“Yes,” he confirmed. “I will acquire the special license and take care of the preparations. My solicitor will be coming to youraunt’s townhouse with the marriage contract and the details of the wedding.”
He lingered, his gaze drifting down her body and back, the weight of it sending a shiver through her.
“I will also arrange for you to visit the modiste,” he added. “You may choose any gown of your liking.”
“My sister has gowns of her own, Yer Grace,” Callum said through gritted teeth.
Isla glared at him, then turned towards the Duke. “That is most generous, Yer Grace. Thank ye.”
“Ye had better make this work, Yer Grace,” Callum grumbled as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
“I always do,” the Duke replied, the calm in his tone was unyielding and absolute.
Isla’s pulse quickened; she could almost feel the authority radiating from him.
Across from him, Callum’s shoulders squared, bristling as if the very sound of that confidence struck at his pride.
“Well, that is that then,” her brother said as he tentatively offered an outstretched hand to the Duke, who returned his firm shake. “It is settled.”
After a nod, the Duke stepped back, turning his attention back to her. “And… Lady Isla?”
“Yes, Yer Grace?”
“The next time I see you, I expect you to be in a proper gown.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, a hulking figure disappearing into the growing light of the morning.
The sun was just peaking over the rooftops, softening the orange and pink sky above the swirling chimney smoke.
Isla stood there in silence, still clutching her brother’s coat around her to ward off the cold, the Duke’s unexpected proposal echoing in her ears.
“Thig a Hiort!” Callum swore, a quiet, guttural sound, as he finally holstered his weapon. He stared at the spot where the Duke had been only moments before and shook his head. “The man is a bloody giant,” Callum muttered, turning to his sister.
“Callum…”
“This is yer life, Isla. Ye agreed to a hasty marriage to stop a duel. Are ye certain, sister?” Callum pressed, stepping closer and grasping her shoulders.
“A marriage to an English Duke is a better fate than becoming a pariah. Or worse…watchin’ me brother hang for murder. He said he has a son, Callum. A small boy who needs a maither. Perhaps I can be useful to someone at last, to be more than…”
A broken woman, she wished to say, but stopped herself.
Callum pulled her into a tight embrace. “Ye have always been useful, sister. And good. Ye wear yer scars proud, like a Valkyrie in battle.”
“I would do it again if it meant I would save ye and Eilidh…” Isla trailed off, her thoughts drifting to that fateful day when they were children.
“I dinnae trust him,” Callum bellowed. “Not for a moment. If he breaks his word, or hurts ye, I swear on our faither’s grave… I will put a bullet in him meself. Duke or nae Duke.”
“I ken ye will,” Isla whispered into his shoulder, clinging to him for a moment of quiet strength. “But I must believe he meant what he said. Now, let’s get back to the house before someone sees me standin’ here, lookin’ like a stable boy.”
“That is wise… Ye ken, it is a good thing ye are so tall for a lass. Ye almost pulled it off.”
Chapter Three
“You are a vision, Lady Isla,” their Aunt’s maid, Jenny, said as she gently coaxed a few stray curls into place around the edges of the veil, while the rest of Isla’s long locks cascaded artfully down her back in a half-up, half-down hairstyle.
Five days. It has only taken five days for me entire life to change before me very eyes.
Isla stood in front of the gilded mirror in her modest quarters at Aunt Honoria’s London townhouse, staring at the person in front of her.
