Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“ I never did care for Rutland,” Lord Winthorpe muttered, helping Isolde down from their carriage. “Always prattling on about his business ventures as if he were some common merchant instead of a peer of the realm.”

“Papa,” Isolde chided gently, adjusting her ivory gloves, “he is our host.”

Her father continued his quiet grumbling as they climbed up the stairs to Rutland House… until his complaints suddenly stopped.

Through the open doors, Isolde caught a glimpse of Lady Langhall’s elegant burgundy silk gown.

“Matilda!” Her father’s face transformed, years seeming to melt away. “Er, I meant… My dear Lady Langhall, you look enchanting this evening.”

Isolde bit back a smile as her father practically dragged her across the ballroom to where Lady Langhall stood, resplendent in her dark silks and garnets.

The older woman’s eyes sparkled with genuine warmth as they approached.

“Lord Winthorpe, Lady Isolde.” Her curtsy was graceful. “I was just telling Lady Rutland how lovely her new chandeliers are, though perhaps not as lovely as the company they illuminate.”

Isolde watched her father flush with pleasure. The three of them chatted amiably, but soon she felt like an intruder in their private paradise.

“I believe I’ll fetch some lemonade,” she said, though neither her father nor Lady Langhall seemed to notice her departure.

From her vantage point near the refreshment table, Isolde observed them. The way her father leaned in slightly when Lady Langhall spoke, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when he made her laugh…

Love looked beautiful on them both.

Her smile faded. Would she ever know such happiness? Such tender regard? Her father had found love not once but twice in his life, while she…

She had fled from a loveless match, only to find herself more alone than ever.

“Well, if it isn’t the notorious Lady Isolde.”

Her spine stiffened at Lady Lillian’s acid-sweet tone. Taking a fortifying sip of lemonade, she turned to face her former friend.

“Lady Lillian.” She inclined her head slightly. “How lovely to see you again.”

Lillian’s eyes raked over her pale blue ball gown with calculated disdain. “Quite brave of you to appear in Society again so soon after the incident at the tea rooms. Though I suppose when one’s reputation is already in tatters, what’s one more scandal?”

“I wasn’t aware that taking tea was scandalous,” Isolde replied evenly, though her hands trembled slightly around her glass.

“Oh, but haven’t you heard? You were seen with the Duke of Meadowell himself.” Lady Lillian’s smile was razor-sharp. “Though I suppose beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to potential suitors.”

Isolde opened her mouth to reply, but something in the suddenly rigid set of Lady Lillian’s shoulders made her pause.

A figure materialized at her side, bringing with it the familiar scent of sandalwood and leather.

“Lady Lillian.” The Duke of Meadowell’s deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. “I trust you’re enjoying the ball?”

Lady Lillian’s transformation was immediate and fascinating. Her sharp edges softened, along with her voice.

“Your Grace! How wonderful to see you. I was just telling Lady Isolde how much we’ve missed her at social events.”

Something dark flickered across the Duke’s face, so quickly that Isolde might have imagined it, before his expression settled into aristocratic boredom.

The orchestra struck up a new tune—a waltz.

“How fortunate,” Lady Lillian gushed. “I do so love this piece?—”

“Lady Isolde,” Arthur spoke over her despite the obvious hint, “would you honor me with this dance?”

“What?” Isolde’s surprise was genuine.

“The dance, my lady.” His lips twitched slightly. “Shall we?”

Lady Lillian’s stutter of protest was worth every moment of uncomfortable tension as Isolde placed her hand in his.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I would be delighted.”

As Arthur led her to the dance floor, Isolde caught sight of her father and Lady Langhall, who were lost in their own dance and their own world. Then, the Duke’s hand curled around her waist, and every coherent thought fled her mind.

Heat bloomed wherever they touched—his hand on her waist, his palm against hers, even through two layers of gloves. The waltz swept them into its embrace, and Isolde fought to maintain her composure.

“I suppose you view yourself as a savior now, don’t you, Your Grace?”

A slight smile played on his lips. “A simple thank you would suffice.”

“I am perfectly capable of handling my battles.”

The words came out sharper than she had intended, her body betraying her with a shiver as his hand tightened imperceptibly on her waist.

“Are you?” His voice dropped lower. “And when Lady Lillian draws her claws, causing a scene that would further damage your already precarious reputation, what would you do then?”

Isolde hated that he was right. Hated even more how aware she was of his every movement, the fluid grace with which he guided her through the dance.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” His eyes gleamed with wicked amusement. “I don’t believe I quite caught it.”

“Don’t press your luck, Your Grace.”

He chuckled, the sound sending another unwanted shiver down her spine. As they turned, he followed her distracted gaze to where her father and Lady Langhall danced, lost in their own world.

“Does it bother you?” he asked. “Seeing them together?”

“No!” The denial came quickly. “No, I’m happy for them. Papa hasn’t smiled like that since…”

Since her mother died. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Then what troubles you?”

Perhaps it was the music, sweet and searching. Perhaps it was the way her father’s eyes shone with such joy, or how natural Lady Langhall’s hand looked resting in his.

Whatever the reason, the truth slipped out before she could stop it. “I wonder if I’ll ever find love like that.”

Arthur’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “How na?ve.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Love…” He said the word as if it tasted bitter. “… is merely an excuse people tell themselves to justify marriage and producing heirs. Nothing more.”

