Isobel glared at him, and he regarded her with mild disinterest for a moment, then he said,
“My name is Richard Harte, Duke of Dellamere. I’m very close friends with the groom, Adrian — who needs to be informed of the situation, so he doesn’t end up marrying the wrong woman by accident.”
She had barely understood his last statement before he moved further into her room, settling down at her desk.
“W-What are you doing?”
“What you and your father should have done as soon as this problem surfaced. I suppose neither of you thought to send word to Adrian about recent developments?” Richard queried, rummaging through the drawers of the desk for something.
“I don’t — I don’t believe so. I was told that he would be here in a few days, and we hoped to have caught the person responsible for Valerie’s state before then.”
Richard snorted, pulling a piece of paper out from one of the drawers, reaching back in to retrieve an ink pot and a quill.
“It is rather charming, how grandiose your delusions are. Do you really believe you will be able to keep up the ruse? Long enough to find the culprit?”
“I intend to do just that —” Isobel frowned indignantly.
“You are well on your way to failing. Or worse — getting yourself killed. It was quite obvious that you were not who you claimed to be. You are far too clumsy and graceless, and you do not know the names or identities of the guests you are meant to be tending to.” He pointed out, not even looking at her, as his hand scribbled words across the paper swiftly.
“Well, that is hardly my fault! Lord Gramfield did not provide me with the information I needed to do this. He somewhatemphasized that I wouldn’t need to do much, just act like Valerie —”
“A task that is clearly far too difficult for you. As I said, you are far too clumsy. You act as though you were raised in a barn, and if we must rely solely on you to unmask the culprit, perhaps we should cancel the wedding immediately, because I do not believe I will be the only one who questions your identity today.” He cut her off, his voice plain as he insulted her without even glancing in her direction.
This man — this frustrating, rude man! Isobel fumed, her hands clenched at her side as she willed herself to ignore his blatant disrespect. But she couldn’t simply forget how easily he belittled her, and before she knew it, the Scottish curse word Graham was fond of occasionally utilizing when he was upset slipped from her lips.
Richard stopped writing, his spine straightening before he rose to his feet, his eyes dark as he walked towards her. Instinctively, Isobel took a step back, but then resolved to stand her ground, glaring up at him.
But her bravado only lasted a handful of moments, because soon, she felt compelled to lower her eyes, her cheeks burning as his gaze left a prickling sensation over her skin.
“Scottish. That explains it all.” He sighed deeply before adding. “You have hopelessly bitten off more than you can chew. If left to your own devices, you will be found out before you obtain yourobjective. I will help you, but you need to follow everything I say, without question.”
Isobel wanted to deny his assistance because a part of her still felt wary about this man. His arrogance was one thing, but there was still an air of danger that surrounded him, putting her on edge.
But… she did need some assistance. Lord Gramfield had abandoned her to her devices, for better or worse, and she did not wish to give him the impression that she was incompetent on any account.
And this man was offering his assistance.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind dedicating your time and efforts to a barn animal such as myself, Your Grace?” she queried, meeting his gaze.
“That is precisely why you need my help. I will teach you how to be a proper lady, how to make the people around you divulge the information you need to find who is responsible.”
To her annoyance, she found it hard to focus on his words due to how close he was. She could practically feel the heat radiating off his body onto hers, the warmth on her skin tempting in a way she had not experienced before.
The duke carried with him an earthy, spicy scent of something akin to cardamom and peppermint that had her nearly leaning over to properly decipher what exactly she could smell.
His eyes raked over her frame slowly, the act setting her cheeks ablaze, but before she could further consider his offer, he took his leave.
Isobel stood where she was for a few minutes after he left, confused over what had just happened.
Then she quickly closed the door and sat on her bed to think.
This Duke was clearly invested in her task, but she was not sure if it would be for her benefit or to her detriment.
With a deep breath, Isobel whispered,
“Oh, dear God, grant me grace and strength.”
“Is there a reason why I was not informed about this beforehand?”
