“To hell with the House of Beaufort.” He sidestepped her.
There was no point in giving a ball or seeing Isabella again. He couldn’t ask her to be his wife. She shouldn’t be tied to a circus freak of a duke. Only his title was left of him, a bloody cursed gift he’d never wanted.
“Don’t you dare!” She gripped at his arm with surprising strength. “I’ve been patient with you. I gave you time to recover. But you’ve been hiding like a coward in your room, doing nothing but sulking and being horrible to us who love you. Enough!”
“I’ve been sick and weak in case you haven’t noticed.”
Her voice shook. “You must do this, Anthony. I’m not saying that because of our family’s prestige. I’m saying it because I love you. And I’m ready to force you to do something you don’t want to for your own sake. I lost my son. I won’t lose my grandson, too.” She strode past him, almost bumping her shoulder into his.
Her quick footfalls died down along the corridor behind him.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, touching the uneven, scarred skin.
He’d gone to war and returned home without a scratch, only to get scarred during a duel that hadn’t involved him. Life didn’t lack irony.
But he’d be damned if he put himself on display in a stupid ball. Besides, his body still needed to recover from the fever and the infection.
“Anthony.” Quick and light footsteps came from behind him.
Isabella. He didn’t dare to turn around and face her but remained still.
Her footsteps slowed down. Then a delicate hand touched his arm. “How are you?”
Her light touch sent a shot of sensations through him. His heart gave a kick, and tingles danced on his suddenly awakened skin.
“I was worried about you. You disappeared. Why?” She gently tightened her grip on his arm.
If she kept touching him, his darkness would infect her, and it was horrible of him to wish she would stay next to him now. A flare of anger heated his chest. Not at Isabella. But it was cruel he’d found her beautiful light, only to realise he could never have her.
He turned towards her, letting the sunlight show all his ugliness. “This is why.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t release his arm. “Good Lord, Anthony.”
He faced the corridor again, unable to endure her shock. “Leave, Isabella.” He slid his arm out of her grip and walked away, but she stubbornly followed him in a disturbing repeat of the scene with Grandmama.
Isabella didn’t block his path, though. “You didn’t answer my letters.”
“I know.”
He’d tried many times to answer her letters, but the courage to send them had deserted him. Grandmama was right.
“Please.” She took his hand, and again the whiplash of the emotions made him catch his breath. Her soft, silky fingers trailed over his knuckles, leaving him defenceless against her sweetness. And it wasn’t a nice feeling.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “What?”
She seemed at a loss for words. “Promise me you’ll give that ball. Promise me you’ll be there.”
She had no idea what she was asking of him.
“I can’t. Look at me.”
“I am looking at you. You haven’t changed. You’re the same man who helped me free a little animal in the forest and who showed me the secrets of an ancient castle.”
Those memories were so happy and precious that he didn’t wish to remember them and risk poisoning them with his foul mood.
“Promise me you’ll give that ball,” she said.
“I have changed.”
Withdrawing his hand from hers caused him physical pain, but he couldn’t lie and make a promise he could not keep.
