Page 14 of Duke of Diamonds
Her nerves prickled beneath her skin. She could feel the way her palms had begun to sweat inside her gloves.
“Did you not hear me, Your Grace?” she asked, when she could bear it no longer.
His brow lifted, slowly.
“I heard you. I am only giving your scheme the consideration it deserves.” A pause. Then: “And what then? After we haveperformed our charade and deceived half of London—do you expect me to marry you as well?”
She blinked. “Oh—no. Certainly not. Once the engagement is ended, we need only declare a quiet parting of ways.”
“So,” he said, straightening, his voice edged with something sharper now, “you would have me parade about like some besotted idiot, for the amusement of your family and their acquaintances.”
“That is not at all what I?—”
He held up a hand.
“I will not make a fool of myself, Lady Fiona. Nor play a part in this farce. Whatever cause has brought you here, I am afraid I cannot help you.”
His words, cool and final, settled over her like a sudden frost. Something in her chest clenched tight.
She took a step back, her voice quiet. “I did not mean disrespect, Your Grace. I only…”
She faltered.
“I only hoped you might understand.”
He said nothing. His eyes were unreadable once more.
“You should return home before someone sees you,” he said. “I shall have my butler escort you out.”
This was it, then. The end of her mad little scheme, neatly concluded by his refusal. Fiona could feel the sting behind her eyes, not quite tears, but the sort of ache that made one want to bite their tongue rather than let anything else slip.
“I suppose it’s a victory for Canterlack after all,” she murmured, turning toward the door.
She had meant it for herself, not for him to hear, and so she startled when his voice rang out behind her.
“What did you say?”
She turned slowly. “The Earl of Canterlack is my betrothed,” she said, puzzled by his sudden interest.
There was a pause, and then his gaze shifted.
The cool indifference vanished, replaced by something darker—colder. It was not mere curiosity that moved across his features now, but something else. Recognition? Contempt? It was impossible to name.
And then he smiled. Neither kindly nor warmly. It was a smile that sent a chill creeping down the back of her neck.
“Well,” he said softly, “you ought to have mentioned that sooner.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, blinking.
“You must return home now,” he said, stepping away from the desk. “I shall be in communication soon.”
As if on cue, the butler appeared once more, and Fiona found herself being ushered back down the hall, past the unmoved portraits and into the night.
She stepped out into the cold and drew her cloak tightly around her shoulders, the wind biting at her cheeks as she began the walk home.
What just happened?
She had not received an answer, not truly. Only a promise of… what? Correspondence? Action? Consent?Was that his way of agreeing? Dare I wait? Hope?
