Panic coiled in the pit of her stomach along with a strange sensation of longing.
She wanted him to touch her again, not just with his tongue, but with his hands and any other part of him that would make her his.
Chapter Nineteen
Cassian was pacing in his study, tension rolling through him in waves. Had he made the right decision in asking for her hand in marriage? The idea had come to him so quickly in the moment that he’d barely had time to think it through.
Tristan lounged against a bookcase with an expression that suggested he was enjoying himself far too much.
“So,” Tristan said casually, “I hear congratulations are in order.” He continued to smirk after arriving only a few moments prior.
Cassian shot him a murderous glare. Why was it that Tristan always seemed to show up at the worst possible times? He was supposed to be Cassian’s best friend, but he acted more like a thorn in his side than anything else.
“You’re engaged,” Tristan continued, undeterred. “To Lady Isabella Hunton. The ton is in absolute hysterics. I am only madthat you left your own ball last night without telling me. One would think that you would want to tell share the news with your oldest friend.”
“I did what needed to be done.” Cassian scrubbed a hand over his jaw, moving his head from side to side until his neck clicked.
“Yes, I think I can surmise what you are getting at without being too indelicate,” Tristan agreed. “And now, tell me why you look as though you’re awaiting death.” He quirked an eyebrow in question.
Cassian glared at the floor. “I did not intend for it to happen this way. But I wasn’t going to let her be ruined, not because of me,” He growled.
“She could be good for you, Cassian.” Tristan studied him, all amusement fading as his face grew more serious.
“There is no ‘good’ for me.” A sharp pang stabbed at his heart as Cassian thought of the world that Isabella would be exposed to by being his wife.
She does not deserve this.
“Rubbish,” Tristan said lightly and waved the idea away. “She challenges you. She tends to your grandmother. She keeps your attention better than any other woman has managed in years.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened, memories flashing in his mind: Isabella’s flushed cheeks, her breathless voice, and the way she had whispered his name. She had all but said that she had wanted him to do it, even if she had not said those exact words. He had fought against the urge to take her, but his desire for her had won in the end.
He shut his eyes briefly, attempting to ebb the flow of desire.
“There is a chance for happiness here, old friend.” Tristan interrupted his thoughts, providing a much-needed distraction.
But Cassian said nothing because happiness was not something he had ever considered for himself.
Not since he could not escape the past, but Isabella made everything dangerously different. “And what do I tell her when she asks about the scars on my back? Should I tell her the tale of the stolen duke whose father cared so little for him that he allowed his enemy to take him captive?” Cassian clenched his jaw in anger and turned his back on Tristan before stalking over to the window.
Placing one hand beside the frozen glass, he looked out over the wet streets of London just as a fine sheet of snow began to fall from the sky, blanketing everything in white. “How can any woman love a man who is known as the stolen duke?” He asked bitterly, refusing to look back.
“You will have to tell her, Cassian. What happened was not your fault. It is as you say, it was your father who allowed you to be taken…”
“And I was too weak to stop it!” Cassian spun around, glaring at his friend as his anger flared. “The feud may have been my father’s doing, but I was too weak and pathetic to stop myself from being taken in the dead of night!”
“You were fifteen, Cassian! For Heaven’s sake. How were you to fight off a band of men on your own? You hold yourself to such a high standard, but even you would not expect such an impressive feat from someone so young.” Tristan shouted back, refusing to back down.
Pain seared his vision as Cassian shut his eyes. The reason he avoided speaking of the matter was now ripped through his chest like a skilled blade.
He never came for me.
The memory of his father leaving him to the mercy of his captors galloped a painful path through his chest and mind.
He had hoped that his father would come for him, but that hope had quickly died after several months of waiting. He had been beaten, tortured, and exposed to far more hatred than anyone in his position had ever deserved. Fighting back had been useless, earning him more beatings for his troubles. The scars on his back were a dark reminder of that.
“You are not your father, Cassian. You have proved that time and time again. He was a bastard that deserved the death he got.” Tristan’s voice broke through the memory, pulling him back to the present.
“But what if a part of him remained in me? I am his son, after all. His blood runs through my veins…” He looked up with more vulnerability than he had cared to show.
