Page 29 of Duke of Diamonds
Once in the hallway, she turned the corner and slipped into the first unoccupied room she found. It was a guest chamber, dimly lit by a single oil lamp, the fire in the grate burned low. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard.
Her slippers sank into the rug, but the comfort of the room was lost on her.
She began to pace.
He does not believe me. He does not care. None of them care. Not Papa. Not Aaron. They would rather parade me like property, marry me off like livestock…
Her breath came too fast, too shallow.
The handle turned.
“Are you well?”
She startled, spinning toward the door.
Isaac stood there, his expression unreadable but his brow drawn tight.
“I saw you leave the ballroom,” he said, his voice low. “In quite a hurry.”
She opened her mouth, and everything spilled out at once.
“I told him, Isaac. I told him I care for another. But he laughed. He laughed at me. He means to go through with the marriage all the same.” Her chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm now, her voice breaking. “I do not even think he believes me.”
He closed the door behind him and strode across the room. Without a word, he placed both hands on her shoulders, firm but gentle, halting her pacing.
“You need to sit,” he said evenly.
She allowed him to guide her to the edge of the bed, sinking onto the mattress without protest.
He sat beside her, then glanced down at the rigid bodice she wore.
“These blasted things,” he muttered, reaching toward the laces at the back of her gown.
She froze. “Isaac?—”
“Breathe, Fiona. You will faint if you do not.” His fingers were already at work, loosening the ties.
The scandal of it all burned at her, but the heat was quickly replaced by something else—something that stirred beneath the surface, as his hands moved with surprising care. She felt breath return to her chest, cool and steady. Each loosened lace seemed to peel away a layer of panic.
Her posture softened. Her shoulders dropped.
She looked at him then, really looked, and something about his nearness—his scent, his quiet strength—unraveled her completely. The tears came fast.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispered, voice cracking as the first tear slipped down her cheek. “I feel as though I am walking straight toward ruin, and there is no turning back. I will be bound to him. Forever.”
And then she crumpled.
She pressed her face against Isaac’s chest, the tears falling freely now as her breath hitched again and again. The soft linen of his cravat grew damp beneath her cheek. He was warm beneath the layers—solid, real, and entirely still.
He hesitated, then placed his hand on her back, palm open, fingers lightly curved against her spine. The gesture was awkward, but it steadied her in a way she hadn’t expected.
She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear—strong and slow.
Then came voices—just outside the door.
They stiffened. The voices were drawing nearer.
She lifted her head, panic surging through her again as she looked to him.
