Chapter 17: An Honest Exchange
The night air held its breath, suspended somewhere between the last gasp of summer and the first chill of autumn. Leonid found her exactly where he had expected her to be—at the far end of the terrace, her elbows resting on the wrought-iron balustrade, her rose gown a dark flower against the silvered darkness. She did not turn when his boots sounded on the stone, did not acknowledge his presence with so much as a twitch of her shoulder. He stopped a few paces behind her, close enough to see the way her golden hair caught the lantern light, far enough that he could flee if she demanded it.
"You have come to offer an explanation," Isabella said. Her voice carried no question. It floated back to him on the night breeze, flat and colourless.
"I have come to offer the truth."
A pause. She turned, and in the pale glow of the lanterns, her eyes were the colour of winter—clear and cold and utterly unreadable. "The truth," she repeated, tasting the word like something foreign. "How novel. I was under the impression that the nobility had done away with that particular affectation."
The barb landed, and he let it. He deserved worse.
Isabella turned back to the garden, her fingers tracing the ironwork with a false absent-mindedness. "Your brother returned from his ride an hour ago. He asked after you. He asked after me. He asked after Jennie." She said the name with deliberate precision, letting it hang in the air between them. "He is a good man, your brother. Kind. Trusting."
"He is."
"Do you feel no guilt, then?"
"Every moment." The admission came raw and unguarded. "Every single moment."
She laughed, but there was no humour in it—only a brittle, crystalline edge that cut through the silence. "And yet you persist. I find that fascinating, my lord. You are either the most passionate man I have ever met, or the most foolish."
"Perhaps I am both."
Now she turned fully, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest, her chin lifted in challenge. The lantern light carved shadows into her face, making her look older than her years, wearier. "Tell me about her."
"She is—" He stopped. The words lodged in his throat like stones. "She is everything."
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "How poetic. And also, I suspect, entirely inadequate."
Leonid moved to the balustrade, standing beside her but not touching, not daring to presume. He looked out at the rose garden below, at the dark shapes of the blooms swaying in the breeze, and felt the weight of his confession pressing against his ribs.
"I met her two years ago," he began, his voice low. "At my brother's engagement ball. She was standing by the window, watching the dancers, and I remember thinking that she looked like a painting someone had forgotten to frame. She was not dancing. She was not laughing. She was simply existing, and somehow that was enough to stop my heart."
Isabella did not interrupt. She listened, her expression unreadable, her silence a kind of permission.
"I told myself it was nothing. A momentary lapse, a romantic fancy. I told myself that she belonged to Kai, and that I would bury my feelings so deep that even I would forget they existed." He laughed, a hollow sound. "I was a fool."
"You were a man," Isabella said softly. "There is little difference."
"I watched her at the wedding. I watched her smile at my brother, and I hated him for it. I hated him for having her, for not appreciating her, for leaving her alone in that great house while he ran off to London or to his estates or to wherever he went to escape the weight of his own life. I told myself that if I could not have her, I could at least protect her. I could be her friend. I could be the one she turned to when she was lonely."
"And did she turn to you?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves. Isabella was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge.
"I saw the way you looked at her," she said. "In the sewing room. I saw the way your hands trembled when you touched her collar. I have been engaged to you for three months, my lord, and you have never once looked at me the way you looked at her in that moment."
Leonid turned to face her, his expression pained. "Isabella, I—"
"Do not apologise." She held up a hand, stopping him. "I am not offended. I am not heartbroken. I am, in fact, profoundly relieved."
He blinked. "Relieved?"
She laughed, and this time there was a genuine warmth to it, a softness that transformed her features. "Did you think I was in love with you, my lord? Did you think I was pining away in my tower, dreaming of our wedding night?"
The question caught him off guard. "I—"
"I am fond of you, Leonid. I think you are handsome and charming and far more interesting than your brother. But I am not in love with you." She lowered her hands, letting them fall to her sides. "I do not believe in love. I believe in alliances. I believe in comfort. I believe in finding someone who will not make my life a misery and hoping that, in time, we will grow to tolerate each other's presence."
"That is a bleak philosophy."
"It is a practical one." She tilted her head, studying him. "You love Jennie. You love her with the kind of desperate, consuming passion that poets write about and sensible people avoid. And she loves you. I saw it in her eyes, in the way she looked at you as if you were the only light in the darkness."
Leonid's throat tightened. "You saw that?"
"Anyone with eyes would have seen it. You are not as subtle as you think, either of you." She smiled, a wry, knowing expression. "I have known since the dinner last week, when you spilled wine on your cuff and she laughed. It was a small thing, but it told me everything I needed to know."
He stared at her, unable to find words.
Isabella stepped closer, her voice dropping to a murmur. "I am not your enemy, Leonid. I never was. I am a woman who has been traded like a horse at market, passed from my father to your brother, and now to you. I have no illusions about my position. I know that I am a bargaining chip, a piece on a chessboard that I did not choose."
"I never meant to make you feel—"
"You did not make me feel anything." Her eyes were kind, gentler than he had ever seen them. "You are not responsible for my unhappiness. You did not create the world we live in, with its rules and its expectations, its cruel little games. You are just as trapped as I am."
