand. “Come here at once.”

Thomas put his small hand in Isaac’s larger one, and he neatly lifted the small boy out from under the table, well away from the mess of broken glass. He fully intended to stride away without a word to anyone when a whisper from behind caught his attention.

“Look at her, hiding under the table, of all things! Shameful.”

Thomas wasn’t alone.

Isaac crouched down at once, carefully balancing Thomas on his hip.

Sure enough, there was a young woman sitting underneath the table. Not just any woman, either. It was Lady Charlotte . Lady Charlotte Harding .

He hadn’t gotten a good look at her earlier.

She was a tall woman, and rather curvier than was fashionable, as if that counted for anything.

She wore a pale gown which suited her coloring, and tendrils of dark hair had come loose around her face, hanging over her forehead and into a pair of wide, green eyes.

She was, he noticed with surprise, remarkably pretty. A pool of champagne was soaking into the edge of her gown.

“Are you going to come out?” he heard himself say, his voice cool and questioning.

She swallowed. “I … I thought it would be pleasant to sit under here with the child. I did get him to come out, but he seemed overwhelmed, so I suggested we go back under the table. I was rather hoping nobody had noticed I was here.”

He glanced around at the crowd and then back at her. “It’s rather too late for that.”

Lady Charlotte bit her lip. She seemed to have turned paler. “Then I suppose I should face the music.”

He nodded brusquely and extended a hand. She stared at it, as if baffled, and he lifted an eyebrow.

“The glass,” he said, by way of explanation. “I should not like you to cut yourself. Not during my party, at the very least.”

She pursed her lips, unimpressed, but took his hand.

Her palm was warm, her fingers tentative and soft.

Isaac resolutely did not think of that, carefully helping her to her feet.

He felt a hundred eyes on him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, they were all focused, not on him, but at Lady Charlotte.

She was in something of a state, her hair coming undone and falling in her eyes, and her gown soaked with champagne.

He saw the glitter of pieces of glass caught up in the material of her train, shining as though her dress really was made of ice.

She held her head high, looking at no one in particular, but humiliation was written clearly across her face.

There was no sign of her brother and his wife just yet, but they were doubtless on the way.

“She ought to be ashamed,” muttered an audible male voice in the audience.

Isaac was very nearly at the end of his tether. He rounded on the speaker, finding himself face to face with a terrified-looking Lord Tabbish.

“I thought you might have learned to hold your tongue, sir,” he hissed, his voice sharp. Lord Tabbish cowered back. “Do not insult my guests in my house. If I were you, I would leave and hope that you and I do not cross paths again.”

Lord Tabbish scrambled away without a word, and Isaac turned back to Lady Charlotte. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from her. Not thanks, but certainly not anger .

Anger was what he saw in her eyes.

“I do not need you to stand up for me, Your Grace,” Lady Charlotte stated, her voice cold.

He gave a tight smile. “Well, you have created quite a stir at my party.”

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze. That was impressive. “I should have thought that a woman under a table would be less shocking than a father not knowing where his child had got to.”

“Uncle.”

She blinked, missing a beat. “What?”

Isaac sighed. “I am his uncle.”

She swallowed. “I see. Well, I would not have allowed a child to escape into an event like this. It’s terribly overwhelming. Poor Tommy was crying his heart out.”

Isaac went still. Thomas, who had been very still in his arms, rested his head on his shoulder.

“What did you call him?” Isaac managed.

Lady Charlotte blinked at him, frowning. “I … I called him Tommy. That is his name, isn’t it?”

“I call him Thomas. I do not like nicknames.”

“Well, he told me that his name was Tommy.”

Isaac felt as though the room was shifting around him.

“He … He told you?” he managed, his voice thick.

Lady Charlotte was now looking at him as though he were mad.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, bewildered.

Isaac let out a long, ragged breath. Glancing around, he saw that the crowd was rapidly losing interest, most of them wandering off or engaging in conversation. There was no sign of Lady Charlotte’s relatives yet.

He seized his moment, snatching her by the wrist and hauling her along towards a door.

“What are you doing?” she yelped, trying and failing to yank her arm back from his grip.

“You, my dear, are coming with me.”