Chapter 10
The hallway was quiet now. Lottie’s footsteps had faded, and with her absence, Aurelia and Percival stood facing each other, the air thick between them.
Percival cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Follow me.” He inclined his head slightly as he lifted two fingers.
Without waiting to see if she would, he turned around and walked away.
Aurelia stood there for a moment, just watching as he moved, as he walked with that same practiced control and measured silence.
Eventually, she hiked up her skirts and hurried to catch up with him.
They walked side by side, but not too close, keeping a polite distance between them. She glanced at him once out of the corner of her eye, catching the line of his jaw and the way his lips pressed into something just shy of displeasure.
Or was it restraint?
The hallway was long; it seemed they were never going to stop walking. More paintings lined the walls, glinting in the candlelight.
Aurelia’s brown eyes drifted over them absently, until one in particular pulled her to a stop.
It was a portrait of a girl. A young one. She was seated by a lake, with her hands folded in her lap, and staring ahead with solemn eyes.
There was sadness in her gaze, the kind of sadness that didn’t come from peace but from keeping too much bottled up.
Aurelia spoke before she could stop herself. “This one… It’s beautiful.”
No answer came, and though it wasn’t like she needed one, she turned slightly toward Percival.
When her eyes found him again, he wasn’t looking at the painting. He was looking at her. Those damn blue eyes of his were so piercing that her chest tightened.
But he said nothing. He simply turned back and continued walking, as if she had never spoken.
She drew a deep breath, took one last look at the portrait, and resumed walking.
As they continued down the hallway, she realized that was the pattern with Percival. He offered no more than what was required. Not in movement. Not in words. Not even in breath.
However, his gaze always spoke of something more.
Eventually, they stopped before a door. It was taller than the others, old and dark. Percival didn’t waste time pushing it open with one hand, the wood groaning softly.
“This is your chamber now.” He stepped aside.
She glanced at him, then stepped into the room. And froze.
The room before her was lit by a single fire crackling low in the grate. A large bed occupied the far end, while a simple rug covered the floor, and gray curtains framed the window.
Everything was plain in a pleasant way, but it was not warm. It wasn’t warm like a room that had once been loved. No, this place felt untouched, unlived-in. And just like every other part of the estate, it was so quiet.
Aurelia took a deep breath and looked at him. “This… this room is not adjacent to your chambers,” she observed, searching his face.
For the first time since they left the hallway, something flickered across his face. It was very subtle and brief.
“No,” Percival replied, his eyes fixed on the rug. “It is not.”
“Strange,” Aurelia murmured, her voice lighter than she felt. “I thought a wife’s place was near her husband.”
A long silence met her words.
She held his gaze, not so certain what to do with the intensity in his blue eyes. But one thing was certain. She wasn’t going to apologize for her observation. She wasn’t going to smile politely and call it a slip of the tongue.
She had demanded her right, and he could choose whether to answer it or not.
Just as she convinced herself that all he would offer was his usual silence, he took a few steps forward.
It wasn’t rushed. Nothing about Percival ever was. But the space between them had vanished so quickly, devoured by the clicking of his boots on the plush rug.
Unable to handle his sudden closeness, Aurelia stepped back, her eyebrows knitting slightly atop her conflicted gaze. But he followed her until her back met the cold wall, causing a soft gasp to escape her lips.
What is wrong with him?
She couldn’t stop looking away from his gorgeous sapphire eyes.
But Percival, being Percival, remained silent. He didn’t touch her. He knew he didn’t have to. The mere nearness of him, tall, unreadable, the scent of leather clinging to his coat, was all enough to cage her in.
Her breathing became shallow, her shoulders rising with the effort to stay composed. And in that silence, he continued to watch her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in a whisper when she could no longer handle the intensity of his gaze.
“I’ve never cared much for tradition,” he said, his voice low, though not quite soft.
Aurelia had to pause to process his words, till she realized he was referring to what she had asked earlier.
She lifted her chin. “No? And yet you married me like it was a business deal.” She folded her arms loosely. “Don’t forget I was at Hyde Park.”
He tilted his head slightly. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It sounded like a business deal. You know, with your solicitor—”
“It was,” he cut in flatly.
A bitter smile curved her lips. “Then, forgive me for expecting the business partner to at least acknowledge the deal. Or did the contract say nothing about sharing a hall, let alone a home?”
