Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
B right and early the next morning, I usher Eryx along to the tailor, where we look at endless swatches of fabrics.
“How about this one?” I ask, pointing to a dark pink brocade.
Eryx glares at me. “You know very well how I feel about pink.”
“No, I know how you feel about dusty rose. This is magenta. Entirely different.”
“Call it what you like, it’s still awful. No pink.”
The tailor, Mr. Asker, orders an attendant to whisk away the material. Argus and Dyson silently stand in a corner, observing.
“How about blue, then?” I ask, pointing to a vibrant swatch.
“I told you. I have no wish to look like a peacock.”
Gods help me. “This is what men wear. It is the height of fashion. I cannot assist you if you remain unreasonable.”
Eryx turns to the tailor. “Do you have anything darker? Or less colorful? Maybe both?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Mr. Asker says. He snaps his fingers at his assistants. They flee to the back rooms for more fabrics.
I sit on the nearest chair while we wait, remembering the look on Mr. Asker’s face when we first entered the shop. It was priceless. The distaste for Eryx’s workman’s clothes and leather jacket! I had to refrain from laughing.
When Mr. Asker’s men return, a series of blacks and browns and dark grays are presented. Eryx perks up.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “This is much better.”
“You cannot order your entire wardrobe out of three swatches of fabric. Everyone will think you’re wearing the same outfit every day. This is not suitable for a duke. You need color. You need variety. This is boring. Why am I even here if you’re going to disregard everything I say?”
Eryx turns to the tailor. “What’s your opinion, Mr. Asker?”
“While I could make you a handful of appropriate attire from these colors,” Mr. Asker says carefully, “I’m afraid the duchess is correct in stating that other courtiers will think you’re wearing the same outfit repeatedly if we overdo these swatches. You will likely stand out and be the topic of gossip.”
Dyson says, “As if the fancy folks won’t be gossiping about his return as is.”
“You need to blend in,” Argus says.
Eryx groans. “I know.”
“If I may, Your Graces, propose a compromise?” Mr. Asker asks.
“Please,” Eryx answers.
Mr. Asker leaves to fetch more fabrics with his assistants, and I cross my legs where I sit, maintaining an upright position. I give Eryx a studious glance.
“We’ll fix your posture,” I tell him.
“My posture?”
“You slouch, and your face is too stern when it’s at rest. No one is going to wish to approach you if you look like a grouch.”
“Would the courtiers prefer I put on a fake smile?”
“I don’t know. Let me see it.”
His lips turn up, and it is the most disturbing thing I have ever seen. Like a grimace with lips pointing upward.
“No, that’s definitely not better,” I say. “Can you really manage nothing more natural?”
“This is me being natural.”
“Well, it’s unsuitable for company.”
Eryx puts his back to me.
“Do not fret. We will work on it.”
I’m simply dreading the forthcoming lessons. While they were the only thing I could think of to get the money I needed, I’ve no doubt Eryx means to fight me the whole way. I don’t know how much of this forced proximity I can take.
At least Eryx transferred the money I requested, and I don’t think anyone has noticed that Kyros has made himself scarce, visiting Mr. Tomaras with his requested sum.
Things are finally underway.
That knowledge has to be enough to get me through the rest of today.
When the tailor returns, he presents a display of fabrics on the tables before us. “These might help to expand the duke’s options, Your Graces.”
I’m impressed. Mr. Asker has found fabrics that combine the best of both our tastes. Deep black brocade with silver designs. Navy blue with bronze. Gray with a faint green sheen to it. Browns with purple stitching. Rich dark swatches, with mere hints of color. Tasteful, yet reserved. Endless varieties that even Eryx can’t turn his nose up at.
“Yes, these will do,” I say. The tailor and I both turn to Eryx.
“Very well,” he says. “Just nothing in pink. I’ll take—”
“All of it,” I finish for him, lest he say something about requesting only two outfits. “We require full formal attire, including shirts, jackets, vests, cravats, and dress pants. He will need day clothes for less formal events, as well as evening attire for when he’s entertaining.”
Without waiting for any input from Eryx, I step forward to help Mr. Asker put together fabrics for different outfits. The tailor takes Eryx’s measurements, and then informs us the clothing will be done in three weeks’ time.
As we exit the shop, Eryx asks, “Where to next?”
“The cobbler’s. You’ll need shoes to go with your new attire.”
“I have—”
“One pair already. Yes, I know. And you may wear that pair to your heart’s content while traipsing about the property on one of your stomping rampages. But in polite society, you will wear what I deem appropriate.”
Eryx’s fists clench so tightly his fingers turn white. I watch his eyes closely, but I don’t see a change there.
Still, Dyson takes a step forward, as though to intervene. Does he think the duke might actually strike me? I had thought that if the man were the violent sort, he would have already done me bodily harm by now.
