“It is quite ironic how you both keep emphasizing the fact that I could never be her, whilst ignoring the fact that she is currently recovering from a poisoning attempt. Despite her perfection, someone had tried to kill her. No one knows why she was poisoned, yet I have been tasked with the job because we are identical. If I leave, the wedding will be called off if she doesn’t wake up. Your dear friend might be greatly upset, and from what I have noticed about my father, he might weep because he is doing everything possible to keep the wedding from being postponed. You both need me. But you won’t respect me or regard me as someone with emotions and feelings. You, with your arrogant, cruel words, and he, with his disregard. Perhaps if you put both your personalities together, you might have enough strength to formulate an idea that doesn’t involve sacrificing her twin?—”
Isobel was not even sure what she was saying anymore. All she knew was that she was tired. So tired of all of this. Tired of her father, tired of the Duke, tired of this family and their seeminglyendless supply of chatty people. She was even tired of Valarie and the standard she represented in the scale of the best woman she could be.
It was all sickening, and she did not need to go through this for another second.
However, just as she had been preparing to launch into another tirade about the deeply rooted exhaustion that seemed to be growing steadily, the Duke pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Isobel gasped and attempted to step away, but strong hands clamped down on her sides and kept her in place.
The heat from his touch eliminated the confusion and resistance brewing beneath her skin, and she felt herself succumb to the tingling sensation running up her spine.
The press of his lips was sure and firm, eating away at her thoughts as heat rapidly began to consume her. It felt unlike anything she had ever experienced before, her mind becoming keenly aware of him.
Isobel felt drunk on his woody, spicy scent, the fluid way his lips had begun to move against hers, his heavy grip pulling her even closer to him as her own hands found purchase on his shoulders. Her knees felt weak and unsteady and her lips parted as she panted breathlessly.
Before she had decided to try once more to comprehend what was happening, Richard’s lips lifted off hers, and his touch faded as well. Isobel inhaled deeply, her chest heaving as she stared at him, unsure if she was waiting for him to speak or for herself to find the courage to do so.
The duke cleared his throat and stood straighter, adjusting his coat with a tug on his lapels.
“I think… I think it is best if we suspend tonight’s lesson. You are clearly distressed. We shall pick it up at a later date.”
Isobel’s lips felt hot, and as she raised a hand to them, the tip of a finger tracing the edge of her bottom lip, his gaze followed. As though he was entranced by her movements.
No, that can’t be –
“Goodbye, Miss Wightman,” he rushed gruffly and swiftly left the library.
Isobel stood there, unsure of what to do or think. Eventually, the silence in the library began to feel haunting as her thoughts started to feel far too loud to only exist in her head, so she gathered her skirts and quickly rushed to her room.
It felt as though air only entered her lungs once the door was closed behind her, and she sank to the floor, heaving.
What had just happened? She recalled the argument with her father, the deep feelings of uncertainty and anger that had plagued her as she made her way to the library to see the duke. She remembered how upsetting it was to be on the end of his belittling remarks, to be once more considered inferior to the sister whose life she was trying to protect with hers on the line.
And suddenly – Richard. His lips against hers. His hands keeping her body flush to his.
“Has he lost his mind?” Isobel muttered, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks in hopes of quelling the overwhelming sensation.
She had never felt that before – the strange calm that settled upon her after they had parted.
Yes, she had been rather confused by his actions. But… it was strange. It was almost as though… she wanted more.
“I must be losing my mind,” she gasped, smacking her cheeks.
The sharp pain helped shake off some of the lingering sensation, but it did little to erase her memory, and she groaned as she seemed to feel the ghost of his lips over hers, and a part of her ached over not being able to taste him.
“I must be exhausted. That is why I am having all these silly thoughts,” she grumbled, making her way to the boudoir with vengeance. “A good night’s rest should fix this foolishness.”
She made quick work of her clothes, stripping off the soft fabrics of the dress and slipping into her light nightdress. Then she practically stomped to her bed and slipped beneath the covers, shutting her eyes tightly.
Despite Isobel’s resolve, sleep did not find her easily, despite her determined search. No matter what she tried to do, her mind felt far too occupied to gain the peace she needed to fall asleep.
She stubbornly did not relent, tossing and turning into the night. To her dismay, she found herself too restless to settle, and her wandering mind thought of her sister.
It was strange. She was finally in the same space as her twin sister, with whom she had been separated for their whole lives. And still, she had not faced her. A part of Isobel felt silly for thinking that she did not know what her twin sister felt like, but then she realized that perhaps it was because her heart had yet to recognize her.
Isobel wondered about her, if she was in pain still, or if perhaps her sleeping state absolved her of all pain she might have felt. Suddenly, she felt the urge to seek her out, hoping it would bring them both some comfort.