His jaw tensed at her fiery sarcasm, but then it relaxed. “Duchess—”
“If you intended to keep me tucked away, Your Grace—” Aurelia decided to push just a little more. “—perhaps you should have found a smaller room. Or a quieter wife.”
She was not sure where her courage had come from.
His eyes didn’t leave hers, not even for a second. He remained standing in front of her, his hands hanging by his sides, not touching her.
For Aurelia, that was the most unbearable part. That he stood so near, looking at her like a man might look at a flame. Like a man standing so close to a flame, even though it might burn him.
“You enjoy provoking me,” he said slowly, as if the words had been dragged through gravel.
Her heart skipped a beat, and her lashes fluttered.
“I’m merely asking a question, Your Grace.” Her tone was the perfect mixture of silk and defiance. “Is that not my right, as your wife?”
His hands were no longer idle. They were twitching now, as if in warning.
“I warned you once not to speak of heirs or beds,” he reminded her, his voice like smoke curling in a darkened room. “Do you make a habit of crossing boundaries, or only mine?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, the coolness of the wall sending a shiver down her spine. They were standing so close that she thought he might feel it. Thought he might hear her heart thudding so hard.
“I wouldn’t call it crossing,” she whispered, trembling slightly. “You haven’t drawn any lines.”
That was it. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life with a man with an unbearable demeanor. Silent. Closed-off. Intense.
When he took another step closer, his breath almost grazed her forehead. “Don’t mistake my patience for permission,” he warned.
Her lips parted to respond, but no answer came. His gaze dropped to her mouth, but only for a second. Still, it felt like fingers tracing her lower lip.
The mere thought made her suck in a breath as a shiver ran through her. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room with its sinister light, but she didn’t look away from him, not even when the rumble of thunder could be heard. The storm had come so suddenly.
“You are my wife, now,” Percival murmured. This time, the heat in his voice was undeniable. “That means duties beyond charming my daughter and bringing stray animals into my house.”
Aurelia batted her lashes. “Sir Whiskerton is not a stray,” she corrected lightly in an attempt at humor.
But Percival wasn’t having any of it. If anything, his jaw tensed, before he took one final step closer. “You are my wife, and your sole purpose here is to focus on your duties.”
There was something controlling in the way he spoke, the way he warned her not to cross his boundaries. She was supposed to be scared by him, but somehow, his words only stoked her recklessness.
It was something dangerous and deeply feminine. Something that pushed her to test every ounce of his control and make him discard his own rules.
“Then perhaps”—she pushed off the wall and leaned closer— “you ought to tell me what those duties are. Unless you would prefer I… discover them myself.”
What followed happened too fast. His breath had caught, and then he had sworn under his breath. That was the only warning she had.
The next second, he was on her. Not his hands or his arms, but those provocative lips of his.
His mouth crashed into hers, as if the storm outside had finally found its way in. His kiss wasn’t gentle, nor was it slow.
It felt like an ache and a withheld passion poured into a press of the lips.
Aurelia gasped into it. It was unexpected and happening too fast.
He pulled her toward him before dropping his hand to her waist, pressing her against him with a force that made her knees go weak.
But then the weakness turned into an emotion so powerful that Aurelia couldn’t contain herself anymore. She clutched his coat without thinking, her fingers meeting the soft wool with desperation.
Her lips parted, answering him, matching him, chasing something in the heat he offered like a woman starved.
There was no space left between them now. Only heat. Only breath and hunger, and the roar of her heartbeat in her ears.
When Aurelia thought he was about to drive her completely mad, he broke the kiss, most abruptly and violently.
Percival tore himself away like he had been burned and staggered back a single step. His blue eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
This was the first time she’d seen him lose his composure.
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t speak either, instead falling back into his usual quietness.
Then, without a word, he turned away, one hand dragging across his mouth as though he was trying to erase the taste of her.
Or perhaps memorize it.
Meanwhile, Aurelia stood frozen. Her face was flushed, her lips were tingling, and her heart? It was still hammering, caught in the moment that had already ended.
Percival paused for a moment, still turned away from her. “Get some rest, wife.” His voice was hoarse.
Aurelia didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.
Without a backward glance, Percival walked away from her. She stood there, breathless, trembling, still ruined by the ghost of his kiss.
And what was worse? It had only just begun.
God help me.