Page 42 of My Duke, The Stranger
“I have spent all week preaching to the ton that this marriage is what I want. Time and time again, questions were asked, which I disavowed resolutely. To go back on my word now will make me look weak, and that I cannot abide.”
Isolde was stunned. She heard what Cassian was saying; she just didn’t know if she understood it.
“Further to that point, if I do cancel this wedding, people will surely dig their noses in where they do not belong. They will learn the truth of who you are, Isolde, and the consequences of this will ruin me, my name, and my legacy.” He curled his upper lip. “All that is to say, your lies have made it so that I am trapped. Well done.”
“Cas— Your Grace,” she stammered, taking a step toward him, then forcing herself to stop. “That is not… I did not mean?—”
“It does not matter what you meant to do,” he spoke over her coldly. “It is done now, and it cannot be changed. But you should be glad, Isolde. Thrilled, even. Go on. No need to pretend that this is not the news you hoped for.”
The man who spoke to Isolde was not one whom she recognized. Oh, sure, he looked like him at first glance. The same rugged looks. The same powerful frame. The same lips, nose, and eyes. Only…He’s not the Cassian I know.
His voice was cold and cruel. His gaze was domineering and harsh. And not for a second did Isolde get the sense that he cared one bit about her. This was business, plain and simple. His memories might not have returned, but his old self had.
“Please…” She took another step towards him. “You do not have to do this. I do not… I did not want this.”
“Lies,” he said to her. “I hoped we were past such things by now. Speaking of lies.” He narrowed his eyes. “After we wed, you will continue in the pretense of your lineage, should anyone ask. For that reason, I will have no choice but to take care of your family, lest someone learn of their poverty and wonder why I have not moved to help them. They will be taken care of, as will you. Again, congratulations, Isolde.”
She winced and stumbled back. Shame took her. She tried to look pleadingly at Cassian, needing him to know this wasn’twhat she wanted. But when he looked at her, it was as if he saw right through her.
“As to our marriage,” he continued. “It will be in name only. I might call it a marriage of convenience, but that convenience extends in only one direction.” His lip curled again. “And once this marriage is made official, then we will decide how things shall proceed. But know this.” He widened his eyes. “This is my home, I am in charge, and that you will be allowed to remain here is a sign of my mercy and has nothing to do with how I feel about you. Do you understand?”
She said nothing.
“Do you understand?” he barked.
“Y—yes,” she whimpered and reeled back. “I understand.”
“Good.” He looked at Mr. Pemberton. “Mr. Pemberton, show Isolde back to her room and then come and see me.” With that, he turned and stalked back up the steps, and not once did he look back.
Isolde stayed where she was, stunned by what had just happened.
Deep within her subconscious, there was a voice that whispered to her that this was a good thing. Had she not gotten what she wanted? And was she no longer living a lie? Her plan had worked perfectly, and relief was what she should have felt.
But she did not feel relieved. She did not feel gladdened. She felt worse than she ever had. Not for herself. Not for her future. But for Cassian, because the man who she had just seen was not him.
I broke him… ruined him completely… and for that, I will never forgive myself.
Seventeen
“It is not such a bad thing to smile, Isolde. In fact, it is often encouraged.”
Miss Eleanor Hartwell was Isolde’s only true friend. They had grown up together. Her family belonged to her father’s congregation, and the two girls were the same age. While they were not as close as they could be, as Isolde had been too busy for friends these past two years, she was also the only person whom Isolde could think of inviting to her wedding… as sad as that was to admit.
In truth, when Eleanor arrived that morning, Isolde had almost burst into tears. She rushed outside, threw her arms around her oldest friend, and held her so close that she thought she might never let go.
From there, she had led the young woman inside—ignoring the way Eleanor had gushed at the expanse and expense of the manor—taken her to her room and told her everything.
It was a relief in many ways to have someone to speak to about her sins. And as she knew would be the case, Eleanor did not judge her.
Which is fine, as I have judged myself plenty for both of us.
They spent the morning getting ready together, after which they took a carriage to the duke’s parish not too far from the manor. They were then sequestered into a small room to wait until the guests arrived and the ceremony could begin.
“What is there to smile about?” Isolde sighed.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Eleanor studied Isolde. “Perhaps that gown? It is by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and you look stunning in it. I mean, when you used to picture your wedding day, did you even think you would wear a gown like that?”
Isolde winced as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
