Page 11 of Duke of Diamonds
But the real scandal, my dear readers? Mere moments later, Lady Fiona was claimed by none other than the Earl of Canterlack. Observers noted a marked coolness between the gentlemen, leaving many to wonder: Is Lady Fiona at the center of a budding rivalry?
Two powerful men. One Diamond. A single waltz that may have started it all…
Fiona blinked, stunned. “The only accuracy in all that nonsense,” she murmured, “is the part about the tension between them.”
Nancy leaned forward. “You noticed it too, then?”
“Indeed,” Fiona replied. “I was rather in the middle of it.”
“Well!” Hester leaned back in her seat, eyes gleaming. “How on God’s green earth did you manage a dance with the Beast of Mayfair, Fiona?”
Nancy nodded. “Indeed, we missed far too much once your mother spirited you away. Youmusttell us everything.”
Fiona took her time lifting her teacup. “He simply approached and asked me to dance. I could hardly refuse him in front of the entire ballroom, now could I?”
“Not that you had any reason to,” Nancy said with a knowing glance.
“I did not,” Fiona admitted, carefully avoiding the way her heart beat faster at the memory.
“Oh, you make it sound sosimple,” Hester breathed. “Craton does not dance. Not ever. Society has practically written poetry about it. The man is a ghost!”
“Well,” Fiona said with a measured smile, “perhaps even ghosts find cause to waltz, now and again.”
Nancy laughed. “Frankly, I’m rather surprised the Duke canactuallydance.”
They all laughed then, but Fiona’s smile lingered too long.
She could still feel his hand at her waist, the certainty in his step, the unspoken intensity of his gaze. A warmth crept up her neck.
“Oh,whatis that blush, Fiona?” Nancy gasped, eyes narrowing. “Do not tell me you’ve gone starry-eyed for the Beast himself.”
Fiona waved a hand. “Do not be ridiculous, Nancy.” But her cheeks burned hotter.
Hester clapped her hands. “She has! Fiona, truly?”
Fiona groaned and raised her teacup as a shield. “You are both incorrigible.”
“And you, dearest, are positively glowing,” Nancy teased. “Which, I daresay, is far more telling than that dreadful column.”
Fiona laughed, in spite of herself. For the first time that day, the constriction in her chest seemed to lift—if only just a little.
She was deeply grateful for the afternoon her friends had gifted her—lighthearted, full of laughter and warm tea, the sort that wrapped around her heart and made the world feel, for a fleeting while, less cruel. But the moment Hester and Nancy departed, the silence returned, thick and threatening.
Her fingers still curled loosely around her teacup, her eyes drifted to the paper they had left behind on the center table. That dreadful thing.
She crossed to it slowly, picked it up, and stared once more at the scandalous lines.
Craton and Canterlack, locked in competition for her hand.
The writer had gotten it entirely wrong, of course. There was no competition. No grand romance. Just her, alone, tethered to a man she could not bear to marry. Her father had seen to that, driving away any gentleman with the audacity to so much as look in her direction after the engagement had been announced.
But as she gazed at the Duke’s name printed beside the Earl’s, a thought struck her—bold and uninvited.
What if there could be competition?
Her breath caught.
The Duke of Craton was no typical man. That much was evident in the way he carried himself, in the way people spoke about himin hushed tones. He had defied society’s expectations without so much as a backward glance. If anyone could meddle in the affairs of the Marquess of Holden and emerge unscathed, it was him.