Something cracked in his chest, a fissure he had not known was there. "Then what do we do?"
Isabella was quiet for a long moment, considering. She turned back to the garden, her gaze distant, and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"We both know what is expected of us. We will marry. We will smile at our guests and dance at our balls and pretend that we are content. We will produce heirs and manage estates and do all the things that people of our station are meant to do." She paused. "But that does not mean we must be enemies."
Leonid frowned. "What are you suggesting?"
She turned to him, and in the lantern light, her smile was enigmatic, almost teasing. "I am suggesting that we might be friends, you and I. True friends. The kind who keep each other's secrets and do not judge each other's sins."
"I want to marry her," he said, the words raw and desperate. "I want to run away with her, to the continent, to America, anywhere. I want to wake up beside her every morning and fall asleep beside her every night. I want to give her children and watch her grow old and love her until the very end of my days."
"And you cannot."
"No." The word was a wound. "I cannot."
Isabella reached out, and her hand settled on his arm—a light, grounding touch. "We are both prisoners of duty, my lord. Perhaps we can be allies instead of rivals."
He looked at her, at the unexpected kindness in her eyes, and felt something shift inside him. "You would do that? You would help me, knowing that I love another?"
"I would help you because I know what it is to love something you cannot have." Her voice was soft, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of genuine pain in her gaze. "I would help you because I believe that love, true love, is the only thing in this world worth fighting for. And I would help you because I think, perhaps, that we might be able to find a way to make this work. All of us."
"All of us?"
Isabella smiled, and it was a knowing, almost wicked expression. "You love Jennie. Jennie loves you. Your brother loves Jennie, in his own way, though he does not understand her as you do. And I—" She laughed, a soft, rueful sound. "I love no one, and that makes me the most dangerous of all."
Leonid shook his head, bewildered. "I do not understand."
"You do not need to understand. You only need to trust me." She extended her hand, and he took it without hesitation. "Do we have an accord, Lord Leonid? You and I, allies in this strange game of ours? We will marry, we will keep each other's secrets, and we will find a way to give you what you want."
"And what do you want, Isabella?"
Her smile turned enigmatic, her eyes glinting with something he could not name. "I want to survive," she said simply. "I want to carve out a life for myself in this world that was not built for women like me. And I want to watch the faces of all those who underestimated me when I succeed."
Leonid laughed, a genuine, surprised sound. "You are terrifying, do you know that?"
"I have been told." She released his hand, stepping back. "Now, I believe your mother is looking for you. She wanted to discuss the guest list for the engagement dinner. And I have a fitting to attend." She paused, a teasing glint in her eye. "Unless you would like to join me? I hear the gown is quite lovely."
He blushed, the heat rising to his cheeks. "You are cruel."
"I am practical. There is a difference." She swept past him, her rose gown rustling against the stone, and paused at the door. "Do not worry, Leonid. I will not tell anyone what I saw. Your secret is safe with me."
"And Jennie?"
Isabella's expression softened. "Jennie is a lucky woman. She has someone who loves her with the kind of devotion that most people only dream of. I hope she appreciates it." She paused, her hand on the doorframe. "I will do what I can to help you. But you must promise me something in return."
"Anything."
"When the time comes, and you must choose between your happiness and your honour—" She met his gaze, her eyes serious. "Choose her. Choose love. Because in the end, that is all any of us have."
She disappeared through the door, and Leonid stood alone on the terrace, the night breeze cool against his skin, the weight of her words settling into his bones.
He looked up at the moon, pale and distant, and thought of Jennie. He thought of her smile, her laugh, the way she looked in that white gown with the pearls gleaming against her skin. He thought of the future that awaited them, a future built on lies and secrets and the desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, they would find a way to be together.
And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe that it might be possible.
The door opened behind him, and he turned, expecting Isabella. But it was not Isabella.
Kai stepped out onto the terrace, his face shadowed, his eyes unreadable.
"Brother," he said, his voice careful. "I was looking for you."
Leonid's blood ran cold. "Kai. I did not—"
"I know." Kai moved to stand beside him, his gaze fixed on the garden below. "I know about you and Jennie."
The words hit Leonid like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to deny it, to deflect, to lie—but Kai held up a hand, silencing him.
"Do not insult me by pretending," Kai said quietly. "I have seen the way you look at her. I have seen the way she looks at you. I have been blind for too long, but I am not blind anymore."
Leonid's heart hammered in his chest. "Kai, I am sorry. I never meant—"
"I know." Kai's voice was soft, almost sad. "I know you never meant to hurt me. That is the only reason I am not calling you out right now."
The two brothers stood in silence, the distance between them measured in more than just steps.
"Tell me," Kai said finally. "Tell me what you feel for her. Tell me the truth."
Leonid swallowed, the words heavy on his tongue. "I love her," he said. "I love her with everything I am, everything I have ever been, everything I will ever be. And I know that she loves me. I know it in my bones, in my blood, in the very core of my being."
Kai was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed, a hollow, broken sound.
"I have spent my entire life doing what was expected of me," he said. "I married her because it was arranged. I loved her because she was my wife. I never thought to ask whether she loved me back." He turned to face his brother, and his eyes were wet. "I never thought to ask whether you loved her too."