Argus puts a hand on the other man’s shoulder and pulls him back. I look between the two of them questioningly before returning my attention to the fake duke.
“We can be done with all of this now, you know,” I remind him. “If you’d rather leave the estate and let me resume my role as sole owner of the dukedom, we can go our quiet, separate ways.”
He forces his hands to relax. “No. To the cobbler’s. We must attend the wedding. I’m hopeful you might meet someone you like. Twenty thousand necos are just waiting for you.”
“Why don’t you try holding your breath until I accept them?”
A FTER WE RETURN FROM the city, I wait eagerly in my rooms for Kyros. When he arrives, it is late in the evening, though the young man doesn’t look tired at all.
“My errands went well, Your Grace,” he says. “I was able to deliver the offers for immediate rehiring, and Mr. Tomaras says he will start right away and will provide an update as soon as he can.”
“Perfect. I hope you know how much I appreciate your loyalty to me, Kyros.”
“I am happy to serve.”
Still, I tip the man, placing a coin into his hand. His fist closes, trapping my fingers against his palm. I look up from the contact, a question in my eyes.
“I’m sorry about Sandros and the others. Really. I know that your… visitors made you happy, but… I can’t help but wonder if there is someone else who could make you happier? Someone who didn’t need payment, for your presence is reward enough.”
The words are innocent by themselves, but the heat in his eyes speaks to something else entirely.
“Just something to consider, Your Grace,” he tacks on. “I shan’t bring it up again. I am and always will be your friend and dutiful servant.” He releases me and retreats down the hall.
I’m left standing with my hand still outstretched and my breath caught.
That was an invitation if I’ve ever heard one.
But from Kyros?
It’s not that I’ve never taken notice of his attractiveness. But he is my servant and relies on me for his income, or rather, he did before Eryx showed up. I would never have thought to overstep.
But is it still overstepping when I’m not the one suggesting the arrangement?
I could be happy with Kyros, I think. Isn’t friendship the perfect foundation for a romantic relationship? The fact that he’s my servant is actually preferable. I will always be the one with the power, the money, the security. That actually makes Kyros a perfect candidate.
He could never really hurt me or control me, which I find extremely appealing.
I will think on it. Practice seeing Kyros in a new light.
I T SHOULDN ’ T SURPRISE ME at all that Eryx is a terrible listener, even when it comes to lessons he is paying for.
“Sit up,” I instruct.
“I am sitting up.”
“No, you’re slouching.”
“There’s only one way to sit in a chair,” he says.
“No, there isn’t.”
We sit across from each other in opposite chairs, no table or anything between us. Argus and Dyson, as usual, stand in the corner of the parlor, watching the exchange.
Good thing, too, because I might murder Eryx right here if he doesn’t start to cooperate.
I stand and walk over to the man. Looming over him, I place my hands on his shoulders and force them against the back of the chair.
“Back straight. Shoulders against the chair. Legs together.”
“Legs together? That can’t be right.”
I tap his boot with my slipper to scoot it where it’s supposed to be. “No one wants to see a man with his legs spread open.”
He crosses his arms. “I would argue that—”
“Uncross your arms. And for gods’ sake, do not lean back in your chair.”
A cheeky expression crosses his face. “You mean like this?”
He tilts the chair back on two legs.
But he should have known better with me standing right there. I place my slipper under the seat and tilt the frame back far enough for gravity to do its job.
Eryx’s arms windmill, but he can’t right himself in time. Both he and the chair slam to the ground.
“Oh, you’re dead!” he says, scrambling to his feet, and that thing happens to his eyes again. They lighten to amber as they zero in on me.
There you are.
I run as a laugh escapes from my lips.
Not nearly fast enough.
Eryx grips me by the waist, spins me to face him, hoists me over his shoulder, and marches me across the room. I notice that Argus and Dyson have both left their positions by the wall. They’re halfway to us before Eryx waves them off.
“I’m fine,” he says to them.
That makes one of us.
“Put me down at once!” I insist, smacking at his back.
Eryx dumps me onto the nearest sofa, flat on my back. My hair has come free in the scuffle, and as I try to get it out of my eyes, I feel the world tip sideways.
Because he’s pushed the entire sofa back on two feet before letting it fall. I roll off the backrest in a tumble before coming to a stop a few feet away.
Eryx’s grin is dark as he reaches down a hand to help me up. I’m trapped between him and the floor, but that doesn’t stop me. I take his arm, only to pull him to the ground beside me. I use his body to shove myself upward, but he catches my arms, and I land sprawled over the top of him.
“You fight dirty,” Eryx says, capturing my flailing limbs so I can’t hit him. Though I can’t see his face, I feel a smile in the words. “You would have done well in the army.”
