Page 86 of Duke of Diamonds
Her skin warmed beneath his mouth. It was all he could do not to gather her into his arms then and there. To bury his face in her neck and admit just how much he’d missed her.
A delicate flush rose on her cheeks. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”
“It was, thankfully, uneventful.” He let his thumb drift lightly across the back of her hand before releasing it. “And I see you’ve done quite a job with the house.”
Her eyes lit as if someone had turned up a lamp inside her.
“Do you like it? What do you think of the drawing room so far?” She took a step back, gesturing with a flourish. “I daresay I’ve done a fine job. Do you not think so?”
She straightened slightly, chin lifted with pride—but the way she angled herself toward him, the faint rise of her brows, gave her away.
Fishing.
He folded his arms, feigning contemplation.
“It’s... decent.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Decent?”
He bit back a grin.
“Are you deliberately dismissing my efforts right now, Duke?” she asked, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
He did not answer. He only watched her—watched the life in her, the color in her cheeks, and felt something shift deep in his chest.
God help me, I missed her.
“Are you not satisfied with yourdecentjob, Fiona?” Isaac said, unable to hold back his laughter now.
She blinked at him, caught between indignation and realization—then narrowed her eyes.
“You wretch,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and within moments, she was laughing too.
The sound filled the drawing room like light spilling through stained glass.
Isaac watched her, his smile lingering longer than it should have. There was no use pretending otherwise.
I missed her.
Not just her face or her voice, but the way shewas—that peculiar blend of cleverness and mischief, strength and warmth.
Dinner followed, served in the newly refreshed dining room. She spoke at length about the changes she’d made—how she’d chosen the fabrics, the colors, even the positioning of the windows for better light.
He asked questions, more than he usually did, and she answered them all eagerly, hands moving as she spoke.
It was during one such exchange, just as he reached for his glass of wine, that chaos erupted.
A blur of green and gold streaked past his face.
He jerked back as a thump hit the table, followed by the sharp splash of liquid.
His wine sloshed over the tablecloth, the glass rocking on its base before tipping onto its side.
“Good God?—”
He stared, stunned, at the creature now preening itself atop the roast pheasant platter.
