The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 22

Isla struggled to keep her breathing calm as Tristan's shoulder brushed against hers. In spite of her embarrassment at having misunderstood his secret meeting with the mysterious woman, she could not deny the way her heart had skipped a beat when he looked at her and promised that he would never tire of her.

Confound that Devil Duke. When had he softened Isla's hatred for him?

He holds your family's debts in his hands, she reminded herself. You cannot allow his pretty words to sway your mind.

But she could not deny that he was gentle toward her. Even when she angrily accused him of meeting another woman in secret, he had only reacted with soft words and earnest eyes.

Tristan pulled the carriage to a stop and jumped down. He reached up to help her, his gaze steady.

Isla stared at him for a long moment, and finally placed her hand in his. She had determined to enjoy this picnic, she reminded herself. Even if she did have to share it with that man.

Her legs, numb from the ride, buckled as they touched the soft grass.

Tristan wrapped an arm around Isla's waist, steadying her. He held her against his chest, gazing down at her with eyes that were suddenly stormy.

Her hand pressed against his chest to push away. His heart beat steadily beneath his navy blue coat.

Her foolish heart beat faster in response.

"Miss Cressida, allow me to assist you," Lord Wycliffe said loudly, shaking Isla from the spell that Tristan had cast over her. She pushed away from him and smoothed her skirts.

Before Lord Wycliffe could dismount his horse, however, Mr. Savage was already at the carriage, holding out a scarred hand.

Cressida looked from Mr. Savage to Lord Wycliffe. With a frown, she accepted Mr. Savage's assistance.

The soft murmur of the nearby river blended with the rustling leaves as they unloaded the picnic goods. Isla stole a glance at Tristan. He stood beside her with his chin lowered, his usual self-assured presence replaced by something more subdued.

She had overreacted. She knew she had been rude. In spite of that, Tristan had not become angry with her. It unsettled her.

"Would you mind walking with me for a bit?" Tristan asked suddenly as the others looked around for a flat piece of ground in the warm morning sun.

Isla hesitated. Should she apologize? Oh, but how her pride would sting. Finally, she nodded but did not accept his proffered arm.

Behind them, she could hear the distant sounds of Cressida and Lord Wycliffe laughing as they set up the picnic. Isla felt like she would rather melt into the ground than laugh at that moment. The tension between her and Tristan remained taut, stretched thin like a string ready to snap.

They walked for a moment without speaking, the crunch of their footsteps against the gravel path the only sound between them. Then, unexpectedly, Tristan spoke, his voice low and serious.

"You are right, Isla, I am not a good man."

She blinked, startled by the admission. "I did not say–"

Tristan stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the confession were too heavy to meet her eyes. "There are things you don't know about me—things I've done... mistakes I've made."

Isla frowned, unsure of what to say. This was not the Tristan she thought she knew. The charming, confident duke seemed to be unraveling before her, revealing a side of himself she had never expected.