Page 57 of Duke of Diamonds
George spluttered in outrage, his fists clenching at the edge of the table.
Before he could unleash another torrent, Fiona pushed back her chair. The legs scraped softly against the floor as she stood.
“Have a good evening, Mother,” she said, not sparing George another glance.
She turned and walked out, her spine straight despite the burn in her throat.
“That girl’s disrespect knows no bounds, I tell you,” she heard her father growl behind her. “And it’s all your fault, woman.”
Fiona climbed the stairs with measured steps, the echo of her father’s voice fading behind her.
Dinner had been good. But not good enough to make her sit and collect more insults from the man who was supposed to be her father.
Sleep refused her, and she paced her chamber restlessly, her thoughts unraveling into knots.
Two days. Two days until everything changed.
And yet there is so much I do not know. So much I must understand.
She dressed quietly, wrapping her cloak about her shoulders and slipping from the house with practiced ease.
By the time she reached the Duke’s residence and knocked, she was already bracing herself for his surprise. The butler answered with a stiff bow and ushered her inside without a word, as though her late-night appearances were now to be expected.
Moments later, she was shown into Isaac’s study. His coat was off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. Fiona took in his slightly musses hair while he regarded her with a faint curve of one corner of his mouth.
“You are making a bold habit of your visits here,” he said, rising from behind his massive desk.
Fiona stepped closer, pulling back her hood. “We’ve already been seen together, and are to be wed in less than two days. What’s the worst that could possibly happen now?”
“You’d be surprised,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be a pessimist,” Fiona countered.
He shrugged. “I am being realistic.”
Isaac regarded her with a gaze far too steady for Fiona’s comfort. She shifted from one foot to the other, smoothing the folds of her cloak with a hand that trembled before she mastered it. Drawing in a quiet breath, she lifted her chin.
You came for answers. Do not lose your wits now.
“So,” she began, “how is reality to shape our life going forward? What manner of existence are we to have between us?”
He folded his arms loosely across his chest, studying her with a quiet intensity that prickled across her skin. “If you mean our marriage,” he said at last, “then you need not trouble yourself. It shall not differ greatly from our present acquaintance.”
Fiona blinked, feeling the words strike with more force than they ought. “I beg your pardon?” she managed, the edges of her composure fraying.
This was not the reassurance she had come seeking. Indeed, she had not known precisely what she wished to hear, but it had not been... this.
Isaac’s mouth quirked, the smallest movement, almost as if he found her confusion faintly amusing—or perhaps pitiable.
“I made the offer for you out of duty, Fiona,” he said, his words clipped and efficient, as though pulling the veil from any foolish romantic notions.
Duty. A word that should not have wounded—and yet somehow did.
She lowered her gaze briefly, collecting herself, before a shifting movement drew her attention upward again. He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, his boots soundless against the carpet.
Without thinking, she retreated a step—only to find her back pressing against a bookshelf, leaving her no retreat.
Isaac came to a halt before her, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of leather and something clean and masculine beneath.
