Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
R ichard had never thought it possible that one could die from excessive desire, but with every moment he spent in Selina’s company, he was starting to see the possibility.
Perhaps he should never have convinced her to visit him that first day, but in his defense, he had just wanted to offer help when she looked so frustrated.
Wait. That is not entirely true.
Long before he had met her in the ballroom, he had found her interesting especially since he had observed her in the house party they had organized and how she hadn’t swooned when the horror of what the Barnes’ had done came to light. She had been brave and he found his eyes trailing her a few times when he visited her brother.
She spoke and the other women instantly turned to her as though seeking guidance.
This young lady was comfortable being termed unladylike or even difficult simply because she wouldn’t simper and pander to the whims of the simple-minded men who made up most of the ton.
Even while he had admired her, he had known that Society would conspire to frustrate her simply because she dared to be different.
Most men of the ton thought her rigid and not feminine because of her outlandish opinions. Instead, he had noted the passion that she had in abundance and had known that the man who managed to marry her would be lucky indeed to be the focus of all that passion.
Perhaps even then, he had wanted her for himself, and that selfish aspect of his personality had reared its head the next time he met her in the ballroom, away from the eyes of her elder brother.
The reason was simple—Stephen was a dear friend of his, and while they were good friends, Richard had known that the man would not react kindly if he heard or caught him sniffing around his sister’s skirts. While the thought was foremost in his mind, it had not really stopped him. Instead, it added an edge of danger to their encounters.
He had decided to help her conquer the ton for two reasons. The first was because he was tired of them disparaging her and frustrating her when she simply wanted to secure her younger sister’s future.
So, he had set about making them realize the beauty they had grown blind to. It had just taken a tweak in the color of her dresses to change everything, and it had satisfied him to no end seeing them stare helplessly in awe of her beauty and superior wit.
He had been proud to be instrumental in her transformation, but that euphoria lasted only until she started attracting suitors, and he found himself unable to agree that any one of them would make a good husband to her… which led him to the second reason why he had wanted to transform her.
He wanted her to be his—a primitive urge that surprised him to the core. He had taken over her fashion to transform her into the version of her that he dreamed of—Selina the siren, who held the ton in thrall. And she had taken to the role like a fish to water, decimating gentlemen with just a flutter of her eyelashes.
At that moment, he realized that while he had helped her become her most authentic self, he had created a problem. Now, he had to compete for her attention with the numerous gentlemen who swarmed her like bees.
Perhaps that was part of the reason why he had started those private lessons with her. So that he could spend quiet time with her. But it was dangerous, just like courting fire, because, at some point, without his knowledge, his interest in her had slowly morphed into an awareness of her as a desirable woman, before transforming into a full-blown desire for her.
A desire that grew even hotter with every moment he spent with her, taking over his thoughts and haunting his dreams such that he woke up many nights with a stiff member, drenched in sweat.
She had become the bane of his existence, and with every encounter they had, he came close to taking her innocence and making her his in all the ways that mattered. Somehow, he knew that even then, he would not be satisfied. She had embedded herself into every inch of his being so that he was so attuned to her, so eager to keep her safe from harm, both physical and emotional.
It wasn’t simply lust. He was familiar with it, and he knew just how to slake it and get it out of his system. He should know. He had sown his wild oats quite diligently as a young man. What he felt for Selina surpassed simple lust. In fact, it edged into something he did not want to think about.
Perhaps he loved her.
The thought was scary, just as it was comforting. He could not bring her into the chaos that was his life. He did not know how to love anyone; he had never had much use of the emotion. His parents, who should have shown him love as a child, had been so preoccupied with chasing their pleasures that they had no time for him.
He knew he looked composed on the outside, but he was a mess inside, destroyed by having a dysfunctional family and having to live with their suffocating indifference. He had learned early on that the opposite of love was not always hatred but an enduring apathy towards another.
Perhaps he had grown up cynical because of his parents, because they were big hypocrites. Two people who had convinced the whole world that they were in love but they could barely look each other in the eye.
Instead, they brought their lovers home in a cold competition to see who was hurt more and faster. It was a sick game that had affected him so much. He hated them because they made him live like an orphan, even though they were both alive.
