Page 33 of Duke of Diamonds
Would she have come to me regardless? Would I have stayed uninvolved if not for that cursed dance?
Elaine paled but lifted her chin. “That was before I knew of her connection to Canterlack,” she said, her voice brittle.
Nothing he said now would convince her. Her mind was set, her heart tangled in fear and disappointment. And Isaac—God help him—had no weapons left to fight her doubts.
Elaine’s next words were cold enough to strip the room of air. “I hope you spend the rest of your night mulling over your actions and their consequences, brother.”
With that, she whirled around and marched from the study, the door slamming with a sharp finality that echoed through Craton Manor.
Isaac stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing against him like a weight. Then, moving with slow deliberation, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. The glass trembled slightly in his hand.
She does not trust me.
The thought settled in his chest like a stone. But he had no right to feel wounded by it. Not when he had failed so utterly before. Not when he had failed Mary.
He drained the glass in one swallow, the burn a poor substitute for the ache he could not ease.
As his sister had so bitterly advised, the rest of his night was spent in solitary reflection, the shadows deepening around him.
By dawn, as pale light bled through the curtains, Isaac had reached his decision.
He had started this when he agreed to aid Fiona.
And he would see it through.
He would not abandon her now, not when his principles demanded otherwise.
CHAPTER 12
The moment dawn broke, Isaac made his way to his bedchamber, and after changing into fresh clothes and making himself presentable, he called upon the Holden residence.
“You are quite early, Your Grace,” the butler observed as Isaac stepped into the marbled vestibule of Holden House.
“Kindly inform the Marquess that I must speak with him at once,” Isaac said, tugging off his gloves and handing them over.
The butler bowed and disappeared, leaving Isaac alone with the chill of the morning air still clinging to his coat.
No sense delaying what must be done. Best to strike while the man is still too dazed to mount a defense.
He had scarcely slept. A few hours after dawn, he had forced himself from his study, changed into fresh attire, and madehimself presentable, though no amount of careful grooming could entirely banish the sharp edge of exhaustion that pulled at him.
Within moments, he was ushered into the Marquess’s study.
George Holden rose from behind a massive desk, his brows lifting in evident surprise. “Your Grace,” he said, his voice clipped. “I had not expected company so early.”
Isaac did not bother with pleasantries. “I have come to offer for your daughter, Holden.”
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the grate.
The Marquess blinked, as though the words had landed somewhere behind his understanding. Then, regaining his composure, he gave a slow, almost calculating nod.
“Very well,” he said, smoothing a hand over his waistcoat. “We shall discuss the terms.”
The casualness of it—a daughter bartered like a bolt of cloth—set Isaac’s teeth on edge. His hands curled loosely at his sides to keep from betraying his disdain.
Terms? For a human being? How very noble of you, Holden.
But now was not the time to wage that battle. There was one purpose to his visit, and it would not be served by righteous indignation.
