Page 127 of Duke of Diamonds
“I have made certain he shall never be a threat to anyone again,” Isaac replied, his tone calm, but resolute.
Her brows knit with sudden alarm. “What did you do?” The question slipped out before she could temper it.
A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Do not fret, Fiona. I did not kill him.” He paused, then added with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “Not yet, at least.”
She let out a breath of laughter, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“After last night,” he continued, “I instructed Mr. Everett to see that the man was kept under guard until first light. Then I took him to the authorities myself. I presented a thorough account of his transgressions, both against you and others. The magistrates agreed that exile was the only appropriate outcome. As of this morning, the Earl of Canterlack is no longer England’s concern. He is the Continent’s burden now.”
Relief poured through her in a warm tide. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her, and she clutched his arm for support. “Thank you,” she whispered.
But Isaac shook his head and cupped her cheek with one hand, brushing his thumb gently along her skin.
“No, Fiona. Thank you,” he said. “For accepting me as I am. For offering me grace when I offered you uncertainty. For lending me courage when I had none of my own.”
Her throat tightened with emotion. She took his hand in both of hers and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
“You have been my hero too, Isaac. From the very beginning. When all seemed lost, you stepped forward and gave me not only my freedom, but dignity when I feared it gone. You salvaged my good name and gave me security in a world that had once turned its back on me.”
He said nothing then, but the way his eyes held hers, full of reverence, wonder, and love, spoke more than words could ever manage.
Isaac kissed her again, a lingering, tender sweep that left her breathless and buoyant. But as her thoughts tangled with the memory of the night before, a troubling thread emerged from the haze of warmth and comfort. She broke their kiss gently, her brows knitting as she recalled Aaron’s voice, venomous and bitter.
“Canterlack said something about my father’s debts,” she murmured, her gaze dropping slightly as the words took shape. “That they’ve been paid in full...”
Isaac gave a small nod, his expression softening. “Ah yes. My solicitor sent Holden the funds late yesterday afternoon, as per my instructions.”
Fiona’s breath caught. That had been after she’d returned from her confrontation with her father. After she’d vowed to protect her mother. She looked up at her husband, eyes shining.
“You didn’t have to, Isaac,” she said, her voice trembling with the tender weight of it. Emotion pressed gently at her chest, rising with each breath.
He shook his head, reaching to cup her cheek. “I had to, Fiona. I wanted to. How could I possibly abandon my family to the ruins of debt when I could help?”
Family. He had called them his family. Her cruel, cantankerous father—the very man who had insulted and belittled him.
Tears filled her eyes again, though this time they were born of something gentler, something fiercely grateful.
“Oh, I love you, Isaac,” she choked, her hands curling around the front of his coat as if anchoring herself to the very center of her world.
Before he could return the sentiment, a familiar flutter of wings sliced the air. Mozart soared into the room and, with practiced ease, landed squarely on Isaac’s shoulder.
“You have the worst timing imaginable, you feathered little lump,” Isaac groused, though one hand instinctively reached up to steady the bird.
“Looooove you,” Mozart cawed, his tone mischievous.
Fiona laughed, the sound bright and unfettered as it filled the space between them. “Oh, I love you too, Mozart darling.”
Isaac narrowed his eyes. “Now I must share you with the bird as well?”
“Isaaaac,” Mozart chimed in again, clearly delighted.
Fiona bent over, helpless with laughter as Isaac gave the bird a baleful look. And in that moment, in the cozy sunlight of their morning room, surrounded by declarations of love both spoken and squawked, Fiona knew—this was happiness.
Then, as her laughter softened and her breath slowed, Fiona remembered the journal.
“Wait,” she said, slipping gently out of Isaac’s embrace. “There’s something I meant to show you.”
She crossed the room to her nightstand and retrieved the leather-bound volume she had left there the night before. Turning back to him, she held it with both hands.
