Page 23 of Duke of Diamonds
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. “Why do you care so much?”
He stared at her.
“You asked for my help,” he said curtly. “You require me topretendI am in love with you. I am doing precisely that.”
“Yes, but your treatment of Canterlack… your anger—it feels far beyond pretense, Isaac. It feels personal.”
His gaze sharpened, and then, with a bitterness she could not name, he said, “This is not about helping you. It is about saving one more woman from Canterlack’s destruction.”
Fiona recoiled slightly, stunned by the coldness in his tone. She had expected… not affection, perhaps, but something more human.
She said nothing as they reached her house. The butler opened the door as if summoned by her silence.
Craton released her hand and gave a clipped bow. “Good afternoon.”
He turned and left.
Fiona stood in the doorway, watching his retreating form until it vanished down the lane.
Another woman? What did he mean by that?
CHAPTER 8
Isaac rubbed at his left shoulder, pressing his fingers into the knot of old scar tissue just beneath the fabric of his shirt. The ache had started upon waking, sharp and deep, a ghost of the shot that had torn through him years ago. He winced, rotating the joint slightly. Mornings like this came more often than he admitted.
Better this pain than the thoughts that come with quiet.
He could not concentrate.
The morning post lay untouched on the corner of his desk, wax seals unbroken, ink yet to dry on the half-written reply to his steward in Craton. It was his custom to tend to correspondence after breakfast, but today, no amount of discipline could summon his focus.
His mind remained stubbornly tethered to yesterday. To Fiona.
The way she’d tried to laugh off her discomfort. The forced brightness in her voice. The welt rising on her wrist where that bastard had gripped her.
God help him, it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to rip Canterlack’s arm from its socket right there in the middle of Hyde Park. In public, no less.
That the man could behave so brazenly—with society’s eyes upon him—was galling. But worse still was the artful subtlety with which he conducted himself. So cunningly veiled, so perfectly disguised, that a lady would be ruined before she even realized she was under siege.
A knock sounded at the study door, followed, without invitation, by the creak of hinges.
“I knew it had to be you,” Isaac said without looking up.
“You come and go as though you reside here, Elaine.”
His sister breezed into the room with the confidence of one who never needed permission.
“Before we begin,” Isaac said, watching her stride with familiar ease, “how are the children?”
Elaine brightened immediately. “Lively as ever. Henry insists he is old enough to ride without a groom now, and Charlottehas declared she wishes to marry a prince. They both miss you terribly.”
Isaac’s expression softened, and he leaned his good shoulder against the edge of the desk. “They ought not to miss me at all. This house is no place for children. It’s too dim, too still.”
“They think it mysterious,” Elaine said with a chuckle. “Henry wants to explore the halls and discover your armory.”
He shook his head. “I shall visit them soon instead. At least your home is filled with warmth and sunlight.”
She smiled gently. “They would like that. We all would.”
