Page 27 of Duke of Diamonds
Her father stepped forward, finger raised. “Youwillmake this right. You will marry Canterlack, and you will do so without further delay. You will attend the Holloway ball and find him. You will apologize and set matters straight.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, boots thudding heavily across the marble. Her mother lingered a moment longer, face pale.
“I warned you not to provoke him,” she said quietly. “You must tread carefully, Fiona. There is no telling what your father might do in anger.”
She turned, her skirts whispering as she hurried after her husband, calling his name in low, desperate tones.
The room fell silent again. Fiona sat down slowly, her limbs trembling now that the confrontation was over. Her tea had gone cold. She stared at it, unseeing.
Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her father’s words rang in her ears, cruel and heavy.
Beneath the sting, the humiliation, and the fear, her heart raged. If she had been determined before, she was positively immovable now.
She would find her way out.
And this time, no one—not her father, not Canterlack, not even Society itself would stop her.
CHAPTER 10
“Aaron, I must speak with you,” Fiona said quietly as they entered the gilded ballroom, her gloved hand resting lightly on the Earl’s arm.
He barely glanced at her. “Whatever it is can wait. I must introduce you to the Duke of Devon,” he replied with a polished smile that never reached his eyes.
Fiona opened her mouth to object, but he was already steering her across the room.
The Duke stood with three other gentlemen, all appearing equally uninterested in the proceedings. Aaron launched into introductions before she could manage another word, and Fiona found herself smiling politely, nodding, offering the requisite pleasantries—when what she truly wanted was to scream.
After the hollow exchange, she leaned toward him once more. “Aaron, please?—”
But he gave her no opportunity.
“Ah, there is Monsieur Lefèvre. He is recently arrived from Paris,” Aaron said smoothly, drawing her along again. This time, toward a group of foreign dignitaries, most of whom looked as though they could not care less about her name or lineage.
And yet she was presented to them like some prize filly at auction.
Fiona’s jaw ached from smiling. Her temples throbbed.
She tried again. “I must insist?—”
Aaron’s hand tightened slightly around her arm. He leaned in with that dreadful, false affection and whispered, “You shall tell me later, dear.”
The term of endearment made her stomach turn.
If I do not get away from him this instant, I may very well scream.
As though summoned by the desperation in her heart, Craton stepped into view.
The group quieted as he approached, his presence unmistakable even before he spoke. Without so much as glancing at Aaron,he turned to Fiona and said with practiced nonchalance, “May I claim this dance, Lady Fiona?”
Fiona curtsied graciously, her relief immediate and vast. “Of course, Your Grace.”
She took his offered arm and felt Aaron’s grip release—reluctantly. She did not look back.
Craton, for his part, was unreadable. Cool, steady, calm.
As the music began and they moved into the waltz, he spoke low. “You’re nervous.”
“I’ve been attempting to speak to Canterlack,” she said, eyes fixed somewhere beyond his shoulder. “But he’s made himself perfectly unavailable.”
