Page 98 of Duke of Diamonds
A laugh escaped her, quiet and real. Her hand lifted, almost unconsciously, brushing against the rim of the teacup.
After a pause, he rose, and something within her clenched.
“Isaac.”
She reached for him without thinking, her fingers closing around the sleeve of his robe. The fabric was warm from his skin, and it shifted easily under her touch. As it slid slightly down his arm, her breath caught.
There, along the curve of his left shoulder, was a scar.
Long. Pale. A crescent carved into flesh. Not a straight line from a fencing match or a childhood fall—something deeper, deliberate.
Fiona leaned closer, her brow furrowing.What happened to you?
Isaac didn’t move, but she could feel the tension draw through him, the set of his shoulders rigid beneath her gaze. Then, in one smooth motion, he tugged the robe back into place.
Her hand fell away slowly, hovering near her lap, uncertain.
“Can you stay?” she asked, her voice quiet, barely louder than the crackle of the fire. She didn’t look away from his face.Don’t leave again. Not now. Not like this.
He took a step back, and for a moment, her heart dipped.He’s leaving. I knew it was too much.
But then he turned—not toward the door, but toward the settee. He gathered a few pillows, arms full like a man who intended to settle. When he returned, he eased down beside her and arranged them gently at her back, coaxing her into a more comfortable recline.
“Are you all right? Comfortable?” he asked, adjusting a cushion behind her shoulders.
She nodded. “Truly, I am.” Her smile came soft, unforced. “Thank you, Isaac.”
He blinked, almost confused. “What for?”
“For keeping me safe.”
He shook his head, dismissing it. “It’s nothing.”
It’s everything.
He rubbed his palms together once, then raised them—without warning—and cupped her cheeks. His hands were warm, steady, and she leaned into them without thinking.
“How’s this?”
“It’s perfect.” Her own hands rose, resting atop his.Stay with me. Just like this.
He drew one of her hands down, lacing their fingers together. He brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, slow and deliberate. Her heart stirred, aching and full.
His other hand traced the line of her jaw with the gentleness of something sacred.
The fire glowed brighter, but it was not what warmed her. It was him. The nearness, the way he touched her like she mattered.Like she wasn’t a burden or a duty, but something he had chosen.
Before she could question herself, her free hand slipped beneath the edge of his robe. Her fingers found the curve of his left shoulder again and gently pushed the fabric aside.
He didn’t stop her.
The scar was fully visible now—arched and pale, a wound long healed but never forgotten. She brushed her fingers across it, barely touching.
“What happened here?” she whispered.
He was silent. The fire snapped once, filling the space his voice should have.
She was about to withdraw her hand when he finally answered.
