The Duke’s Borrowed Lie: He Whispered, “Kiss Me, and Let Him Believe We Share a Secret”—She Never Expected One Desperate Kiss to Save Her Family and Change Their Lives Forever

PART 3

Morning light spilled through the tall windows of the drawing room where Isolda sat stiffly on a velvet chair, a porcelain teacup trembling slightly in her hand. Across from her, the Dowager Duchess poured tea with the unhurried elegance of a woman who had spent decades learning how to interrogate without ever raising her voice.

“Tell me, Lady Isolda,” Constance said, setting down the pot with a soft clink. “How long have you and my son been acquainted?”

“We met properly only last evening, your grace, though we have exchanged pleasantries at supper before.”

The Duchess’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “And yet he danced with you as though you were already promised to each other. Forgive an old woman’s bluntness, but that is not how my son behaves with strangers.”

Before Isolda could answer, the door opened and Allaric entered, his expression calm, though his eyes found hers immediately, as if checking that she had survived his mother’s questioning intact.

“Mother,” he said, bending to kiss the Duchess’s cheek. “I hope you are not frightening our guest.”

“I am merely getting to know her. Something you seem to have skipped entirely before deciding to dance with her all evening.”

Allaric took the seat beside Isolda, close enough that his sleeve brushed hers. “Lady Isolda and I share an understanding, mother. I would ask that you allow us time to explain it properly, in private.”

Constance studied them both for a long moment, then rose gracefully. “Very well. I have letters to write. But remember, secrets have a way of finding daylight whether we wish them to or not.”

When the door closed behind her, silence settled over the room.

“Your mother suspects something is wrong,” Isolda said.

“My mother suspects everything. It is her particular talent. But she does not yet know the truth, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

“Then tell me the truth,” Isolda said. “You promised me answers today. I have kept my part of the bargain — I sat through tea and said nothing that would betray whatever secret you are protecting. Now it is your turn.”

Allaric was quiet a moment, his jaw tight, as though deciding how much of himself to reveal. Finally he spoke.

“Three months ago, I discovered that documents bearing my father’s signature — papers proving debts owed to several merchants and lenders — had been altered. Sums were changed. New obligations added that my father never agreed to. Someone forged his hand well enough to fool Pemberton himself, the solicitor who has handled Vern affairs for twenty years.”

Isolda’s brow furrowed. “But why would anyone go to such trouble?”

“Because if those debts are declared valid, my estate will be forced to sell land that has belonged to my family for generations. And whoever orchestrated this forgery would benefit greatly from my ruin.” His voice hardened. “I believe Lord Vain is behind it, though I have not yet found proof strong enough to accuse him publicly.”

Isolda went very still. “Pemberton. Your grace, I was in Mr. Pemberton’s office three days before the ball — my own father’s account, nothing to do with you. Lord Vain was there ahead of me, with papers he turned face-down the instant I entered. I thought nothing of it. I thought it was only his own business.”

Allaric’s gaze sharpened. “You saw him at Pemberton’s.”

“I did not see what he was holding. But he saw me see him.” The pieces began to fit together in Isolda’s mind. “That is why he fixed on me specifically, and not some other guest. He could not know how much I had noticed, so he decided to silence me before I understood what I had walked in on — using the one weapon he already had ready to hand. My father’s debt.”

“Precisely.” Allaric’s jaw was tight. “And when I saw his grip on your wrist, I understood he had already decided you were useful to his plans. I could not simply walk away and leave you to face that alone.”

Something warm unfurled in Isolda’s chest, though she tried to push the feeling aside. This was not the moment for softness. This was a moment for clear thinking.

“So the kiss. The courtship everyone now believes in. All of it is meant to protect us both from him.”

“Yes.” He added, more quietly, “Though I confess it has become more complicated than I intended.”

She looked up at him, startled by the honesty in his tone. “Complicated how?”

He held her gaze for a long moment before answering. “I find I do not regret the kiss nearly as much as I should, given the circumstances that caused it.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. She looked away, unwilling to let him see how deeply his words had affected her.

“We should focus on the danger at hand. Sentiment can wait, your grace.”

“Agreed,” he said, though the faint smile at his mouth suggested he did not entirely believe his own words either.

Over the days that followed, their false courtship became the talk of the house party. Her closest companion, Miss Ren Ashby, cornered her in the garden the third morning, torn between delight and worry.

“Everyone is saying the Duke is utterly smitten with you,” Ren said, linking arms with her among the roses. “Is it true? Are you truly courting?”

Isolda hesitated. She trusted Ren completely, but the danger surrounding Allaric’s secret felt too great to risk sharing, even with her dearest friend. “It is complicated, Ren. There are things happening that I cannot yet explain.”

Ren studied her carefully. “You are frightened. I can see it in your eyes even when you smile for the crowd. What has happened, Isolda? You can tell me anything.”

“Not yet,” Isolda said gently. “But I promise, when it is safe, you will be the first to know everything.”

That afternoon, alone in the estate’s library, Isolda overheard voices drifting from an adjoining study — Allaric’s, low and urgent, speaking to a rougher voice she didn’t recognize.

“The papers must be somewhere in his possession,” Allaric was saying. “If Vain truly forged my father’s signature, there will be a record — a draft, something he could not risk destroying entirely.”

“Finding it will not be easy, your grace,” the second voice answered. “Vain is careful.”

“Then we will simply have to be more careful than he is.”

The study door opened before Isolda could decide whether to announce herself. Allaric appeared, startled to find her standing so near.

“I did not mean to overhear,” she said honestly. “But I could not help it. You are searching for proof of the forgery.”

He glanced behind him, and Isolda caught a glimpse of an older man in plain clothes slipping quietly out a side door.

“Yes. I have a man in my employ skilled at discovering things others wish to remain hidden. But progress is slow, and I fear we are running out of time.”

“Let me help,” Isolda said suddenly, surprising even herself. “I am often overlooked at gatherings like this. People speak freely in front of unmarried women they consider harmless. I could listen, watch, learn things your man never could.”

Concern flickered across Allaric’s features. “It is too dangerous. If Vain suspected for even a moment that you were working against him, I do not know what he would do.”

“He has already threatened me once. I do not intend to sit quietly and hope he forgets I exist. I would rather be useful than afraid.”

He studied her for a long moment, something like admiration softening the tension in his face. “You are a remarkable woman, Lady Isolda.”

“I am a woman who does not enjoy being threatened in dark corridors,” she replied. “Now tell me what I should look for, and I will do what I can.”