Page 17 of My Duke, The Stranger
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I only went along with it because I did not want to upset him.”
“And then what?” he continued. “His Grace is convinced the two of you are engaged. He seems rather pleased by the notion. Tell me, where does this end for you?”
“I…” Isolde considered. “I only wanted to help. His Grace’s memory will return, I am sure, at which point he will be free to decide what he wants to do. Until then, I think it best if… if I continue to aid him in his recovery. I want to help, Mr. Pemberton. Please, allow me to help.”
Mr. Pemberton looked at her flatly. She was certain that he was about to deny her. No doubt he was weighing up in his mind the pros and cons of revealing who she was, versus going along with this lie. And when he opened his mouth, she was certain from the way he looked at her that he was all but ready to throw her to the wolves.
At that moment, the door burst open, and the duke walked in.
“Sorry to disturb,” he said as he strolled through the door. His face brightened immediately when it fell on Isolde. “How are things? I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Your Grace!” Mr. Pemberton straightened up, and he dropped the ice-cold façade that he’d held onto since entering the room. “Your examination? I thought?—”
“The thing about having no memory is that you tend to forget where things are,” the duke chuckled as he crossed the room. “I’m afraid I got somewhat lost. Truly, it is a miracle that I found the two of you.” He reached the table and sat on its end.
Isolde breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the stay of execution. She dared a glance at Mr. Pemberton, who looked between her and the duke as if coming to a decision.
“It is a good thing that you are here,” Mr. Pemberton spoke carefully, at which point Isolde’s heart stopped dead in her chest. “I was just speaking to Miss Whitmore about your engagement…”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Mr. Pemberton fixed his eyes on her as if in warning, only to soften them as he looked up at the duke. “It has occurred to me that there is no engagement ring. A strange thing, for two people who are engaged to one another. As you both are.”
The duke frowned. “Yes… that is a little odd. Isolde? Did I not present one to you when I proposed?”
Isolde burned with shame. “You meant to do so, but you did not have one. It was very much a spur-of-the-moment thing, Your Grace.”
“Your Grace?” he chuckled. “I would think you might call me Cassian, Isolde.” He reached down and took her hand. “Surely, such formalities are beneath us.”
“Right, sorry.” She grimaced, still unable to look at him. “Cassian…” The word burned her lips as if it were acid.
“As for the ring, that is an easy fix. Mr. Pemberton. Surely, I can rely on you to have one made? I would make suggestions, but for obvious reasons, I have not a clue how such things are done.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Pemberton stood and bowed. “I will have one made at once.” His eyes flicked to Isolde, but she did not look up. “Now, might I escort you to the physician? I really must insist that he sees you.”
“I was thinking, could you fetch him and bring him here?”
“Your Grace?”
“I wish to speak to my fiancée privately for a moment,” he said. Isolde’s eyes widened, and her cheeks burned. “In all the excitement of the morning, it has occurred to me that we have had hardly a moment together, and there are a few things I would like to discuss with her.
Oh no… oh no…
Isolde’s heart started to race again. She did not dare meet the duke’s eyes, but she sensed the meaning in his words. No doubt, he was starting to grow suspicious himself, and just as Mr. Pemberton had done, he had some questions of his own that needed answers.
“I will return at once.” Mr. Pemberton bowed deeply and hurried from the room.
Isolde remained seated and able to feel the duke’s eyes on her as he perched on the edge of the desk. Silence fell on the room; those eyes burned through her, and with no choice, she slowly and carefully raised her head to meet his gaze.
She did not know what he wanted to say to her. She could not imagine what she might say in return. Isolde had lied so much today and betrayed herself in so many ways that she wondered how much longer she could continue doing so.
The duke… Cassian, as she had to call him… He deserved the truth. If he asked it of her, if he poured his heart out so that she could not refuse him, she would give it. Her conscience demanded as much.
Six
“Something is wrong,” said the duke...No, Cassian.
He sat on the edge of the table, holding Isolde’s hand and looking at her with actual worry in his eyes.
