Once a Duchess(63)

 

Isabelle searched his face, but found no clues in his features, once again perfectly composed and unreadable. Only a tightness at the corners of his eyes betrayed any emotion whatsoever. With a deep breath and a sense of impending unpleasantness, she filed into the library with the others.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Marshall poured himself a brandy from the decanter in the library. He took a sip of the amber liquor, savoring the clean burn as it went down. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

 

He hadn’t gotten into a brawl since he and Grant were in the schoolroom at Helmsdale Hall. It wasn’t a brawl, he reminded himself. He’d attacked Woolsley, who never saw it coming — and Marshall had relished every moment of it, much to his chagrin.

 

But he deserved it. It had been bad enough to stand just around the corner from them, knowing another man was touching Isabelle, kissing her. Marshall felt himself getting irate again when he thought about how, after pressing his affections upon her, Woolsley had debased Isabelle with his tawdry offer. He flexed his right hand and winced at the throbbing pain in his knuckles.

 

One thing that crystallized in his mind with absolute certainty was that his life had been irrevocably changed out there on the balcony. Doubts and hesitations, the things he’d tried to convince himself he wanted, had all been swept away in that terrible moment.

 

He took another fortifying swallow of his drink. Then he turned around.

 

Five faces registering varying degrees of shock watched him.

 

Isabelle sat between her brother and Naomi on the sofa. Her beautiful green eyes were wide, and she looked ready to bolt for the door. Tight bands constricted around Marshall’s chest when he saw her alarm. He wanted to toss the rest of them out on their collective ear, carry Isabelle to bed, and begin making up for lost time.

 

Caro perched in an armchair facing the sofa, but her seething face was turned away from the Fairfaxes, refusing to acknowledge their presence. Grant stood behind their mother’s chair with his hands thrust into his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, tense.

 

Alexander Fairfax’s jaw moved side to side, banked fury evident in every taut muscle.

 

Oddly, of the entire group, only Naomi seemed perfectly at ease, as though the situation did not surprise or unsettle her in the least. Poor thing. She had no idea what all the hullabaloo was about.

 

It seemed everyone could use a drink. He poured brandies for the men and wine for the ladies.

 

Alexander caught his eye when Marshall handed him a glass. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us what this is about, Monthwaite.”

 

With a dull thud, Caro’s fist slammed against the upholstered arm of her chair. “You will not address your superior so familiarly.”

 

“Sod off, Your Grace,” Alexander retorted with a sneer.

 

The dowager duchess’ mouth fell open.

 

Alexander jerked his chin toward Marshall. “Were it not for your damned son’s lunatic behavior, we would all be enjoying a pleasant evening right now.”

 

“Now see here, Fairfax,” Grant interjected. “Mind your tongue around my mother before I mind it for you.”

 

A shouting match between the three erupted, with Fairfax accusing the Lockwoods of all manner of duplicity and dishonor. At one point, he called Caro a snake in the grass.

 

Showing true Lockwood spirit, Caro and Grant railed against the collective immorality of the Fairfax family, referring to them as peasants and gold digging opportunists.

 

Marshall and Isabelle’s gazes met. She rolled her eyes. He gave her a wry smile and walked behind the couch to lean between her and his sister.

 

“Naomi, you should go now.”

 

His sister smoothed the skirt of her salmon gown. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe I should.” She sipped her wine and smiled her sweet, sisterly smile. Two feet away, Alex Fairfax leapt to his feet, pointed at the dowager duchess, and called her a hateful old hag.

 

Marshall ground his teeth. “This is getting out of hand. It’s no place for you.”

 

Naomi raised her face and breathed deeply, as though drinking in fresh country air, oblivious to the animosity flying over their heads. “To the contrary. Here I am with my mother,” she gestured serenely to the irate Caro, “my brothers,” she nodded to Grant, whose face had long since gone red with the force of his yelling, “my sister.” She patted Isabelle on the leg. “Oh!” She covered her mouth in false embarrassment. “My former sister. And her beloved brother. Where should I be,” she concluded, “if not in the bosom of my loving family?” She sipped her wine again, as calmly as if it were her afternoon tea.