Chapter 3

Not everyone appreciates having their peace disturbed by an unexpected visitor.

Take Damian, for instance—he firmly believed in the saying: “Uninvited guests rarely receive a warm welcome.” A month ago, when his Aunt Marie paid him a visit, pleading for his help in securing a place for her son at the Royal Academy of Arts, he refused, citing the woman’s lack of courtesy. Or just last week, when Thomas—his late brother’s friend—knocked on his door in the dead of night, begging for a loan to pay off his debts to moneylenders, swearing he would return it once he won back his losses. And then, of course, there was poor Lucy Barnes, who had accused the former Duke of assault and demanded a hefty compensation at the very beginning of this entire story.

Out of all his uninvited guests, Isabella was the most persistent—and that irritated Damian. But at the same time, it intrigued him.

On the first day she appeared at his estate, he had been too drained after dealing with Lucy Barnes and turned her away. That day, from his study window, he had caught a glimpse of her as she bid farewell to Charles and left the estate.

The second time, he refused for similar reasons. He had been out hunting and had no desire to entertain visitors, especially unannounced ones. On the third occasion, Isabella arrived while he was away at an auction for historical artifacts, hoping to acquire something he had been searching for.

But in truth, none of these were the real reason for his refusals. He simply wanted to test the girl’s patience.

And now, at last, the day had come when he had graciously decided to grant Isabella an audience. Though, as luck would have it, urgent business had forced him to leave early that morning.

And so, after a short while, they sat across from each other in utter silence.

“Would the lady care to state the reason she so adamantly sought a meeting with me?” Damian finally broke the quiet.

Until this moment, he had only seen her from behind. He knew her hair was blonde, that she was short and slender. But he had never seen her face before. Turned out, she was rather pretty.

“I needed to meet you regarding a very important matter…”

“You have five minutes to pique my interest. As you may have noticed, I am a busy man,” Damian cut her off.

“You have a child,” Isabella blurted out, shocking both him and herself. “I mean—”

“I don’t recall ever having you in my bed,” Damian interrupted her again, a smirk playing on his lips. “But perhaps if we were to refresh my memory, something might come back to me?” He picked up a snifter of brandy from the table, amusement flickering in his eyes as he watched Isabella’s face flush red.

“I misspoke,” Isabella exhaled, composing herself. “What I meant to say was that the Hartess family has a child. Your brother fathered a daughter.”

“Were you his mistress?”

“Fortunately, no. Your brother had relations with my late sister, Joan. Sadly, she passed away two years ago. Since then, I have been raising the girl alone.”

Lighting a cigar, Damian continued to scrutinize Isabella from head to toe. She felt as though he was about to burn a hole right through her.

“Let’s assume that’s true,” he finally spoke, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Do you have any proof? Or did you expect me to take your word for it?”

“He knew about his daughter and sent a monthly allowance for her upkeep—until his passing. Surely, his financial records will show the expenses he made for Joan,” Isabella said, then suddenly hesitated. After a brief pause, she added, “That is the only proof I can provide you.”

Her expression shifted ever so slightly. She was hiding something. But what? What other proof did she have? What had she left unsaid?

“Why come forward after all these years?”

“She is growing up. She requires proper education and upbringing befitting her status and lineage. She also needs financial security and a dowry to ensure a suitable marriage in the future.”

“And you’ve taken care of the child for two years purely out of the goodness of your heart?” Damian’s gaze remained fixed on her. “Hard to believe.”

“It seems you misunderstand me, Your Grace. Unlike your cowardly brother, I have the courage to care for my own flesh and blood.”

Her audacity took Damian by surprise. And yet, it amused him. Unable to hold back a chuckle, he rose from his seat and approached her.

Then, in an unexpected move—even to himself—he leaned in sharply, his hands pressing into the plush fabric of the divan. His body caged her in, wordlessly asserting his dominance. But instead of fear, all he saw in her eyes was surprise. Nothing more.

Isabella suddenly found herself in the most precarious position of her life. She couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away. All she could do was sit still and stare at Damian, whose face was now mere inches from hers.

“Do you not fear speaking so boldly of a Hartess family member, my lady?” he whispered.

Too close. His breath was warm against her skin. Whether from fear or something else entirely, her heart began to race. Yet she did not avert her gaze.

She seemed to hold her breath, and yet she could still make out the woody scent that clung to him.

“I do,” Isabella replied softly but firmly.

A lie. A frightened person wouldn’t behave this way.

Damian’s grip on the divan loosened. Holding her gaze for a few moments longer, he finally straightened.

“But is it not the truth?” Isabella exhaled at last. Looking up at him, she continued, “A true gentleman would ensure his child’s future, even if that child were a bastard.”

“It is,” Damian sighed. “My brother was a scoundrel. I won’t deny that. He was certainly capable of such a thing. I have no doubt about it.” Turning away from her, he added, “But I will not blindly trust a stranger who appeared on my doorstep without substantial proof.”

“I understand.”

“And what is it you propose?”

“I propose nothing, Your Grace. I leave the matter to your conscience. We will depart for Ellenveld next week if we receive no word from you.”

Damian could only watch as Isabella’s figure receded toward the door. But then, just as she reached it, she turned back.

“Her name is Jane,” she said. “Your niece. Joan named her Jane. And… I believe she truly is God’s mercy.”