Page 56 of Duchess in Disguise
“You needn’t concern yourself with any of that, Your Grace,” Isobel said quickly, trying to pull away slightly.
“Tell me,” he insisted, tightening his grip on her. “Or I will go and ask him myself. You should know I have no desire to be as corteous to him as I am to you.”
Isobel had never seen him look this angry. In fact, this was the clearest expression she had seen on his face. He always seemed to have the upper hand when emotions were involved. Hardly ever showing enough of what he was feeling, and now, the wrath boiling within him was visible on his face.
“I-I merely informed him of the letter I found while searching Aunt Deborah’s room. A warning to Valerie. And then he suggested I… play a more active role in obtaining further proof of my aunt’s involvement –”
“And let me hazard a guess – the role requires you to act as bait?” Richard challenged, his dark gaze leaving her no room for denial. “I saw his face, Isobel. He is a contemptible, avaricious fool, and you will not follow his instructions. You will not risk yourself for his greed.”
“But what if he is right? What if the only way to catch her is to provoke–”
“Absolutely not,” Richard snapped. “We knew from the start that this ploy was equivalent to playing with fire. What he has asked of you is nothing less than inviting the flames into your home. And I will not let you do such a foolish thing. Mark my words –”
“Stop.” Isobel breathed, her voice quiet and cold.
Her heart was pounding so much that she could feel the force of it causing her head to throb. Why was this man being so stubborn on her behalf? Why was he so intent on protecting her, as he deemed fit? How was she meant to understand his motives as nothing but care?
“I will handle it,” she insisted, her temper flaring against the confusing proximity of their bodies and the stress of his disapproval. “You do not have to involve yourself anymore, Richard. Adrian is here now – and he has offered his assistance. Since he is Valerie’s fiancé, this concerns him more than it does you. So… leave it be.”
Richard’s hand tightened on her waist, the pressure painful, yet thrilling. The rapidly dwindling distance between them made her tremble, her mind scattering like petals in the wind.
“Why should his assistance be the one you accept? Why do you wish to rely on him and not me?”
“Why should I rely on you when you have someone else in mind to propose to?” she blurted out.
Richard seemed fond of doing this – confusing her with his words and actions, yet he had previously stated that his interest lay elsewhere. He had another, one he was intent on living out the rest of his life with, but he enjoyed tending to her and fawning over her as though there was something more between them.
Something she knew did not exist – at least not on his part. Not when he had decided on what his future was to hold. She needed to cut him off, to remove him from the cave he had created in her heart. To end his lingering presence in her mind.
Only the truth could set her free now.
She leaned into him during a turn as the tempo of the music suddenly dropped to something softer, as though the song was coming to an end. She spoke softly, her voice desperate and low, her eyes pleading for a necessary pain.
“Then tell me, Richard. I must know. Who is she? Who is the woman you intend to propose to? The one who meets the rigid requirements of a Dellamare Duchess that you have boasted of?”
Richard hesitated, his eyes flickering away from hers, a shadow of pain crossing his face before it snapped back to its usual controlled mask. He held her gaze, and the words he spoke formed the sharpest, most painful dagger he could have wielded.
“Miss Bridget Wightman.”
The name was like a slap across her face.
Bridget. Deborah’s rude, cruel daughter. The very woman Isobel has seen Richard regard with clear distaste, on numerous occasions. If she did not already know it, this moment confirmed that Richard had no intent to marry for anything other than duty.
And she could not stand that. He had everything he needed to live a free life, and he was constraining himself to one that will undoubtedly be bitter and loveless, in the name of fulfilling a duty no one of relevance would care to supervise.
She hated that this was the choice he had made.
The song came to an end then, gently fading with a soft tune, and the partners on the dance floor began to part. Isobel gave him one last look, not caring if her anger was obvious, before she pulled away from him and ran out of the ballroom.
Richard knew the responsible thing to do would be to let her go.
But he couldn’t bring himself to, feeling uneasy because of the growing distance between him and her retreating figure, which was growing larger by the moment. It was not wise for her to be roaming around by herself so late in the evening, when there was a killer on the loose. A killer who had his sights set on her.
He couldn’t stand idly by while she disregarded her safety – or at least, that was what he told himself before leaving the ballroom.
The night air was cool and calm, but the crunch of footsteps against the grass cut through it crisply, and he spotted her making her way further from the house and into the garden.
“Miss Wightman – Miss Wightman, stop this instant!” he hissed at her, hurrying to catch up.
