Free The Demon of Darkling Reach (The Black Prince Book 1) by P. J. Fox Page B

Her father was a selfish, self-serving man; he’d see what he wanted to see, so long as he was given the opportunity to do so. And, clearly, Mountbatten intended to give him the opportunity—from now until, Isla was sure, that blessed moment when he finally quit the place.
    She wondered how she’d survive in the meantime. As for what lay ahead beyond the next few weeks…she didn’t allow herself to think about it. That way lay insanity.
    The duke smiled slightly, as if sensing her thoughts and relishing them; a faint twitch of the lip that promised nothing pleasant. He knew that, unlike her father, Isla understood him perfectly and labored under no illusions about the nature of his intentions. Their shared knowledge gave his smile an odd intimacy, making Isla acutely uncomfortable and, at the same time, aware that he was a man and she a woman. And that eventually, whether she willed it or no, he’d see her naked.
    He turned and, with a final nod, departed.
    Isla turned in the opposite direction, making herself scarce before her father had a chance to call her back for a further interview. He, no doubt, wanted to assuage himself on the score of his having played cupid. And indeed, anyone who didn’t know them and who saw them together would think that Isla and the duke were, if not fond of each other, then at least on good enough terms. They might mistake the glint in his eye for desire, or her shrinking back against the wall as the maidenly confusion occasioned—according to the ballads—by those first unnamable stirrings that would eventually blossom into same. In the right hands, at least.
    When in reality the emotions were simple fear on her part and naked avarice on his. He looked at her the way she’d seen her father’s hound, Alex, look at a particularly thrilling piece of meat. Only Alex was oblivious to his surroundings at such moments, too absorbed in his own bliss to care who noticed, whereas the duke had wanted her to see.
    She stifled a sob. If nothing else, she’d do her mourning in private where no one would ever know her true feelings—especially not the servants, and especially not Rowena. All she had, all she’d ever had, was her pride. She’d go into this with her head held high, convincing everyone that marriage to the duke was exactly what she wanted. Or at least that she wasn’t fearful of the rumors.
    Rowena was in Isla’s room, curled up inside a moth-bitten wolf pelt in front of the fireplace.
    She didn’t bother to acknowledge Isla who, to be honest, was growing a little sick of her sister’s dramatics. Rowena wasn’t the only one who had problems around this place. None of them exactly sat around eating sweetmeats all day and she was acting like this was her first brush with responsibility—which, Isla reflected, maybe it was. Rowena had never had anything expected of her, except to look pretty and attract a man.
    And how much of this childishness, Isla remonstrated with herself, was Rowena’s fault? She’d done what she’d been trained to do—and now here they were, both of them, stuck. Isla concealed her true feelings better, that was all. She sat down on the padded hearth bench and faced her sister.
    “You can marry Rudolph,” she said without preamble.
    Rowena looked up. “What?” she asked, disbelieving. Even with her nose red and dripping and her eyes swollen, she still managed to look lovely. Isla didn’t resent her for it; admired her for it, in fact. She’d always been proud of her sister’s beauty and charm. Both were sweet, natural, and uncomplicated.
    “I’ve spoken with the duke,” Isla told her, “and with our father.” She paused; for all that she’d thought of virtually nothing else since deciding to tackle this interview, she had no idea of what to say next. How could she possibly explain, in a way that wouldn’t hurt Rowena’s feelings?
    For all that Rowena wanted to marry the duke about as much as she wanted to be transmogrified into a slug,