They couldn’t care less whether he was dead or alive, preoccupied as they were with their cold war and debauchery.
When he had come of age, he left home without a backward glance, content to leave the toxic atmosphere that pervaded their home. He had not returned until he had received a missive informing him of his father’s death. Apparently, he had been found dead in his mistress’s bed. He had probably died from an apoplexy caused by too much excitement.
While he should have felt grief at the news, Richard had felt numb, unable to summon even an iota of pity for the man. The previous Duke had only been a father to him in name. He had brought him into this world and made him heir to the dukedom, but apart from that, he had done nothing else for him.
So, Richard had returned home and did his duty. He buried his father and took over the dukedom. He had summoned his father’s lawyers and associates, and while going through his father’s will and documents, a small part of him had wished to see a note—anything addressed to him, anything at all to show that the former Duke had at least cared about his only son and heir.
It was not to be.
There was only his father’s will, which mentioned him and gave instructions on how he wanted him to run the estate. That was the proverbial nail in the coffin. Richard had decided to forget his father and move on. That was why he had renovated the study, removing all traces of the former Duke, including the large portrait that hung over the fireplace, which showed his father wearing a forbidding expression.
When the study was devoid of every trace of the man, Richard replaced the furniture, and when everything was ready, he stepped back into the management of the estate. After summoning the butler, they went through the accounts, and he decided that, at the very least, the former Duke was good for something.
He had kept the books meticulously so that the estate was still productive and prosperous. Richard had expected the coffers to be empty, given his father’s lifestyle, but whatever his fault, the man was meticulous with money, and for that, Richard was grateful. Perhaps life might have been easier, if he had developed the skill of meticulousness earlier on in his journey.
While Richard grappled with his resentment towards his father, his mother was trying to get back into his good graces as simply as she donned her many fashionable dresses. When he had met her upon his return, she had still looked beautiful, but she had aged. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a loneliness so acute that it sent chills down his spine.
Perhaps he should have felt pity for her, but it was difficult when he thought she deserved it. Sometimes, he believed that it served her right, and at least the emptiness she battled closely resembled the one he carried around, pretending to be all right when he was not.
He had tried to fill it with the usual things: friends, drink, and outright debauchery. He should have known not to go down that path. After all, it was the same thing that had led his parents to their destruction.
So, he turned to more constructive things when he came back to England. He picked himself up and started participating in the House of Lords, sharing the insights he had gathered during his travels. In no time, he had garnered a great following.
That was where he had met the Duke of Westall. He had been his rival, with opinions that differed greatly from his own. They were not enemies because he admired the man’s intelligence, but their opposing opinions meant that they could not be friends either.
That was why he had been surprised when Westall invited him over for a house party. Richard had attended out of curiosity. It was there that he had first met Selina. She had just returned from a walk with an annoyed expression on her face, which he later discovered to be because she had to tell off an overeager suitor who had wanted a watered-down version of her to be his wife.
“Is there something on my face, Your Grace?” she had asked in a frosty voice, and he realized suddenly that he had been staring at her for quite some time.
“I apologize, My Lady,” he replied.
He would have added subtle flattery if she was another lady, but somehow, he had known that he would get told off if he tried it with her.
She nodded in acknowledgment. “You are the Duke of Seymour?” she asked suddenly, fixing her shocking green eyes on him.
“At your service, My Lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow, then gave a half smile, and by some miracle, she smiled back.
It felt like a miracle watching her smile. The light in her eyes brightened, and her face became even more irresistible. Richard acknowledged that he could rapidly lose himself in her green eyes if he was not careful.
“… always wanted to meet you. Anyone who manages to discomfit Stephen must be interesting.” Her voice had jolted him back to reality.
“You find me interesting because I antagonize your brother?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Yes,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “He is usually so rigid and unyielding. I rather like to see him discomfited.”
“You are an odd lady, Lady…” he trailed off.
“Selina. I’m sure you will confirm just how odd I am when you get to know me,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
She had kept her promise, entertaining him for the duration of the house party. He had grown attached to her, even though he was engaged to Lottie Barnes.
