Page 35 of Duke of Diamonds
That bruise was your doing, you miserable wretch. And I know precisely when you delivered it.
The guilt gnawed at Isaac even as the rage simmered hotter. After all, he had drawn Fiona into this scandal. It mattered not that she had agreed. It mattered only that he had failed to protect her from the cost.
He hated seeing her like this. Battered. Helpless.
Never again,he vowed silently.Never again while I live.
“She is my daughter,” Holden hissed, though his voice lacked the conviction it once had.
“And she is my betrothed now,” Isaac returned, his words cutting clean through the air. “My future wife.”
The Marquess flinched, his shoulders curling inward as though the very words had struck him.
Good. Let him feel the fear he is so quick to inflict on others.
Without sparing another word, Isaac turned on his heel and strode from the room, the burden of his vow settling across his shoulders—but it was a burden he would carry without regret.
The door to her father’s study closed with a quiet snick behind her, but Fiona stood there a moment longer, her hand resting on the brass handle, as if the world beyond that threshold had shifted and left her struggling to catch her breath.
He offered for me.The Duke of Craton—offered for me.
The words chased themselves through her mind, wild and impossible. She pressed a hand lightly to her stomach, willing the roiling within to settle.
Just then, a rustle of skirts snapped her head up. Her mother swept past, her face a study in barely contained agitation. Without so much as a glance at Fiona, she sailed through the door Fiona had just exited, pulling it nearly closed behind her.
“Did I hear correctly, George?” her mother’s voice pierced the thin wood. “Did Craton truly offer for Fiona?”
The door shut properly then, swallowing whatever reply her father gave, but it hardly mattered. Fiona had heard enough.
Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself forward, moving on numb feet through the hallways. Her bedchamber was a blessed distance away, tucked at the far end of the hall where no one could demand anything more of her—at least for a few moments.
Once inside, she let herself crumple onto the bed, her skirts a tangled mess around her. The embroidered coverlet was cool beneath her palms, grounding her as her mind spun with all that had just occurred.
Offered for me. A man like that. A man who could crush the very air from a room with a glance...
She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of Isaac’s steady, uncompromising gaze flashing behind her lids. There had been no hesitation in him, no doubt. Only an unwavering certainty that had made her feel—for the first time in weeks—seen.
And yet...her cheek still throbbed. The bruise pulsed angrily beneath her skin, a humiliating reminder of just how little power she truly possessed in her own life.
A sharp knock at the door jolted her upright. She blinked at it, expecting Miss Jameson, or worse, her mother come to issue fresh orders.
Instead, when the door creaked open, it was Anna who swept inside, a vision of concern wrapped in fashionable muslin. Behind her came Nancy and Hester, the latter wringing her hands as she bustled in.
“Oh, Fiona, dearest, how have—” Anna began, but the words choked off as her gaze snagged on Fiona’s left cheek.
A beat of silence fell, brittle and loud. Hester’s gasp shattered it first. She clutched her reticule against her chest as if to shield herself from the sight. Nancy, ever the blunt one, took two steps forward, her mouth tightening into a grim line.
“She is decidedlynotwell,” Nancy declared, her voice low and simmering with fury.
Fiona managed a brittle smile, tugging the edge of her shawl higher, though it did nothing to disguise the mark.
Anna rushed to her side, her skirts rustling against the carpet. She sank onto the bed beside Fiona, her blue eyes wide and fierce. “Who did this to you?”
Fiona opened her mouth but found herself at a loss. How to explain? How to make sense of the shame clawing at her insides?
She shrugged, a hollow, helpless gesture. “I suppose,” she said lightly, “I earned it. For my recklessness.”
“Rubbish,” Hester snapped, dropping onto the bed with a surprising thump. She reached for Fiona’s hand and gripped it tightly. “No one deserves this. And most certainly not you.”
