Isadora’s lips parted in outrage. “I was not aware thatthiswas the favor you would ask of me.”
He merely shrugged. “I suppose I have a habit of surprising you.”
But before she could snap at him, he took a step closer and lifted her hand in his own. She barely had time to react before his lips brushed over her skin.
The contact was brief, but it stunned her nonetheless. His thumb lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. Isadora’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening against her will.
He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable, and when he spoke again, his voice was low.
“Be ready to become my duchess in a week.”
She did not move.
Then, just as quickly, he released her hand and turned toward the door, striding away with infuriating ease, as if he had not just completely turned her entire world upside down.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Silence settled over her, and when she returned to the drawing room, she was met by her father.
“What have you done?” His fury was unmistakable now that they were alone. “This should have been Penelope, not you.”
“She is the one who needs a match,” he continued. “She is the one whose prospects have been ruined. You should be content with your spinsterhood.”
The word spinster should not have hurt, for it was not the first time her father had used the term against her, but it did.
“You would prefer I refuse him?” she said simply.
George let out a harsh laugh, “Of course not. You played this game well.”
No one refused a duke, and even George was helpless in this matter.
And then, a strange kind of desperation laced his voice. “You were not meant to leave here. How will this house go on without you?”
“You will have to manage,” she said quietly.
George scoffed, shaking his head as though she had just burdened him with an unnecessary problem. He turned away,already reaching for the brandy on his desk, as if the conversation had already ended.
“Leave my sight.”
As Isadora turned, she did not rush. She did not wish to let her father see how much his words had unsettled her. Only when she reached her room—when the door shut behind her and she was alone—did she allow herself to breathe.
And then it hit her all at once.
She was getting married in one week.
To Evan Marwood.
CHAPTER 6
“One week.”
Isadora sat still, hands wrapped around her untouched teacup. In one week, she would be a married woman.
She sat in her bedroom, surrounded by her friends and Penelope. She had once believed in choice. She had believed that she would be different, that she would wait for the right man, a man who would be steady. And now—now she was set to marry Evan Marwood, who was anything but predictable.
“You always said,” Daphne remarked from the settee, perched comfortably beside Violet, “that you wished for a safe and comfortable match.”
Isadora exhaled, setting her teacup down. “Perhaps my fate was never meant to be comfortable.”
