Page 35 of The Duke's Improper Bride
“It’s too much. I’d prefer to leave. Surely you have a country house. I’m b-better suited for country houses.”
“You’re afraid.” He stood, the disgust ringing in his voice. “I hear what you’re saying but your words mean nothing to me when they’re driven by fear.”
She hopped up from the bed. “I’m afraid?” She marched over to the row of paintings lined up against the wall—paintings that belonged in galleries and deserved attention, not squirreled away like dark, dirty secrets. “You haven’t touched your paint while in London.”
“I don’t paint while I’m in town.”
“Convenient.” She folded her arms.
“Dukes don’t paint, and if they do, they certainly don’t become artists.”
“But they do hide away and recover from terrible injuries and excel at finding those who are lost. Those they want to find, that is?”
Isaac opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. He marched to the door before leveling a glare at Nora over his shoulder. “I keep my promises.”
“What were you doing in Scotland, Isaac?”
His body stiffened.
“I’ve been called many names in my life, and while I don’t care to discuss if you believe any at this moment, I’d like to believe you realize I’m not stupid. Why do you hide who you are?”
He turned quickly. “I was recovering.”
“From a brawl with a patron?” Nora knew she was baiting him, realized it was ugly and wrong, and yet she wanted the truth. “Perhaps an a-a-attack in Hyde Park during a picnic with your—”
The words were there, stuck in her throat, suffocating her as she struggled to spit out the rest.
Isaac raised his eyebrow, all anticipation.
“—fr-fri-friends,” she finally spit out.
“Goddamn it, Nora.” Isaac yanked at his white bow tie, loosening it. “I’m an agent for the crown. I had a mission go badly, and I was sent to Scotland to recover.”
Instead of shock, Nora was consumed by emptiness in that moment. She tensed before she spoke, carefully controlling her tone.
“Am I to believe,” she started, ticking her fingers, “that you are a duke who s-secretly works for the crown who convalesces in the Scottish countryside who, all the while, forgets to mention that he’s a duke to the woman he claims to l-love?”
Isaac scratched his chin, studying her. “I never lied about loving you. Ever.”
Her palms were sweaty. She balled them tight. What a fool had she been.
“What else have you lied to me about?”
“I was going to tell you.” He shook his head. “There hasn’t been the right moment.”
Isaac turned for the door, only pausing as Nora spoke.
“I want an annulment.”
* * *
His hand frozeon the doorknob just about the same time as his heart was ripped from his chest. “What?” he asked, still facing the door. Suddenly, he was a coward, no better than the little boy who hid after news of his father’s death.
Nora didn’t answer. Instead, her feet shuffled across the carpet, then Isaac heard the sound of her stomach emptying into the porcelain bowl on her washstand.
“Nora?”
“Not now, Isaac. Please. Leave.”
