Duke of Decadence (Lords of Scandal 9)

“But I feel it taking control…what if I hurt her the way he hurt us? W

hat if I lay hands on her?” His throat itched and he took another swallow. Because he’d never forgive himself if he hurt her.

“Then I’ll kill you myself,” Mason said but he came around the desk and patted his shoulder. “But I won’t have to. You’re not him. You’ve never been him and you never will be. I know you, Bash. I always have.”

Did his brother really mean that?

And if it were true, what was keeping him from the woman he loved?

Isabella couldn’t sleep. She turned over again, pushing into the fluffy pillow. The thick blankets had her toasty warm on a freezing January night as she sunk into the luxurious mattress.

And she’d been exhausted for days. By all accounts, she should be sound asleep.

But…she was in Bash’s house.

He was here, somewhere. Was he in bed too?

That made her tense. Was he without his clothes?

She sat up in the luxurious bed. What did that matter? He’d been exceedingly clear that they had no future. She shouldn’t be picturing him at all let alone picturing him stripped of his clothing, his muscles flexing, and his… She forced herself to stop.

Rubbing her forehead, she gave her head a shake. They weren’t getting married, he’d made that fact exceedingly clear. Not that she’d expected a proposal. He’d rejected her as his mistress, obviously he didn’t want to make her his wife.

But if she were honest, somewhere in her heart of hearts, she’d hoped.

What woman wouldn’t?

He’d swept into her life all muscles and square jaw and went about righting all her wrongs.

She stood up, pulling the covers off of her and crossing to stoke the merrily burning fire. She simply needed something to do with all the restlessness jumping inside her.

It was his fault she was hurting now. Not because he’d rejected her but because he’d captured her heart in the first place.

Just like she couldn’t help but love her father, the man who’d left them in this mess, or their mother, the woman who’d died too soon.

She jabbed at the fire again and a piece came falling out of the grate nearly hitting her bare foot.

“Ah,” she cried as she hurriedly pushed the log back in, a few sparks landing on her bare toes.

“Isabella,” a deep voice rumbled from the other side of the door.

Her head snapped up as longing coursed through her. Bash. He was standing outside her door.

For a split second she wondered if he’d heard her but that was silly. She hadn’t actually said any of those thoughts aloud…had she?

“What?” she asked, straightening as she stared at the closed door.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, placing the poker back in the rack of tools. “Just stoking the fire.”

“Cold?”

“I’m fine,” she called back. A bit too loud. “I’m going to bed now.” Stop being concerned, she wanted to say. His worry only made it harder to hold her feelings in. What was he even doing here? Didn’t he know he just made it more difficult to resist her feelings every time he showed concern?

“Do you need—”

“Bash,” she said, her hands coming to her hips. Then she realized she was acting like Abigail and dropped them again. How could she be frustrated with the man who’d helped her so much? “I don’t need a thing. Thank you. Good night.”