“This is not gentlemanly behavior! Release me.”
“You started it. I’m merely finishing it.”
“You will not come out on top!”
“Won’t I?”
He rolls our bodies so that I am tucked underneath his long, strong form. His messy hair spills around his face.
“I did not mean that literally. Get off me!”
“Not until you surrender.”
“Never.”
I try to buck him off, but it does nothing. He has me thoroughly pinned. I glare up at him, finding his eyes a glowing, wolfish amber. Interesting, since I’ve only noticed them surfacing before when he was angry.
He’s not angry now. No, he’s playful, if anything. Playful and… something else.
His face is very close to mine.
“If you expect these lessons to continue, you need to stop being an ass,” I say, irritated that he is winning the scuffle.
But it’s as if Eryx doesn’t hear me. He’s staring at me with the most peculiar expression upon his face. It’s almost surprise? As though he just now realized who was underneath him. Who he’s deliberately annoying.
He does a sweep of my face, starting with my chin and ending at my hairline. When his eyes rest on mine again, he says, “If ever you find yourself in this position again, Duchess, go for the eyes or throat.”
“If you ever try something like this again—”
“I don’t mean me. We are jesting with each other, aren’t we? I mean, if you ever come up against someone who truly means you harm. Eyes or throat or groin. The vulnerable parts of a man.”
I don’t know what to say in return. Is he giving me a lesson now? I’m not about to thank him when he’s still on top of me, despite my requests that he shove off. I wriggle underneath him, trying to free myself, but the movement seems to do something to him.
His eyes are burning, they shine so bright, and he’s gone very, very still.
For one brief moment, I forget who he is and who I am. I take note of things I never have before. Like the fact that he smells like the earth after a rainstorm. The natural wave to his hair. The bob in his throat. The way his bright eyes make the rest of his features sharper. More masculine. I can see the curve of muscles in his arms as he uses them to prop himself above me.
Like a lover.
That last thought finally snaps me out of it.
“What are you doing?” I demand, silently applauding myself for keeping my voice steady.
He blinks, as though coming to, and rises. I ignore his offered hand, standing on my own and brushing out my skirts. But the energy in the room has shifted. Eryx is still staring at me as though he’s just seen me for the first time, and I cannot stand it.
I leave, shutting the door to the parlor with a slam. I halt when I’m five feet away because I hear their voices.
“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” The question comes from Argus.
“Shh. She’s not gone yet,” Eryx barks.
I take one more step away before holding my breath.
“It was nothing,” Eryx continues after a pause. “She caught me off guard, is all.”
“I wasn’t sure whether to step in or leave the room.” This from Dyson.
Eryx scoffs. “It wasn’t like that.”
“If you say so.”
“She’s been my enemy since the beginning. I never had a chance to see her as anything else.”
“And now?” Argus asks.
“She’s still the enemy. I just lost myself for a moment.”
“Lost yourself?”
“Surely even you can admit she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Argus says.
“I would never! Can you even imagine how unbearable she’d be then? It’s awful enough now.”
Dyson laughs.
“It’s those eyes,” Eryx continues. “They’re mesmerizing.”
“I imagine her eyes were not all you were admiring from your position spread-eagle atop her,” Dyson says.
“Oh, piss off.”
Dyson snickers.
I pad several more feet away before daring to take another breath. Yet my heart is pounding as though I’m in danger.
It wasn’t Eryx. It wasn’t the chase or the way he caught me and held me. It wasn’t the way we were touching or even the way he looked at me at the end. As though, for just a moment, his sole objective wasn’t to banish me from the estate.
No, the danger comes entirely from me.
I looked right back at him. I looked, and I saw someone I didn’t want to disappear from my life. I saw someone I wanted , just for the smallest amount of time.
And that is terrifying.
I AVOID E RYX THE NEXT DAY, refusing to enter the dining room for meals. I have my breakfast brought up to my room, before hiding between the stacks in the library.
Tekla and Karla are in here, too, dusters in hand, removing books and wiping the shelves clean. Karla sneezes from a bit of exposed dust, and Tekla reaches over to brush a strand of hair free from her face that came loose in the action. Both girls blush and turn away. Tekla goes to inspect a different bookcase, though I’m certain I just saw her finish cleaning it.
When Kyros starts wandering the library, looking through the shelves, I admire him from afar. Imagining him undressed and in my bed.
Yes, I can see it.
He has a child, so he obviously knows something of the bedroom. He’s kind and funny, and I adore his son. Being with Kyros is effortless. Perhaps being with him romantically would be equally effortless and fill the void in my life that Sandros left.
The one my delusional self tried to fill with Eryx in a fit of dementia.
Kyros finds me before I can come to a decision. “There you are, Your Grace. The duke requests your presence in his study.”
My face falls slightly.
