The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 8

The world seemed to tilt as Isla stared down at Tristan, her mind racing. The crowd murmured in shock, and she could feel every eye fixed on her.

Her heart thudded in her chest, each beat louder than the last.

This cannot be happening.

She opened her mouth, her pulse quickening. "Your Grace–."

"I beg you," Tristan interrupted, his voice steady. "You have so captured my heart that I cannot live another day without you."

His eyes darkened beneath the light of the chandeliers as he gazed up at her.

But she sensed no love in them—only resignation.

He dropped his voice, so soft that only she could hear. "For your sake. Please accept."

The words hit her like a slap. For her own sake? Did he think he was saving her? Saving her from what? From himself?

Her throat tightened as her gaze darted across the ballroom, seeking an escape. She couldn't marry him.

Not him.

He was responsible for her family's downfall.

The very thought of it was unthinkable.

A twisting knot of fear and outrage coiled in her chest.

Yet everywhere she looked, all she saw were faces—expectant, judgmental. She was trapped.

Such a public declaration of love and intention would not be ignored. To refuse a duke–a duke– in front of the entire ball, would not just be scandalous, it would be ruinous.

But how could she marry him?

Her vision blurred as she caught sight of Charlotte standing near the edge of the crowd. Her delicate face was pale with concern, her brow furrowed.

As she gazed at her sister, the reality of Isla's gut-wrenching situation sank in.

No one else would propose to her now, not if she turned down a duke. Her refusal to accept would drive away any hope of another match.

But now this match...

Her stomach churned, a bitter taste rising in her throat. The man on one knee before her had been the architect of her family's disaster. His carelessness, his greed, had shattered their fortunes. And now here he was, offering himself like some savior. She couldn't bear it.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, "Please, don't do this."

Tristan's expression remained composed, but his eyes softened ever so slightly. "I cannot live with myself if I do not."

A ripple of anger surged through her, but it was quickly smothered by the sinking weight of her circumstance. What choice did she have?

The ballroom seemed to close in on her, the heat of the crowd pressing in, stifling. She glanced again at her sister, and for a moment, all she saw was Charlotte's future—uncertain, fragile, hanging by the thinnest of threads. She had promised herself she would do anything to protect her sister, to keep her family from complete ruin.

Anything.

Even this.

With trembling hands, Isla forced a smile, her lips stiff as she gazed down at Tristan.

"How could I possibly say no?" she said, each word scraping against her throat. "I will happily wed you, Your Grace."

A murmur of shock and approval spread through the crowd, but Isla barely heard it. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the congratulations and hushed gossip. She couldn't meet Tristan's eyes as he stood, his hand reaching for hers. Her fingers felt cold and numb as she placed them in his grasp.

It is done, she thought numbly. That's it.

But instead of feeling relieved or secure, cold dread settled over her. She had just agreed to marry the man who had brought her family to ruin. How could she possibly face the future when every step would remind her of how bitterly she hated him?

As she stood there, she felt as if she could watch her life slip away in front of her very eyes, like sand through her fingers. Any hopes she may have secretly harbored of a love match, any hopes of marrying a kind, gentle man, vanished before her eyes.

She glanced up at Tristan, and a wave of resentment washed over her. He stood tall, composed, his expression unreadable beneath his mask.

But even as she forced herself to stand beside him, her hand still resting in his, she found one small grain of consolation.

I can now afford Father's medicine.

As the room filled with polite applause, Isla clenched her jaw, summoning every last ounce of composure she had left. She would do this for her family and for her sister, but she would never forgive Tristan. Not for this.

And certainly not for everything he had already taken from her.