Page 44 of My Duke, The Stranger
Cassian stood alone by the altar.
He did not look at the priest. He did not acknowledge the few guests whom Mr. Pemberton had insisted he invited. If Cassian had it his way, he would have done this in private; a signed piece of paper and nothing more.
For three days, he had forced himself to come to terms with what had happened and the decision he had made because of it. Even now, he struggled to reckon with what he had learned about Isolde… what she had done to him… and how he felt.
He felt like a darn fool. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Time and again, he’d pictured those moments he’d spent with her, the things he had said, and how certain he had been that his feelings and what he knew in his heart were true… only, they weren’t.
How could I have been so blind?
And it wasn’t only that he had no memories of who he was. What he still struggled to reckon with was how real his feelings had been. From the moment he had first seen Isolde sitting over his bed, it was as if he had known her his whole life. He knew her more than he knew himself, and he trusted her because his heart told him that he must.
Even this wedding was not what he claimed. Yes, there was the perception of it all—that need to maintain the lie for the sake of honor and appearance. But if Cassian was being true to himself, he couldn’t give less of a damn about what people thought. Let them whisper. Let them judge. Let them mock! It was not as if he knew any of these people, anyway.
No… as much as he hated to admit it, there was still a part of him that cared deeply for Isolde. She might have lied to him, and she certainly had hurt him, but the heart was a most strange beast, and one he could not control.
Dammit, he wanted nothing to do with her! But he could not stomach the truth of her words. Surely, not everything she had said was a lie. Surely, there was still a part of her that…no, Cassian. Do not dare think such a thing. She lied to you, she betrayed you, and she does not deserve your love.
He would marry Isolde, telling himself he had no choice, while secretly praying that… he was not sure. God, he hated feeling this way.
“Your Grace…” Mr. Pemberton came in beside him. “It is time.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly and formally. “Let us begin.” Cassian might not have had his memories back, but he could act the part. And he would do, if for no other reason than it was the only way to keep himself from breaking apart…
Isolde appeared at the other end of the church, and Cassian did not look at her.
She started walking down the aisle, and Cassian did not look at her.
She stopped when she reached him, stood in her place opposite, and he did not look at her.
He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to loathe the very sight of this woman who had hurt him. But Cassian feared that if he looked up and saw her face, if he found her eyes, then he would be reminded of the times thatthey had shared, just as he would be reminded of how much he had loved her.
So, he looked ahead, over her shoulder, and said nothing.
The ceremony proceeded in an orderly fashion. The priest spoke the words and read the vows. The small crowd watched on. It was a cold and sterile proceeding, closer to a funeral than a wedding. And while Cassian could feel Isolde glancing at him as if with hope, he did not once try to find her gaze.
When it came time to give Isolde the wedding ring, he took her hand, and he winced at her touch. It was warm… it was gentle… it sent a pulse up his arm and through his body that had him wanting to turn and run for fear of what he might say or do.
And when the priest announced them as ‘man and wife,’ Cassian offered the priest a curt smile of thanks, but he did not move to kiss the bride.
That hurt more than Cassian thought it would. For so long, he had dreamt of what it would be like when he was finally allowed to kiss her. He had lain awake at night, imagining her taste, picturing how it might look and feel. Would it seal their love? Would it confirm all that he knew about them? Would it be the most perfect moment of his life?
He supposed that he would never know.
With that done, Cassian turned sharply and walked down the aisle, alone. He smiled and nodded toward the guests. He offered the odd wave. But he did not look back at his bride, who surely remained at the altar. If he had his way, he would never see her again.
But his actions were not born from hate. He behaved in this manner because it would make things easier. Cassian was not the man people seemed to think he was, but he wished that he had been. If he was that cold, cruel, even wicked duke, then he would not hurt nearly as much as he did.
Eighteen
It was the first morning after the wedding, and Isolde received a most unexpected message. She had just finished preparing herself for breakfast and was about to leave her room, only for Mr. Pemberton to knock on her door.
“Might I come in, Your Grace?” he said as he gently popped the door open.
“Oh.” Isolde paused, a moment of worry flooding her, certain that she had done something wrong. “Y—yes, of course, Mr. Pemberton. And please, there is no need to be so formal. Isolde will do just fine.”
Mr. Pemberton glanced at Grace, the chambermaid, before looking back at Isolde. “There is every need, Your Grace. I would not presume to call you otherwise.”
It felt strange to be treated with such respect. Mr. Pemberton knew as well as anyone the truth about who Isolde was, so heshould have been the last to care about such formalities. Or so Isolde assumed.
