Page 8

CHAPTER 8

I saac rubbed at his left shoulder, pressing his fingers into the knot of old scar tissue just beneath the fabric of his shirt. The ache had started upon waking, sharp and deep, a ghost of the shot that had torn through him years ago. He winced, rotating the joint slightly. Mornings like this came more often than he admitted.

Better this pain than the thoughts that come with quiet.

He could not concentrate.

The morning post lay untouched on the corner of his desk, wax seals unbroken, ink yet to dry on the half-written reply to his steward in Craton. It was his custom to tend to correspondence after breakfast, but today, no amount of discipline could summon his focus.

His mind remained stubbornly tethered to yesterday. To Fiona.

The way she’d tried to laugh off her discomfort. The forced brightness in her voice. The welt rising on her wrist where that bastard had gripped her.

God help him, it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to rip Canterlack’s arm from its socket right there in the middle of Hyde Park. In public, no less.

That the man could behave so brazenly—with society’s eyes upon him—was galling. But worse still was the artful subtlety with which he conducted himself. So cunningly veiled, so perfectly disguised, that a lady would be ruined before she even realized she was under siege.

A knock sounded at the study door, followed, without invitation, by the creak of hinges.

“I knew it had to be you,” Isaac said without looking up.

“You come and go as though you reside here, Elaine.”

His sister breezed into the room with the confidence of one who never needed permission.

“Before we begin,” Isaac said, watching her stride with familiar ease, “how are the children?”

Elaine brightened immediately. “Lively as ever. Henry insists he is old enough to ride without a groom now, and Charlotte has declared she wishes to marry a prince. They both miss you terribly.”

Isaac’s expression softened, and he leaned his good shoulder against the edge of the desk. “They ought not to miss me at all. This house is no place for children. It’s too dim, too still.”

“They think it mysterious,” Elaine said with a chuckle. “Henry wants to explore the halls and discover your armory.”

He shook his head. “I shall visit them soon instead. At least your home is filled with warmth and sunlight.”

She smiled gently. “They would like that. We all would.”

A beat passed before she folded her arms. “Now, since I have given you pleasant tidings, allow me to return to the reason for my visit.”

“My, you do not sound pleased to see me this morning. What a shame.” She clicked her tongue. “Then again, when are you ever pleased about anything?”

“When I see knots, bolts, and sharp objects,” he replied evenly.

“Goodness. When you see weapons , then,” she laughed, unperturbed. He couldn’t help the slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

Elaine perched herself on the edge of his desk, hands folded primly over her lap. “I know you never read the columns—some misguided sense of honor, I imagine—but I do. And there is something in them this morning that is… confusing. And a touch disturbing.”

He gave a short exhale. “Isn’t that what they always print? Drivel dressed as truth. I can scarcely imagine what would trouble you in particular.”

“Well,” she said, crossing one leg over the other, “these particular lies concern you . Or at least I hope they are lies.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do tell, dear sister. What scandal has the ton fabricated for me now?”

“Your name has been linked with Lady Fiona,” she said. “There’s speculation about your public appearances. Your dance. Your supposed attentions. And most notably,” her voice dropped, “that you were seen walking her home from the park yesterday.”

Isaac was silent.

Elaine went on. “I thought little of it until I was reminded that Lady Fiona is betrothed to the Earl of Canterlack.”

“So?” he said, lifting one shoulder.

Elaine’s mouth fell open. “ So? Isaac, do not pretend to be dense. You of all people know how dangerous—how foolish—it is to cross that man.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands folding over his chest. “Your question ought to be, what did he do? I merely intervened. He was hurting her.”

Elaine’s expression shifted to something close to alarm. “I knew it. I had a wretched feeling. Whatever happened, you should not have involved yourself—not where Canterlack is concerned.”

Isaac stood, unable to remain seated under the weight of her chastisement. “And allow him to get away with it? Not while I have breath in my lungs.”

“I do not want you entangled with him again, Isaac,” she said, quieter now. “You know what he’s capable of. You almost died once!”

“You promised to trust me.”

“And you promised me there was nothing to worry about,” she returned.

He reached for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “There isn’t.”

Elaine held his gaze. Whatever doubts she harbored, she said nothing more of them.

“Do you have… any particular interest in Lady Fiona, then?”

“We’re acquainted,” he said simply, unwilling to offer more. The arrangement with Fiona was delicate—complicated—and certainly not something he wished to explain. Not when Elaine would only see another web drawing him closer to Canterlack. Another wound waiting to be torn open.

Elaine seemed to sense his reluctance. She tilted her head, voice softer. “The lady who called on you. Was it her?”

He didn’t answer.

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I trust you, Isaac.”

There was both comfort and caution in her words. He recognized it, and it warmed something cold in his chest.

I must not fail this time. Too much had been lost before. and Canterlack had left enough destruction in his wake.

Never again.