Isolde’s chest tightened with indignation. “Of course, what would a rake like you know about love? You have no heart, Sir, as it seems you only focus on one organ.”

Something flickered in his eyes—pain, perhaps anger—before his mask of amusement slipped back into place.

“That particular organ can provide far more reliable pleasure, I assure you. And with considerably less trouble.”

He turned her, drawing her closer than strictly proper.

“Think about it, my lady. No expectations of forever, no broken promises. Just pure, exquisite sensation.” His breath tickled her ear. “The freedom to take whatever you want, to feel everything your proper upbringing denies you.”

“I could never be so… so heartless.” But her voice trembled traitorously.

“You say that,” he murmured, turning her and drawing her closer again so his lips nearly brushed her ear, “and yet you shudder every time I draw near.”

God help her, he was right. Her body betrayed her with every turn, every touch, every whispered word.

When he turned her back to face him, her eyes dropped to his lips of their own accord. What would they feel like against hers? Would they be as skilled as his reputation suggested?

The music swelled, and over Arthur’s shoulder, Isolde caught sight of her father and Lady Langhall again. The pure love in their expressions was like a bucket of cold water to her heated thoughts.

This man was everything she’d sworn to avoid—a rake who viewed love as weakness and women as conquests.

The final notes of the waltz died down. Before the Duke could speak again, before he could further muddle her thoughts with his dangerous charm, Isolde dipped into a quick curtsy.

“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace.”

She fled the dance floor, her cheeks burning and her heart racing. Behind her, she could feel his eyes following her, as tangible as a physical touch.

She didn’t stop until she reached a relatively quiet corner, her hand pressed to her chest as if she could somehow slow her wild pulse.

“Get hold of yourself,” she whispered fiercely.

She was not some green girl who could easily be swayed by a handsome face and practiced charm. She wanted love—real, lasting love like the one her parents had shared, like the one her father had found again with Lady Langhall.

Not this dangerous game of seduction the Duke seemed determined to play.

But even as she rejoined the ball, forcing herself to smile and make pleasant conversation, she couldn’t quite forget the feel of his hands on her waist or the way his voice had seemed to caress her very soul.

And that, she realized with growing dismay, was the most dangerous thing of all.

Arthur stared at her retreating figure, but Lady Lillian’s earlier words echoed in his mind.

“… when one’s reputation is already in tatters…”

The casual cruelty, the calculated desire to wound—it was too familiar. For a moment, he was twelve again, his father’s voice cutting through him.

“Pathetic. Weak. A disappointment to the family…”

Perhaps that’s why he’d intervened. Or perhaps it was the way Lady Isolde had lifted her chin, refusing to show how deeply the barbs had struck. Such quiet strength in the face of brutality…

“Your Grace!” Lord Rutland’s voice shattered his reverie. “I simply must steal you away. Lord Aberdeen and Lord Ashworth are most eager to further discuss the West Indies venture.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he watched Lady Isolde disappear into the crowd. “Surely it can wait?—”

“Your Grace.” Rutland caught his arm, already steering him toward his study. “I assure you, this opportunity cannot wait. The potential profits are quite extraordinary. The sugar plantation investments we previously discussed. The final details must be settled before the market shifts.”

Trapped by courtesy, Arthur allowed himself to be led away from the ballroom. The ghost of Lady Isolde’s warmth lingered on his hands, the scent of her—lavender and something uniquely her—still teasing his senses.

How dare she accuse him of having no heart when she made the damn thing beat so erratically? She was both bewitching and frustrating.

“… projected returns of at least thirty percent…” Rutland was saying as they entered his study.

Two other peers were waiting inside, glasses of brandy already in hand. Arthur accepted one automatically, though what he really wanted was to return to the ballroom. To find Lady Isolde. To show her exactly how wrong she was about his capacity for feeling.

“The sugar trade is expanding rapidly,” Lord Aberdeen began, but Arthur barely heard him.

He was thinking of how Lady Isolde had felt in his arms as they moved around the dance floor, the way she’d trembled despite her sharp tongue. The flash of vulnerability in her eyes when she’d spoken of love. He had been cruel to dismiss her hopes so callously, but hearing her speak of love with such yearning…

She didn’t deserve to live in fantasies.

“Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”

Arthur forced his attention back to the conversation. “My apologies, gentlemen. You were saying?”

As Rutland launched into another detailed explanation, Arthur’s mind wandered again to the ballroom. Was she still there? Had she gone back home to escape him? The urge to find out was almost overwhelming.

“We’ll need an answer by the month’s end,” Lord Ashworth concluded.

Arthur nodded, though he had absorbed almost nothing of their proposal. “Send the documents to my solicitor. I shall review them thoroughly.”

The men seemed satisfied, but before Arthur could escape, Rutland launched into yet another tangent about shipping routes.

The music from the ballroom drifted through the study’s open door—the same waltz Arthur had danced with Lady Isolde.

He remembered how she’d looked up at him, a complex landscape of emotions playing across her features. Defiance mingled with curiosity, vulnerability intertwined with a keen intelligence that challenged his every assumption.

Her eyes had held stories untold, secrets he found himself desperate to unravel.

For a moment, he’d thought…

No. She was right to distrust him. He was everything she feared—a rake, a scoundrel, a man incapable of the kind of love she dreamed of.

But God help him, he’d never wanted to seduce an innocent woman quite so badly.