Chapter 13
Percival’s footsteps echoed through the corridor, shattering the silence of his estate.
He had told himself he left the study because it was time, because he was a father who should check on his daughter.
But the moment he reached the top of the stairs and saw them stepping into the manor, he knew it was a lie.
It wasn’t just because of Lottie that he had left his study.
They stood at the double doors, Aurelia’s hand resting lightly on Lottie’s shoulder. The girl’s cheeks were smudged with paint, but it was the woman who held his attention.
Aurelia’s hair was loose from the breeze, and her lips curled into a small smile as she looked down at the child. Then, suddenly, her eyes rose and landed on him.
She went still, and so did he. Something invisible crossed the distance between the staircase and the entrance, something that made everything else fade away.
There was only her and the memory of her lips beneath his.
His breath caught. Because he hated to remember.
However, when her lashes fluttered, he knew he was not the only one. Though she had tried to hide it by lifting her chin, he still saw it. Still saw the soft flutter at her throat that betrayed her calm.
It wasn’t fear, nor was it surprise. It was recognition. Whatever was going on in his mind was definitely unraveling her as well.
This was the closest they had gotten since the night they kissed. He hadn’t touched her since then, and yet it felt as though he had. As though he was already in sin, simply for thinking of her that way. Again.
However, his attention returned to his daughter when she hesitated. The joy that danced in her eyes moments ago had dimmed at the sight of him. Her blue gaze flickered to him with a certain wariness he did not like.
The sight made him feel terrible. The fact that his daughter had stopped smiling upon seeing him.
Aurelia also noticed, as evidenced by the way she bent slowly toward the child.
“What is it, sweetheart?” she whispered, her voice soothing.
Lottie said nothing, but the fear in her eyes was a language no one had to teach.
Percival’s jaw tightened.
Aurelia straightened again, slowly. Then, her gaze rose to his. Her brown eyes were calm, intent.
“Your Grace,” she spoke smoothly, finally breaking the silence. “We didn’t know you had returned from your business meeting. I trust it went well?”
Percival narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. The formality of her tone was deliberate without a doubt. But behind it was something else, as if she knew exactly how much she affected him and refused to let him run away from it.
He couldn’t answer, not at first. Because when he looked at her, all he could see was her lips, all he could remember was the way she had tasted.
His eyes dropped, trying his best to shake off those sinful desires. But the moment he did, he caught sight of the canvas in her hand.
It was a child’s painting, with the flowers and sun in all the wrong places. It was messy yet striking.
Aurelia followed his gaze and smiled, almost shyly. “Do you like it?” she asked.
There was something in her voice he hadn’t heard before. Something soft that went well between the lines. But he said nothing, allowing another warm silence to fall over them.
Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “You’re fond of asking questions, Duchess.”
She inhaled sharply, and her expression shifted. Just slightly. As if the sound of his voice alone had rattled her composure.
Still, she stood her ground.
“And you,” she replied, her voice soft but firm, “are fond of never answering them, Duke.”
His expression was unreadable. Not even a breath or a sigh slipped past his lips. Without another word, he descended the stairs with deliberate calmness.
Then, he took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on Lottie, who quickly looked away.
“Charlotte.” His eyes flickered to the stain on her gown. “What has happened to your dress?”
His voice was low and clipped, making it difficult for the little girl to understand whether he was angry or simply curious.
She flinched beside Aurelia, her chubby fingers curling around the hem of her skirt. “I…I was painting, Papa.”
The fear flickering in her eyes as she looked away made his gut twist. He hadn’t meant to scare her. So he tried again.
“Painting?” he questioned. “You know better. A lady’s gown is not a canvas,” he tried to remind her.
But somehow, his voice came out so sharp that it made her lips quiver.
“I tried to be careful,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—”
“Carelessness, Charlotte,” he said tightly, “won’t serve you well.”
He wanted carelessness, and he couldn’t help but rebuke his daughter when she had shown signs of it.
But when he noticed the way she shrank at his words, he took a deep breath. He should have sounded more welcoming.
Before he could make amends, Aurelia stepped forward with deliberate boldness.
“It wasn’t her fault.” She lifted her chin. “It was mine. I encouraged her to paint. If you are displeased, direct your anger toward me.”
His gaze flicked to her.
It was the wrong thing to say. Because now she had his full attention. And it was far from gentle.
Their eyes locked, and something sharp arced between them. It wasn’t anger or desire. But it was hot and reckless, crackling and thrumming.
“You are her example,” Percival rumbled, before he moved toward them. “A poor example.”
Her brows flew up, and a chuckle escaped her lips.
A mirthless chuckle. Then, her eyes darkened, and she took a few steps closer.
Close enough that he could hear her breathing, could see the soft swell of her bosom beneath that cursed bodice.
Close enough that the maddening scent of warm vanilla enveloped him.
“Poor?” she repeated, her voice sharper now. “Do you not see that she needs more than rules and silence? She needs joy. She needs warmth. She needs to laugh without fear.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because her words hit deeper than they should have. And because he couldn’t stop staring at her lips.
They trembled in a way that made him remember how they had opened for him. Worst of all, he knew she would let him kiss her again.
“Did you not see her smile today?” she asked, her eye flicking over his face, searching for a particular emotion.
Percival knew he had. And it had stirred a certain warmth he never knew still existed within him. But he couldn’t say that.
Several thoughts flooded his mind. When his gaze dropped to her mouth again, her breath caught slightly. She looked at him as though she knew. As though she felt it, too. That weight of wanting, that ache of not having.
But then Lottie broke the tension.
“Papa, I like painting.” Her voice was small and uncertain. “I will wash my dress, I promise. Please don’t be angry.”
Percival looked at his daughter. He felt terrible. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He had only wanted to make her strong. But the way she looked back at him made shame squeeze his heart. There was fear in her eyes. Fear of him.
“It’s fine, Lottie,” she whispered, eyeing his daughter briefly, before her eyes flicked back to him. “Isn’t that right, Duke?” she asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Percival didn’t move for a moment. “You are meant to guide her. To teach her restraint and not to indulge every whim.”
Aurelia took another deep breath. She knew he was being difficult on purpose. But instead of retreating, she stepped even closer, close enough that the hem of her skirts brushed his boots. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, could almost taste her breath in the air between them.
“Standards without affection,” she whispered now that she was close enough, “are nothing but cruelty.”
Her eyes locked on his in a silent challenge, her lips parted slightly.
Percival knew this was the moment to assert his stance and make clear to Aurelia that Lottie was to be raised his way. But all he could think of was touching her again. And he wasn’t sure what would come after that, his guilt or his ruin.
“Charlotte,” he rasped, his gaze never leaving Aurelia’s. “Go to your room.”
Lottie looked up, hesitating. “But—”
“Now,” he repeated, his voice softer.
He sensed Aurelia’s confusion, but he didn’t speak until his daughter left the room, his infuriating wife sending the girl off with a kiss on her forehead.
The silence that followed was dangerous, yet she did not step back, despite the way her chest rose and fell from nervousness. Her nearness had him grasping at the thinning fringes of his control, and from the glint in her eyes, it seemed she was aware of what her proximity did to him.
He hadn’t even touched her, but it felt like he had done something far worse—he had let her in. And now, he didn’t know how to shut her out.
She looked up at him, searching his face. It made him hate how much he wanted her. How much her presence made him forget every reason he shouldn’t. And the temptation to make the same mistake twice. Or three times. Or every night for the rest of his goddamned life.
He didn’t move.
Because if he took one step toward her, he would not be able to hold back.