Page 3 of The Duke and the Accidental Bride

But it was that cold, dispassionate gaze that brought with it a chill. Never mind how objectionably handsome he was. Dark eyes. Dark, wild hair. Square features all. His stare... it was so intense that Isabella felt it in her stomach like a hand was wrapping around her insides. Her heart began to race with what felt like fear, and where she knew that she should look away – for safety, if nothing else -- she simply could not bring herself to do so.

“Your Grace!” she gasped.

“Did I not...” Her uncle looked between them. “My God!” He gave his head a shake. “I am an absolute dolt sometimes. Too many late nights and early mornings. Work has been ravaging me, Isabella. My mind is in about a dozen different places of the moment.”

Her uncle chuckled as he looked toward the Duke as if expecting him to step forward from the shadows and introduce himself. He did no such thing, arms folded, his glare now fixed on her uncle.

“Right. Yes.” Her uncle cleared his throat and then held his hand out as if to wave the Duke toward them. “Your Grace, I would like to introduce you to my niece, the Honorable Isabella Gouldsmith. And Isabella, this is, of course, His Grace, the Duke of Fangsdale.”

Isabella was quick to jump to her feet, even if her entire body was shaking. But not from the cold. It was His Grace’s stare, the command that it embodied; the fiery discipline. It sent a shiver through Isabella’s body, again having nothing to do with the chill.

“Your Grace...” Suddenly, Isabella became very aware of her appearance, and as she stepped around the couch, she did what she could to flatten her dress and wipe away the smudged make-up on her face... a rather vain attempt for she knew she must look abhorrent. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“As it is my pleasure to have brought the two of you together.” Her uncle was quick to step between them, rubbing his hands together and laughing nervously. “His Grace and I have recently entered into business together, you see, and it was during one of our many long, productive conversations that he broached a topic with me that, to be perfectly honest, I was beyond grateful to be made privy to. The fact that he would even think to ask me of such a thing is beyond generous.”

Now Isabella understood why her uncle was acting this way.

He was and always had been the embodiment of a social climber, desperate to belong and to be accepted by those he thought above him socially, while harboring resentment toward them because he also thought himself their equals.

If there was a man more powerful and in the same room as her uncle, Isabella knew that her uncle would be the first to fall to the ground and lick his boots if so asked. And from the way heruncle was behaving right now, she got the distinct impression that few were as powerful as His Grace.

“But he did,” her uncle continued. “And naturally, your name came straight to mind. I considered your sister, Louisa too, of course, but I know what an idealist she is. Nowhere near as practical as you are. I told His Grace of you, he asked for this little rendezvous, and here we are.” He clapped his hands together proudly. “So, what do we think?”

Isabella frowned. “About what?”

“Oh!” her uncle’s eyes went wide. “Did I not say? Gosh, again, my mind is in a dozen places. I really am --”

“Langham,” the Duke suddenly growled.

It was spoken softly. Like the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon. But Isabella felt it shake the room, vibrating up her legs and through her body as if he had taken her by the arms and shaken her himself. The command in that single word. The force of it!

And her uncle, as if he had been struck by lightning, froze mid-sentence. He then turned and looked at the Duke, waiting for his orders, too afraid to say the wrong thing.

“So many words spoken, so little actually said.” The Duke pushed himself off the wall and started across the room; a tidalwave sweeping toward them. “I know fishwives who blather less than you do.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace! I was simply trying to explain --”

“You explained nothing,” the Duke snapped. He reached where her uncle was standing, and his physical size compared to her uncle took Isabella’s breath away. The man was a mountain! “Leave, now. I will take care of this on my own.”

“I... you wish for me to leave?”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Langham.”

His eyes went wide. “Of course!” He jumped in the air and spun about. “I shall check on Renfield. See where he is with those blankets!” Her uncle was quick to hurry to the door and throw himself from the room.

“And your chaperone too, please,” the Duke then said of Martha. He did not bother looking toward the elderly maid, keeping his hardened gaze fixed on Isabella in a way that made her knees tremble.

“Ex -- excuse me?” Isabella stammered.

“What I wish to speak of requires utmost secrecy.”

“Oh...” She blinked and glanced at Martha who still stood by the fire. “I assure you that Martha is not one to gossip.”

“And I assure you that I do not like to repeat myself. Now, if you do not mind...” He did not raise his voice. He did not appear angry or put out. He simply spoke the words, expecting them to be heeded, because that was who this man was.

“Ma -- Martha.” Isabella swallowed the lump in her throat. “If you will wait outside.”

“Miss, I do not know if that --”

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