Page 34 of Duke of Diamonds
“We shall,” Isaac agreed curtly. “As soon as the lady in question joins us.”
The Marquess frowned, as though the very notion were an inconvenience. “Why, I see no use in having her here.”
Isaac allowed a slow smile to curve his mouth, though it held no warmth. “Might I inquire whose hand it is I have just requested, Lord Holden?”
Or have you forgotten you possess a daughter at all, so long as she cannot serve your ambitions?
George’s mouth opened, only to close again, his jaw working in clear irritation.
“Certainly not yours, if I recollect correctly,” Isaac added smoothly before the man could summon a reply.
The Marquess gave a short, brittle laugh, though there was no true amusement in it. “My, of course not, Your Grace.”
“Then why are you insisting on your sole presence in this discussion, Lord Holden?” Isaac challenged, his tone measured but unyielding.
The Marquess’s jaw tensed, his displeasure written clear across his face.
When no answer came, Isaac allowed a faint, mocking bow. “Perhaps I should navigate your house and fetch Lady Fiona myself,” he said, voice calm but carrying a steel edge.
It was less a threat and more a declaration of intent.
Holden must have seen it for what it was, for he shot a glare at Isaac, then turned sharply to summon his butler. The servant was dispatched at once to fetch Fiona.
Isaac remained standing by the hearth, arms crossed behind his back, his gaze steady upon the Marquess.You can sneer and seethe all you like, old man. It will not change what must be done.
Moments later, the door opened, and Fiona entered.
Something within Isaac twisted at the sight of her.
She held herself upright, her chin lifted in a show of strength—but it was the mark on her face that stole his breath. A livid bruise marred the delicate curve of her cheekbone, angry and dark against her pale skin.
An odd, violent ire surged within him, swift and hot.
His gaze snapped to the Marquess before returning to Fiona, now laced with a protectiveness he scarcely understood.
He laid hands on her. That bloody coward!
Isaac forced his hands to unclench, though it cost him dearly. There would be a reckoning. But not yet. First, he must secure her safety.
“Lady Fiona,” Isaac said, holding her gaze steadily, “do you wish to marry me?”
He watched a parade of emotions cross her bruised features—shock first, then guardedness, then a glint of wary hope. Caution, perhaps. Fear, perhaps.Trust,he dared hope, though he did not deserve it.
Fiona glanced toward her father, a fleeting, almost fearful motion. Then, gathering herself, she turned back to Isaac and gave a small, resolute nod.
Relief—sharp and visceral—cut through him.
“Very well,” Isaac said, his voice a low rumble.
He moved toward the Marquess, step by deliberate step, until he stood over the man like a thundercloud ready to break.
“Fiona is now my betrothed,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “And I expect you to treat her accordingly, Lord Holden.”
The Marquess’s mouth twisted, as if he might object, but Isaac did not allow him the luxury.
“If you so much as touch another hair on her head,” Isaac continued, his voice dropping into a deadly quiet, “I shall ensure you regret the day you first drew breath.”
His gaze darted briefly to Fiona, then back to Holden.
