And fucking her husband wasn't... Marcus let that thought go with a rumbling growl. He shook his head. "I bloody well know you're here. S'me and m'mum and Isolde here, that's it. Got used to it. They know me, can't help it. This--" he gestured with his glass. "Not used to folks being around. Not unless it's something formal, and all this's locked away. Where it belongs." Having Isaac know this was half a weird relief and half made his skin itch, prickling all over.
He took a long gulp of the whiskey. "Astoria said she wants the sort of marriage Isolde has. Sort of husband she's got." His jaw tightened. "You'd be better."