Page 104 of Duke of Diamonds
The table had been set for two. Fiona stirred her tea without tasting it. Her appetite had vanished entirely. She had not seen Isaac in nearly two days.
Not since the kiss.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, as though they might still recall the shape of his.
Whatever did I do wrong?
Isaac’s brows rose when he looked down at the seal on the letter he had just received. However, he broke the seal without ceremony, his gaze narrowing as he read.
To His Grace, the Duke of Craton,
I trust Your Grace will forgive the unorthodox nature of this correspondence. I find myself compelled to request a private audience with you regarding a matter of grave concern. It is not a subject I dare commit to writing, for discretion is of the utmost importance.
I have arranged for a meeting at a discreet set of lodgings, the address of which is enclosed. I must ask your indulgence and secrecy in this, and assure Your Grace that I would not make such a request were the matter not of the most serious kind.
With respect,
George Holden, Marquess of Holden
Grave.The word lingered unpleasantly. Whatever it was, it had warranted not only a letter but secrecy. He glanced at the address. They were to meet in a quieter quarter of London, far from Mayfair.
Isaac exhaled slowly and rose from behind his desk. The letter remained in his hand as he strode into the hall. He found Everett near the front door, sorting the morning correspondence.
“Have a horse saddled for me,” Isaac said.
Everett straightened. “At once, Your Grace.”
Within minutes, Isaac was mounted and riding toward the city. The route was unfamiliar, twisting away from the pomp of Mayfair into narrower, older streets. The lodgings were easy enough to spot—a modest brick façade, discreet, and intentionally unremarkable.
He dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groom. he looked up at the building, a bachelor’s lodgings, by the look of it. Spartan, anonymous, and very likely one of Holden’s less public holdings, perhaps the sort kept for purposes never spoken of in polite company.
Isaac knocked once. The door opened a moment later—not by a butler or manservant, but by Holden himself.
Isaac knocked once. The door opened a moment later—not by a butler or manservant, but by Holden himself.
“I did not think you would oblige,” the older man said, stepping aside to let him in.
Isaac took in the scene with quiet assessment. The entrance was unremarkable, the furnishings utilitarian, and more to the point—no staff in sight. No butler. No footman. No signs of recent company at all. The silence within the rooms had a weight to it.
The Marquess led him into a modest study at the back. A decanter sat on the sideboard, already half-emptied.
“I apologize for breaking into your schedule with my request,” Holden said, motioning vaguely toward the chairs before taking one himself.
Isaac did not sit.
He stood near the fireplace instead, hands loosely clasped behind his back, eyes never leaving the other man. Holden’s civility was... disquieting. He was a proud man, a creature of entitlement and command, not deference.
And yet here he was, courteous—almost too much so.
Isaac spoke evenly. “To what do I owe these summons, Holden?”
Holden crossed to the decanter and poured a drink for himself. He did not meet Isaac’s gaze.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
Isaac watched him, unmoving.He’s stalling.
“No, thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
