Page 7 of Duke of Diamonds
She managed a small, hesitant nod, but unease stirred within her like a rising tide. The dance began, and she followed the steps out of habit, her mind elsewhere.
Why does that sound less like affection and more like ownership?
By the time the dance ended, she felt wrung out. The pressure of his arm, the subtle barbs behind his words, the sense of being ushered about rather than courted—it all pressed heavily on her chest.
“I shall excuse myself for a moment,” she said quietly, not waiting for permission.
In the retiring room, she splashed cool water on her wrists, willing herself to be calm. But the walls felt too close, the air too thick. And so, rather than return to the crush of music and expectation, she slipped through the nearest side door and into the garden.
The night air met her skin like a balm. It was quieter here. Calmer.
She wandered down the gravel path, further than she meant to, drawn by the promise of solitude. The hedges rose high around her, tall enough to shield her from the world.
And then she stopped short.
Her heart lodged in her throat.
There, beneath the arching branches of a secluded trellis, stood Aaron.
Or rather, Aaron entwined—shirt loosened, cravat askew, hands not where they ought to be—with the very same woman he had danced with earlier.
They did not see her. Did not hear her soft intake of breath. So engrossed were they in their kiss, in the sinuous curve of bodies pressed scandalously close.
Fiona’s breath caught. Her stomach twisted.
She turned without a sound, her steps light and fast as she retraced her path, this time nearly at a run. Her vision blurred, and it was not until she reached the shadows near the ballroom doors that she realised she was trembling.
Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
How dare he. How utterly dare he.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. She danced when prompted. She smiled when spoken to, but she felt as though she were floating just above the surface of her life, detached and untethered.
One thought echoed with terrible clarity. *I cannot marry him. Not after this. Not ever. *She would speak to her parents, and the sooner, the better.
The moment they returned home from the ball, Prudence Pierce gave an exaggerated yawn and declared, “Oh, I am positively exhausted. I shall retire at once.”
She did not so much as glance at Fiona as she handed off her shawl to a maid and ascended the staircase like a woman who had fulfilled her social obligations and expected commendation for it.
Fiona stood at the base of the stairs, watching her mother disappear. She could not quite decide whether she felt relieved or abandoned. Not that she’d expected anything different.
“Where is my father?” she asked the butler.
“His Lordship is presently out, My Lady, and has not yet returned.”
That decided it. She would wait until morning.
They must both be present,she reasoned.And fully alert. This is not a conversation to be had when half-asleep or hiding behind excuses.
Yet sleep refused her.
She tossed in her bed beneath layers of linen and lace, her mind looping ceaselessly through what she had seen in the garden. The trellis, the moonlight, Aaron’s hands where they had no right to be. The kiss. The woman. The betrayal.
She stared at the ceiling until the shadows began to fade and the sky lightened behind the draperies.
By the time she descended the stairs the next morning, she was pale and exhausted, but no less determined.
“You really ought to take better care of yourself, Fiona,” Prudence said the moment she took her seat at the breakfast table. “Have you seen your eyes this morning? Puffy and dark as soot. Quite unbecoming.”
