Author: Virginia Vice
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/45305_8
"Have you heard much of the Merry Bandits? They're all the talk across Thrushmore and Harshire," the duke once again silenced Isobel's worried words, ushering her down the stretching, stretching dining hall. "They've caused quite the stir along the roadways, fancying themselves modern incarnations of the old Robin Hood tales. Preaching justice, when truly all they are is a gang of roustabouts," the duke grumbled. "I've spoken to the sheriff of my lands already - and he'll not tolerate those sorts of thieves, he promised. I hope they haven't been making trouble in Upton - I'm certain you've been busy since your father passed," he continued unabated, quite liking to hear himself talk. Flustered, Isobel began to speak bolder.
"Please, m'lord, concerning that - there's a mat
ter on the table I quite hoped to discuss with you, about the nature of my father's finances," Isobel interjected.
"Oh, yes, of course, your father's estate," the duke mentioned offhandedly. "It must be difficult, very difficult for one, unmarried woman to manage something so stressful. Please, sit," he finally said, and Isobel plopped rather unladylike into the dining chair even before he had finished pulling it out for her. "Now, we've a few matters I'd like to discuss, lovely Isobel," he said in an atrocious, quiet purr. Isobel held herself together reasonably, her leg shivering in discomfort, but she thought of her people - of Upton, and her father. She thought of Lord Brighton's crass advances, and swallowed her pride.
"M'lord..."
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"Please, lovely Isobel. Eugenius, I insist," he grunted, that off-setting smile growing. He sat next to her, looming closely; Isobel withdrew in calm confusion. He ought to know not to crowd her - certainly, not like this.
"E... Eugenius," she hissed. "My estate... you know, how truly my father loved the people of Upton - how much he would do anything to help them," Isobel smiled as a bowl of soup was set before her. The scent of slow-roasted vegetables stewed in stock and freshly-picked herbs de Provence struck her strong; she took in a deep whiff, and it smelled so truly heavenly. Having eaten little save an apple plucked from a roadside stand all day, she wanted so badly to devour the food, but she kept her sense of propriety intact, as best she could. The Lord Brighton could act so crass, and the Duke of Thrushmore could overstep his bounds, but she, at least, would make her father proud.
"Your father, as I understand it, took on quite a lot of debt in the furtherance of the estate - owed to that malcontent, Lord Brighton, in Norbury," the duke spat, taking a loud slurp of his soup.
"You... you knew?" Lady Isobel remarked in faint surprise. "You knew of my father's situation? And of... of the duke?"
"Did you think I would have listened to you had I not known you needed my help?" the duke smiled a sickening smile bright and wide. "Please, enjoy your soup, won't you?"
"Did... did you do nothing to help my father while he was still alive, duke? I had thought you to be a friend of his," she exhaled, fiery.
"Your father had little interest in asking me for my assistance, lovely Isobel. I'm not certain why - but, it is as it is, and now..." the duke's smile grew dark and devious; she suddenly felt his hand on her leg, and she recoiled, taking in a sharp breath at the man's gross actions.
"D-duke! I'm..." she stilled her nerves. "I... yes, I need... I need help, the Lord Brighton, he sought to take advantage of me, in exchange for forgiveness of the debts my father left to him. I had hoped to have a good discussion, with a gentleman—"
"Lovely Isobel," the duke purred, a wretched noise that wrenched Isobel's stomach. "I lost my wife, as you may have heard... she was such a lovely young thing. And since she's been gone..." Isobel felt the duke's fingers sliding, heedlessly up her leg, and she shuddered, her breaths halting. "...I've felt so alone, here in the manor. I've needed someone here, in the manor... to keep me company..." he drew closer, and Isobel felt her leg begin to shudder hard; when he dared to grasp her thigh, she shrieked, shuddering and pulling away from the man who had been made out to be such a gentleman by so many woman across northern England. The chair groaned as its legs skidded across the wooden floor.
"M-m'lord!" she exclaimed.
"Lovely Isobel, come to me," he growled, a severe look in his eyes. "I'll make the debts with Lord Brighton go away. I'll even take your hand in marriage," he offered, as Isobel should beg him for the opportunity. She recoiled, surprise setting in to her bones. If this is the way that the man all of north England took to be a fine gentleman conducted himself - what could she expect from the rest of high society?
"M'lord, I... I simply hoped we could come to a business accord—" Isobel took a step back, but the duke persisted; feeling cornered, she shook as he came closer, sniffing her scent loudly and biting at her jaw with a feral aggression.
"I've needed you for years, little Isobel," he hissed into her ear. "And now I can have you. You need me, don't you?" he asked, his voice full of kink and lust. "You need me to fix your problems. Don't worry. I can make it all go away, if you'll be mine," he snarled, and without warning, he pressed his lips to hers. Isobel's eyes opened wide and she groaned, huffing and pulling herself away from his embrace.
"M'lord! This..." Isobel stammered in disbelief. "I th-thought you were a gentleman!"
"I am a man, and I'm the best chance you've got," the duke reminded her harshly. "Come, stay at my manor. Stay with me—"
"You're no different than that dissolute creature in Norbury," Isobel scolded. "I thought you a gentleman. I'll be taking my leave," she said, flustered. The Duke strutted after Isobel as she stormed towards the end of the dining hall, the pretense of her manners faded.
"You'll never make it alone, not in this world, lovely Isobel," the duke's voice rose to a shout, a voice much bigger than his aging, shrinking body. "Not with that monster, Brighton, at your heels. Do you think you can get past him without my help?" he called after her. Isobel flung the doors open, her cheeks bright with barely-concealed fury.
"I'll be very relieved to prove you wrong, Lord Miller," she shouted, clacking her way to the front doors.
"You'll be back! You've no choice!" the duke said, a dark laugh in his throat. She heard it echo into a muffle as she stormed into the last dying strands of sunset, her eyes downcast, the stress heavy on her shoulders again. She heard the rickety cart rounding the corner, Mr. Trevingham's face twisted in mild befuddlement.
"M'lady, that didn't last quite long for a dinner, I must say," he commented wryly. "Your dinner dates are quite the fiascoes of late, it seems."
"That's quite accurate," Isobel sighed in a frustrated bluster. "I know you'll... perhaps be quite put off by this request, Mr. Trevingham, but..."
"Another ride, back to Lord Brighton's estate?" he queried knowingly. Lady Duskwood's shoulders slumped.
"Perhaps we could stop for food beforehand. My dinner plans keep coming up short," she said.
CHAPTER SIX
It had been the most harrowing few days of her life, but at least on her ride back across the countryside, through Upton and the stormy hills, through sunset and twilight and another romp across rocky byways, she had managed to finally have a dinner worth eating. Boiled potatoes and beef - simple, perhaps, but the roadside inn she and Mr. Trevingham had spent the evening at were acquaintances of her father's, and they seemed quite overjoyed to serve her.