The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 16

Tristan closed the door to his mother's room with more care than it deserved, the click of the latch reverberating in the silence of the hall. His pulse still thundered in his ears, though it wasn't from the biting words of his mother. No, the cause of his agitation was walking beside him, her head held high despite the obvious strain of the encounter.

Isla.

She had surprised him. No one ever defended him, not against his mother's scorn, not against her poisonous judgment that had followed him since childhood.

But she had. Isla had stood her ground—against the dowager duchess, of all people—her voice steady and sharp in his defense. Something unfamiliar stirred inside him.

He stole a glance at her as they walked in silence through the dimly lit corridors. Her shoulders were tense, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her pace was quicker than usual, as though she were trying to put as much distance between herself and the dowager's venom as possible.

Yet despite her outward composure, he sensed the tremor of unease in her steps.

"You didn't have to do that," he said softly, breaking the silence as they turned a corner. His voice sounded rougher than he'd intended.

Isla kept her gaze ahead, her jaw tightening slightly. "I cannot imagine having such a viper for a mother.."

He blinked, momentarily thrown by the heat in her answer.

No one had ever taken up his side so easily, so naturally, without any expectation of reward or advantage.

It unsettled him as much as it warmed him.

"She did the best she could," he said. If Isla knew the full extent of the dowager's hatred for him, she may not defend him so easily.

"How could she speak of you that way?" Isla huffed. "I could not stand it another moment. I had to say something."

"I appreciate it," he said after a pause, his voice more genuine. "But it wasn't your battle to fight."

Her steps faltered for the briefest moment, and he saw the way her fingers clenched the fabric of her skirt. "Perhaps not," she replied quietly, "but I find it difficult to remain silent when someone is being unjustly maligned."

He didn't know whether to smile or feel a pang of guilt at her words. Unjustly maligned? His mother wasn't entirely wrong—he had made a wager on Isla, after all. The memory of that reckless night still twisted in his gut. What had started as a careless challenge now felt like a slow unraveling of his own integrity, and every time Isla surprised him with her strength, her wit, or her unexpected kindness, the weight only grew heavier.

They turned into the main hall, where the walls were brighter, the dark tension of the dowager's quarters giving way to the polished glow of sunlight filtering through the grand windows. Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but they were suddenly approached by his steward, Mr. Ralston.

"Your Grace," Ralston began, his usual brisk demeanor softening into something almost nervous. His eyes darted between Tristan and Isla. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but I wasn't aware that... that Miss Everly was your fiancée."

The steward's words hung in the air, and Tristan saw the way Isla's posture stiffened. Her pale cheeks flushed, but she kept her gaze forward, not meeting the steward's probing look.

Tristan frowned, already sensing where this was going. "Yes, she is," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Mr. Ralston's eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise with a polite nod. "Of course, Your Grace, I only mention it because of the—well, the matter of her family's accounts..."