Page 27 of My Duke, The Stranger
“Then I assure you, Isolde is the cure. She makes me feel…” He exhaled deeply. “She is the only thing in this place that makes sense to me. A stranger, perhaps, but I feel as if I know her. If anyone might free my memories, it is her.”
This was a truth that Cassian wholly believed.
He could not explain why he felt this way about Isolde. Even putting aside her obvious beauty, there was just something about her presence that made him feel warm and comforted and safe. It was like having a familiar dream for the millionth time, one that couldn’t be remembered, but was known to have been had before.
Maybe that was love? A feeling that could not be explained but existed nonetheless. She was the key to everything, Cassian was certain, and he was excited to spend as much time with her as he could… for the rest of their lives, in fact.
“Very well,” Mr. Pemberton sighed. “If that is how you feel.”
“I do,” he said with a hardened stare. “Now, if there is nothing else…”
He had spent all day with Isolde, but he could not wait to see her again. Cassian hurried from the office, a smile on his face, laughter on his lips, and joy in his heart.
Yes, this is who I am… it must be. Someone as sweet and kind and pure as Isolde could never have fallen for me otherwise.
Ten
As was a theme in Isolde’s life of late, she felt terrible about her current actions. But, as was also a theme, she reasoned that they were for the best.
She lay in bed with the curtains drawn. Through the cracks, the midday sun attempted to break through as if somehow even the sun knew of the lies that she had spun. But she refused to open those curtains, just as she refused to break from her current plan.
Although, to be fair, the word ‘plan’ sounded hopelessly optimistic. It was more a means of delaying the inevitable… or better yet, of running from her problems and hoping that they would not find her.
Maybe, if I stay here for long enough, he will forget about me…
Isolde had remained in her bed now for three whole days. The reason for this isolation? A terrible sickness had taken her onher second night and now refused to let go. She told Cassian that she was weak, that her body ran hot and cold, that she could not eat, nor could she stand for more than a few minutes without needing to lie down.
In some ways, these were not all lies because whenever she thought of what she had done, she felt like she might be sick anyway.
Typically, Cassian was nothing but supportive of her.
That made Isolde feel even worse. He did not accuse her of lying. He did not grow upset when she told him that she wanted to be alone. Rather, he mourned for her good health, and every morning he was sure to stop in and check on her.
And always, when she told him that she still felt rotten, he would assure her that if there was anything she needed, he would not hesitate to bring it for her.
Why is he so good to me? I do not deserve it.
On that third day, as Isolde lay in bed, she heard footsteps approaching from down the hallway. She froze, begging for them to pass, while knowing they would not. Cassian had already seen to her once, and she had pleaded for him to go out and enjoy himself, and not to worry about her. Clearly, he had chosen to ignore this request…
Slowly, the door pried open.
Isolde turned on her side and pulled the blankets above her head. If he thought that she was sleeping, he might simply leave.
“I know you are not sleeping,” spoke a voice that sent a chill through Isolde’s body. “As I know that you are not unwell.”
Her heart thumped in her chest, and fear swept over her body so that she started to shake. The voice belonged to Mr. Pemberton, and that he had come to see her… it could only be for the worst of reasons.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She coughed violently.
He sighed as he crossed the room. A groan next, as he pulled a chair to the side of her bed. And then another groan as he sat himself down.
“I find myself in a bit of a conundrum, Miss Isolde.” He spoke carefully, each word weighed and considered. “One at which you are at the center.”
Isolde said nothing. She still lay with her back facing him. She was still determined to pretend that she was ill. But she also knew it would do her little good. Surely, this was to be the end of her…
“As I told you already, my entire life has been dedicated to His Grace,” Mr. Pemberton continued in that same measured tone. “His health and his well-being are all that matter to me. I do not care about propriety. I do not care about expectations andstatus. If His Grace announced tomorrow that he wished to take a vow of poverty, I would support him…” He gave a soft chuckle. “That is, assuming he could prove that he would be brought to no harm. I am his man, is my point.”
Still, Isolde did not speak. But she was certain that Mr. Pemberton could hear the thundering rumble of her heart; it was so loud that it seemed to shake the room.
