Page 3 of Duke of Diamonds
That word—we—landed with the familiar weight of expectation. Fiona said nothing. What was there to say?
Aaron Finch, the Earl of Canterlack, was her betrothed. The match had been settled long before she had the opportunity to form an opinion on the matter. It had come with the certainty of thunder after lightning—impressive, deafening, and entirely inevitable.
He was not an unfit match, nor an unkind man. But Fiona could not help the lingering ache of what might have been—a choice. A small, unremarkable luxury that had been denied her.
“He is somewhere about, I am sure,” her mother said, turning her head to scan the ballroom with all the intensity of a general seeking out a misplaced regiment. “No doubt he shall appear shortly to request your hand for a dance.”
Fiona nodded vaguely, though the thought made her stomach flutter with a heaviness she could not name.Why do I feel as though I am about to sit for an examination rather than enjoy a waltz?
She glanced toward the dance floor, her gaze drifting between the whirling couples until it settled—rather abruptly—on a familiar figure.
There he was.
Lord Canterlack, polished and poised, was already engaged in a dance. The lady in his arms was unfamiliar, but she appeared to be enjoying herself well enough. He smiled at something she said, a polite, practiced smile that did little to touch his eyes.
Fiona blinked. She had missed his first dance of the evening. A part of her bristled at the oversight, but the larger part could not summon the energy to be offended. They had arrived later than usual, after all, and he must have grown bored with waiting.
Her mother, still peering into the crowd, did not appear to have noticed.
“He may be delayed,” Prudence mused aloud, her eyes narrowing. “But rest assured, he shall not neglect his duties. A gentleman always honors his obligations.”
And I am one such obligation, am I not?
Fiona adjusted her gloves with care, more for something to do than necessity. Under her mother’s gaze, she felt suddenly sluggish, too aware of every step, every breath. Her skin prickled beneath her gown, as though even the silk had turned critical.
Smile. Breathe. Do not ruin everything with a sigh.
“Chin up, brother. You must, at the very least, pretend you are not contemplating escape,” Elaine, his sister and theMarchioness of Darlington, said with the effortless cheer of someone far too accustomed to dragging her brother into society against his will.
Isaac Glacion did not bother to hide the snort that escaped him. “Society is not so easily deceived, Elaine dear,” he muttered, his gaze sweeping the ballroom with the reluctant air of a man surveying a battlefield.
They had only just crossed the threshold, yet the press of silks, perfumes, and forced laughter already scraped at his composure.
Were it not for Elaine’s persistent letters, pointed remarks, and final appeal to familial duty, he would not have stepped within fifty paces of this chandelier-laden cage.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his coat as they made their way through the crowd, trying—and failing—not to bristle under the weight of a hundred curious stares.
“They look as if I’ve emerged from some cursed tower,” he whispered tightly, leaning toward his sister.
“Well,” Elaine replied with maddening calm, “for many in this room, thisistheir first sighting of the elusive Duke of Craton. You can hardly blame them for being intrigued.”
Isaac slowly let out a breath.Intrigued,indeed. It felt far closer to being catalogued.
The gazes clung like cobwebs, speculative and shameless, as though each person were silently taking stock of the man behind the scandal-laced whispers. He could see the unspoken questions dancing behind fans and flutes of champagne.Is that the recluse?Does the scar go down his back?Is he truly as unfeeling as they say?
His eyes drifted across the ballroom, not looking for anyone or anything in particular—merely searching for the cleanest path to endure the evening.
And then he saw her.
Not a face he recognized, which in itself was surprising. Her gown was modest but exquisitely cut, her posture graceful, and her expression—he caught the moment she noticed him. Her eyes widened, just slightly, and then darted away with an almost endearing haste.
At least one woman in this place possesses the good sense to look away,he thought, a flicker of dry amusement catching him off guard. The rest, it seemed, would rather gawk than blink.
Elaine followed his gaze with ease—of course she noticed—and gave a light tap to his arm with her fan. “At the very least, glance around for a young lady to ask to dance. Or must I take matters into my own hands?”
“I agreed to attend. That alone should suffice,” Isaac said, straightening his cuffs with a purposeful slowness.
“It does not,” she replied smoothly. “It is not enough to grace the event with your presence if you intend to hover like a brooding statue.”
