Chapter 16
Percival’s boots thudded against the marble floor, announcing his return home.
The servants sensed the storm that followed. They scurried out of the hall, their heads bent low and their voices hushed.
He seemed absent-minded as he crossed the long corridors. Until his blue eyes fell on the wall near the grand staircase.
There it was; his first wife’s portrait.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. He had not seen it for years. He had banished it, ordered it to be taken away, hidden where it could not taunt him, where her face could not follow him every waking hour.
And yet here she was again, looking at him with that soft, forgiving smile that he neither wanted nor deserved.
“What is this?” His voice lashed through the silence like a whip.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Withers, flinched, wringing her apron. “Your Grace, it was the duchess who—”
He did not let her finish.
“The duchess?” His voice lowered, vibrating with disbelief. “She dared…”
His hands clenched behind his back, his knuckles whitening. He could not bear to see the painting. Her eyes always dredged up a certain memory. Looking at them, he couldn’t tell whether it was love or accusation.
You should have saved me.
You should have done more.
It was your fault.
Thoughts that he had kept buried for ten years flooded back. He whirled away, fighting the urge to rip the painting down with his bare hands. Maybe that would silence those thoughts.
His composure was cracking, just enough for the servants to glimpse the torment beneath his cold mask. That was more than enough to elicit whispers.
Without another word, Percival stormed down the corridor. He knew exactly where he was going. He knew exactly where to find her.
Aurelia. The woman who dared to trespass into his shadows with her light. The woman who had dug out memories he had buried deep.
He shoved open the door to her chambers without knocking.
And there she was, fresh from her bath. Her skin was flushed from the steam, and her damp hair hung down her bare shoulders. She wore only a thin shift, the fabric clinging indecently to her body, outlining the swell of her breasts and the round curve of her hips.
She turned at the sound, startled, and her brown eyes widened as they met his.
For one wild moment, Percival forgot his fury.
Desire shot through his veins, hard and fast. His cock twitched, thickening against the confines of his trousers.
His eyes traced the hollow at the base of her throat, the water droplets sliding down the valley between her breasts, the shape of her thighs through the near-transparent fabric.
He gritted his teeth. He should have turned away, should have walked out before he ruined them both. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door with a bang that sounded like a warning.
“What possessed you,” he growled, “to hang that painting where all could see?”
Aurelia blinked for a moment. Then, when realization dawned on her, she lifted her chin, regal despite her near-nakedness. Her wet hair swayed at the movement, her lips parting as though daring him to look longer.
“I thought it was my duty,” she responded calmly. “Your home is lifeless, Percival. That portrait—”
“—was hidden for a reason,” he thundered. He stepped closer, each step deliberate, his eyes searching hers. “This is my house, not yours to alter. Not yours to revive with false cheer. You will not—”
“You hate change so much,” Aurelia cut in sharply, her chest rising with short breaths. “But tell me, what am I supposed to do? You gave me no place, no purpose. You made me a duchess, yet you forbid me to act like one.”
Her words struck him deeper than he cared to admit, but it was the fire in her eyes that undid him.
“What Lottie needs,” she continued, her voice breaking but still fierce, “is not another rule or another lesson. She needs a mother. She needs a family. She needs love. And you… you bind me so tightly that I cannot give her even that.”
“Lottie has nothing to do with what I’m asking of you,” he argued.
“She does.” She took a confident step forward.
“Because you lock away the faintest memory of her mother…” Though the words made her chest ache, she was still going to boldly say the truth.
“And you try to lock me away, too. Lottie needs a mother figure, and I intend to give her that, and that begins by helping her know about her mother.”
“Why do you find it so difficult to do as I say?” His voice came out raspy as he struggled with fury and something deeper.
“Why do you find it difficult to listen to me, Duke?” Aurelia fired back. She clenched her fists, her hands trembling at her sides, her whole body tense with unspoken desperation.
Percival’s eyes dropped to her fists, and he froze. For a moment, all he could see were her white knuckles. His gut churned violently as another haunting memory flashed through his mind.
Those clenched fists. He had seen them before. With another woman. In another time. Followed by sobs before blood met his hands.
No.
He shook his head before he even realized it.