He looked forward to conversing with her. When it was revealed that he had only been invited to the house party because they suspected he was involved in the evil plot of the Barneses, he was almost relieved to have an excuse to end the ill-fated engagement. But he was sad, for it also meant the end of the house party, and he had to leave even though he enjoyed Selina’s company so much.
She chased away the darkness and emptiness in his soul simply by being present, and when he had to leave, he addressed the return of the demons that followed him like an unseen cloak.
It was easy to imagine his elation when he saw her again. He seized any opportunity to be with her. At the house party, he was surrounded by her family and forced to behave himself. Inviting her to private spaces unleashed his desire, and while he knew that his self-control grew weaker with every encounter, he could not stop himself. It was almost like he was addicted to her.
It was because he was so attuned to her that he noted the deep flush in her cheeks and the way she fiddled with her dress presently in the way that she only did when she was nervous.
But, now that he thought about it, she had been quite composed when she was with the Earl of Sanderson. She had been laughing and looked so deliriously happy that it was annoying, but there had been no sign of nervousness. She did not stand frozen in place, neither did she fiddle with her dress the way she did now. Her cheeks were flushed that afternoon, but it was more because of the sun than anything.
The thought confused him further. Why on earth would she be nervous with him? He had thought that they were always open with one another. The only thing that could make her nervous in his presence was the possibility that she had done something wrong.
The anger that rose within him at that moment should have scared him, yet it slithered through his veins, stretching muscles and skin until he was livid.
“You seem nervous, My Lady,” he noted in a quiet voice.
But perhaps his rage had bled into his voice, because he saw wariness flicker in her eyes as she took a step back, then another.
“Why do I make you nervous? Do not tell me you have done something wrong?” he said, leading the dance and pulling her into him.
In a distant part of his mind, he knew that his rage was part desire and that he was fast on his way to combustion.
“It has been a long time since I last danced,” she said in a rush, studiously avoiding his gaze.
“You danced at the last ball. I recall seeing you,” he deadpanned.
“Well,” she said with a shaky laugh, “perhaps you might ask my dance partners about the state of their toes. I bruised them all with my clumsy steps.”
“Nonsense. I am sure I would have heard tales of your clumsiness on the dance floor if that was the case.”
“Perhaps the gentlemen in question have dignity and would not be caught disparaging a lady,” she muttered.
“How many such men could be found among the ton? Pray tell.”
“There are many more than you might think,” she retorted.
“I am assuming that your dear Peter is among them,” he spat back.
“I would not know, since I have not danced with him,” she said defensively.
“You could have fooled me with how unrestrained you were with him, giggling so hard you could have been heard from Mayfair,” he retorted hotly.
Selina’s head jerked up so that she was staring into his eyes. Her expression underwent a dramatic change from shock to suspicion, then amusement.
“Do not tell me, Your Grace,” she said, giggling, “that you are jealous? That look certainly does not suit you.”
“Jealous? Ha!” he scoffed. “I couldn’t possibly be jealous. I just want the truth that you have been denying.” He stopped so that he could stare into her eyes.
“What truth?” she asked, averting her gaze. “I have always been honest with you from the start.”
“Truly?” he asked. “Then why do you feel nervous around me but not around Peter , your favorite suitor? Tell me, Selina. Perhaps you have allowed him liberties, and that is why you are so unrestrained with him.”
“And what business of yours is it if I have? You are not my husband or my fiancé. You are just a friend. You have taken pains to remind me of this fact every single moment, so what right do you have to ask me such questions?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
She was magnificent in her rage, her beauty even more blinding. Her passion was intoxicating, and he wanted to taste it so bad that his body shook with the need to touch her.
Why should he not, when she had been tempting him all evening, poking at his ego and restraint more times than he could bear?
He could just have one taste. One taste, and he would let her go. But, even as he made that vow, he knew it to be a lie. He was too far gone to care.
He prowled closer to her. He noticed the moment she sensed his intentions and became wary. She took a step back, and he followed. She took another step back and another until her back was flush against the door. He placed his hands on the wooden surface so that he caged her in, staring into the eyes that threatened to drown him, inhaling the heady scent that made him delirious with desire.
“You asked if I was jealous. Perhaps I am, and you are about to discover just how dangerous jealous men can be.”