Page 20 of Duke of Diamonds
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“If we are to convince your father—and all of society—that we are in love,” he said, his mouth curving just slightly, “then I suggest we begin by abandoning the formalities. Do you not agree… Fiona?”
Her name on his lips sounded different. Warmer. Unsettling. She felt her cheeks heat at once.
“I—yes,” she said quickly, and to her own ears, breathlessly. “That seems… wise.”
He smiled, the expression brief but real.
“I want him to be the one to end the engagement,” she said, regaining her footing. “If Canterlack is the one who calls it off, my father will be forced to accept it. He will have no argument then.”
Isaac crossed his arms, nodding once. “So now we must convince your fiancé as well. You do realize, of course, that for another man to show interest in his betrothed is a direct challenge to his pride. He will not withdraw easily. In fact, he may take it as a deliberate insult.”
“I understand that,” she said, lifting her chin. “But it is a risk I must take.”
His gaze lingered on her face a moment longer, searching. Then, quietly: “Be careful with Canterlack. Do not trust him. No matter what he says.”
Fiona hesitated. The words struck a chord in her, the certainty in his voice drawing out a question she had been turning over for days.
“You do not seem fond of the Earl,” she said, her tone light but cautious. “May I ask why?”
For a long beat, Isaac said nothing. The fire crackled in the hearth, and a log shifted with a faint pop. Then, finally, he spoke.
“We must not meet like this again,” he said, deflecting cleanly. “We cannot have you calling upon me again—not like this. I summoned you tonight because it was necessary, but further visits risk exposure, and that I cannot allow. Not for your sake.”
Fiona’s mouth parted slightly. She had expected a dismissal, perhaps, but not this. Not concern.
He may have no love for society’s rules, but he’s still watching out for me.
She lowered her eyes, unsure what to make of the unfamiliar twist in her chest. “I understand,” she murmured.
The following morning, after a strained breakfast marked by her father’s cold silence and her mother’s clipped suggestions regarding ribbons and comportment, Fiona retreated to the conservatory, seeking a moment’s quiet among the fragrant rows of lavender, mint, and rosemary. Her fingers moved distractedly over the tea herbs she was sorting—motions long committed to habit, but utterly devoid of attention this morning.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” came Miss Jameson’s soft voice, drawing Fiona’s gaze upward.
The lady’s maid held out a folded missive. “I was passing through the hall when it arrived. The butler had not yet sent it up, so I took the liberty.”
“Thank you, Miss Jameson,” Fiona replied, taking the letter in hand. The paper was familiar—too familiar. Her heart sank before she even broke the seal.
Canterlack.
Of course.
She opened it with practiced care, as though gentleness might dull the disappointment. His scrawl was precise, polished, and utterly devoid of affection:
Lady Fiona,
The weather this afternoon appears promising. I shall call for you at two o’clock for a walk at Hyde Park. I expect you will be ready.
—Canterlack
Fiona sighed, folding the note tightly between her fingers.What I wouldn’t give to be free of this man.
When afternoon came, she strolled beside Lord Canterlack, her hand nestled—imprisoned, really—in the crook of his arm.
She glanced sidelong at him. His posture was perfect, his smile controlled. There was not a hair out of place. And yet something about his composure grated more than ever.
Perhaps… if she became insufferable enough, he might find her no longer worth the trouble.
