The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 20

Isla stood at the window, adjusting the bonnet that sat atop her carefully arranged curls, when she spotted the carriages pulling up outside. She peered through the delicate lace curtains, expecting to see Tristan waiting for her, but instead, her gaze fell on a figure she didn't recognize—a young woman, slender and graceful, speaking to Tristan with apparent familiarity.

Isla's breath caught in her throat. Who was she?

She watched them for a moment longer. Tristan's posture was tense, his brow furrowed as he listened intently to whatever the woman was saying. Isla's stomach twisted, a sensation of unease creeping into her thoughts. Did Tristan's affections lay elsewhere?

Why shouldn't they? After all, this is not a love match, she thought, picking at her nails.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

The butler entered, clearing his throat. "Lord Sebastian Wycliffe, Mr. Benedict Savage."

With a quick glance back toward the window, Isla forward to greet the men to entered the room.

"Miss Everly," he said with a sweeping bow, "you grow lovelier by the day. Surely the sunshine will be envious today."

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir, for we are not acquainted," Isla said, looking around nervously. What if her father happened upon such a scene? He was already disappointed in her enough as it was.

"Ah, forgive me. I am Ashford's dearest friend from childhood, and I dare say the only one who can stand him. Lord Sebastion Wycliffe, at your service," he offered her a rakish smile and tipped his head.

"Of course," Isla murmured. Had Tristan mentioned him before? "And your companion...?"

"My younger cousin, Captain Benedict Savage," Lord Wycliffe gestured the man forward. "Freshly home from war."

Isla started with surprise to learn that the man was younger than Lord Wycliffe, for his hair was already graying at the temples and his blue eyes appeared cold and tired.

Isla smiled politely, though her thoughts were still on Tristan. "Ah. Welcome, gentlemen."

Captain Savage gave a stiff bow, his eyes briefly flicking to Isla before darting away, as though unused to social settings.

Isla's gaze shifted back to Lord Wycliffe, trying to sound casual. "And I noticed the duke is... otherwise occupied?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed over Lord Wycliffe's face before he quickly masked it with a charming smile. "Ah, yes. An unexpected visitor, I believe. Nothing to be concerned about. His Grace will join us soon, no doubt."

Isla's lips tightened. "I see." She wasn't satisfied with his vague answer, but pressing the matter further would be improper. Still, the knot of unease in her chest refused to loosen. Why hadn't Tristan mentioned this 'visitor?'

Just then, the door opened again, and Cressida swept in, her golden curls tumbling from a half bun and glinting against her creamy shoulder. Her bonnet hung by its ribbons from her hand.

She greeted Isla with a warm smile before her eyes landed on the two men, gaze lingering upon Lord Wycliffe. Isla could practically see the flicker of curiosity light up in her friend's eyes.

"And who is this delightful angel, may I ask?" Lord Wycliffe asked.

"This is my friend, Miss Cressida Tyndell. She is the ward of Lord Eyer," Isla said, forcing herself not to glance over her shoulder at the window again. "Cressida, this is Lord Wycliffe, a dear friend of my betrothed. And this is his cousin, Mr. Savage."

"Lord Wycliffe," Cressida said, her voice soft but coy. "The young ladies of the ton speak so highly of you."

Wycliffe's smile widened. "I hope you do not believe all that they say. I am not so accomplished as you, surely."

"What do you know of my accomplishments?," Cressida replied with an arched brow, her attention fixed entirely on Wycliffe.

Isla watched the exchange with a faint smile. Trust Cressida to zero in on a charming rake like Lord Wycliffe within moments of meeting him. Cressida had never been one for shy or uncertain men. Her attention was always drawn to those who commanded a room—and Wycliffe was undoubtedly that sort of man.

But as Lord Wycliffe and Cressida exchanged flirtatious glances, Isla's gaze flickered to the war-torn cousin, Mr. Savage. He stood slightly apart, clearly uncomfortable with the growing energy between his cousin and Cressida. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes when he glanced at Cressida—something raw and vulnerable, as though the sight of her unsettled him.

A pang of sympathy tugged at Isla. Mr. Savage looked utterly out of place, as if he'd rather be anywhere but here.

But with a sinking feeling, Isla realized that if he spent the day with them, his heart would be utterly captured by Cressida before sunset.

Isla knew her friend too well—Cressida would never be interested in someone like him. She preferred men like Lord Wycliffe: confident, charming, and unburdened. Cressida was drawn to laughter and light, not shadows and secrets.

As the conversation between Cressida and Sebastian continued, Isla excused herself for a moment and slipped back toward the window. She couldn't help herself—she needed to know if Tristan was still there, still speaking with that mysterious woman. But when she glanced outside, the woman was gone, and Tristan was nowhere to be seen.

Her unease grew.

"Isla?" Cressida's voice called her back to reality.

Isla turned back, forcing a smile onto her face. "Coming."

But as she rejoined the group, her mind was still on Tristan—and on the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right.