Not again. Not with Aurelia. History must not repeat itself. I won’t let her hurt herself because of me.
He dragged in a harsh breath. His blood pounded in his ears, his body aching at the wild gleam in her brown eyes.
“Aurelia…” His control had slipped.
But she didn’t notice immediately. She held his stare, her chin held high, and her nostrils flared.
“I will not apologize for trying to bring life into this house.”
His gaze dropped again. Her hands were still clenched into fists, her knuckles still white.
The air between them crackled with her defiance. It tormented him, the way her chest rose and fell with each furious breath. His hands twitched at his sides, itching to grab her hands and stroke the tension from them.
The way her nails dug so hard into her palms made his throat tighten. She was hurting herself.
However, she didn’t seem to notice the pain. She was too busy glaring at him, her lips parted as though she had more to say to him.
He couldn’t stop himself.
“Stop.” His voice was rough and low, vibrating with something more than anger. “Do not do that to yourself.”
Her brows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I want you to understand that—”
“None of what you are saying matters until you stop doing that to yourself,” he bit out.
Her breath stuttered, but then she followed his gaze to her fingers and realized she was clenching her fists tightly.
“That doesn’t matter—” she tried to say.
Percival moved without thinking, his steps swift and almost desperate. Before she could process anything, his larger hands curled around hers and pried her fingers open until her nails released their cruel hold on her skin.
“I told you to stop,” he said somberly, although there was a breathless edge to his voice.
Aurelia froze, her wide eyes flicking to his face. She wasn’t exactly sure what was happening; he had acted so impulsively.
For a heartbeat, she thought he was commanding her again. Another order from the cold duke.
Her lips parted, ready to snap back in defiance. But then he spoke a word she had never expected to hear from him, in a voice that was too hoarse and broken.
“Please.”
The syllable sounded almost human. It dropped like a light feather, yet it was strong enough to break every wall she had erected around herself.
Her heart almost stopped.
Please.
From his lips, it sounded so raw and almost foreign, as though his tongue had never known the shape of it. And her anger? It fizzled out under the weight of that word.
Her fists loosened. Still, he didn’t release her, scared she would try to hurt herself again. His hands remained around hers, warm, strong, trembling faintly.
She did not pull away. She couldn’t. Not when his thumb brushed hers—an unconscious caress.
Her breath shuddered out, and he felt it. Her skin was soft and delicate. He had never touched something so soft, so delicate, without breaking it.
“If you wish to make changes…” He finally broke the silence, his voice low and deep. “… you need only tell me. That is all I ask.”
Aurelia swallowed, and the movement pulled his gaze down the elegant line of her throat. Water droplets still glistened on her skin. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as though every ounce of his discipline was fighting against his instinct.
Her lips trembled under the intensity of his gaze. Eventually, she whispered, almost breathless, “Then… breakfast. Together.”
He blinked, startled by the simplicity of her demand. However, she had been wanting that change, and that was the first thing that came to mind now that he had made clear that his permission was all she needed.
His mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “That… is a change I can tolerate.”
Her heart thudded even harder. His hands were still on her, and neither of them moved.
The silence that fell between them this time wasn’t cold, but thick with heat. Percival let out a ragged breath, fighting the urge to lower his eyes to her chest.
Aurelia saw the way his jaw flexed. The hunger that he barely suppressed. The sight made her lips curve faintly.
Pretend all you like, but I know.
She knew she wasn’t the only one who felt the tension, the strain. Percival was fighting as well, fighting so hard to suppress whatever he was feeling. But she didn’t want to give up. She wanted to give him an heir.
Alas, just as hope bloomed in her chest, his cursed discipline won. That damned pride of his that chained him so well.
Reluctantly, he released her hands. Her fingers instantly curled at the loss of his touch.
Without another word, he turned toward the door, his shoulders stiff. At the threshold, he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.
“The painting must go.” His voice was low, deep, and dangerous. “The rest of the… changes you made may stay. As for breakfast…” He swallowed. “I do not mind.”
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him.
Aurelia stood there, her heart thudding against her ribs, her body still shaking from the aftershocks of his nearness.
Impossible man. Impossible, dangerous man.
And yet every impossible thing about him made her crave him more.