“I could, of course, tell him I’ve been unable to find you anywhere?” he puts in.
That brings a smile to my lips. “Not to worry. I will heed his summons. This time. Walk with me?”
Kyros seems surprised by the request, but he follows a step behind me as I exit the library, and I slow my pace until he is level with me, purposely keeping our bodies even. The footman notices at once, and he doesn’t try to stop me. He matches my gait, standing just close enough that I could brush him with my fingers if I reached out.
“How is your family?” I ask him.
“You are kind to ask, Your Grace. Mother is recovered from her fever, and my sister just accepted a marriage proposal from a merchant dealing in spices.”
“I’m happy for her. When is the wedding so I might send a gift?”
“You needn’t do that, Your Grace.”
“And if I want to?” I challenge.
“Then, of course, I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you.”
“Good. Write it down for me, so I don’t forget.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
I bite my lip as we climb the stairs, wondering whether I dare say what I think should be the next step for us.
“Chrysantha,” I say at last.
“Hmm?”
“My name. I wish you would use it, please. If—only if you’d like, of course. It is not an order.”
Kyros halts in place, and though I want to keep moving, I stop with him, turn to face him. His eyes have widened, and he doesn’t say a word for a few seconds.
“Chrysantha,” he tries. “I love the sound of it.”
“Thank you, Kyros.”
We continue walking, but neither of us says anything more. I think enough potentially life-altering things have been spoken between us in the last couple of days.
“There’s no need to announce me,” I inform him before stepping past him into the study.
Argus and Dyson stand over the duke’s shoulders, like henchmen ready to do their evil lord’s will.
“Duchess,” Eryx says, “take a seat, won’t you?” He points to the soft cushions on the other side of the massive desk. I thought I’d find him buried in papers again, but his hands are clasped together in front of him, as though he’d done nothing but sit there as he waited for me. Those damnable glasses are on his face again. The ones that make him appear more attractive.
“I’ll stand,” I say, placing my hands on the back of a chair, should I need support. I don’t know why, but I feel terribly uncomfortable, as though I need to hide myself. The chair is the only barrier I can use right now.
“Argus, Dyson, kindly leave us,” Eryx says.
Argus’s eyebrows lift. “You’re sure?”
“Quite.”
“We’ll be just outside, should you need us.”
Dyson offers me a wink as he strides past. I hear the door close behind the two men after they exit.
I don’t like this. It feels as though they’re guarding the door, should I wish to run. Why does my heart start picking up its rhythm again? This is Eryx. Man-child. Impostor duke. I am the one in control here. Who cares if he called me the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?
Eryx says nothing for the longest moment, and I cannot bear the silence.
“Well?” I ask.
“I wish to apologize for yesterday. I thought we were being playful, but I clearly crossed some line with you, and if you tell me what it was, I promise it won’t happen again.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want from me now?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re trying to be polite, so what do you want?”
“Nothing. I wish only to figure out what went wrong so that our lessons might continue without any strain. You’ve been hiding from me today, so I assume the offense was grave.”
Those intense amber eyes rise to my vision, and I try to think of an answer. Any answer that makes sense other than I was distracted by your physique, and I’m avoiding you so it doesn’t happen again.
Finally, I manage, “Gentlemen do not touch ladies without permission.” Unless, of course, they’re married to them. Then they can do as they please, according to the law. I wonder if Alessandra has plans to change that one.
“It was because I touched you?” he asks.
“You took things too far. That tumble on the ground was entirely inappropriate.” Actually, it was . It’s his fault we’re in this mess.
“You pulled me to the ground, you will recall.”
“You lingered far too long. No matter how mesmerizing you find my eyes, I expect you to behave like a gentleman.”
His jaw tightens. “I am a gentleman, despite being out of practice. I assure you I meant no harm, Duchess. What happened yesterday shan’t happen again. I am deeply sorry that you were made to feel uncomfortable.”
“You will forgive me if I don’t take you at your word. I’ve never met an honest man, and I certainly don’t expect a con artist to be one.” Why am I arguing with him now? Just accept his apology and move on!
He sighs, yet his voice remains calm for once. “Think of me however you would like, but I assure you, I am not my grandfather. I’m aware of the kind of man he was.” He pauses for a long moment before asking, “Duchess, did he hurt you? Is that why yesterday frightened you so? Did he—”
I put a stop to that immediately. “Let’s get something clear, Eryx. We are not friends. We do not have discussions like this. You’re trying to kick me out of my home. You’re trying to take everything that should be mine. The private occurrences that went on in my marriage are none of your concern, and you don’t get to ask about them.”
“You say we are not friends, yet you call me by my given name,” he says, his tone soft.
And I nigh explode. “I do not recognize you as the duke, so I will not address you as such or any other honorifics attached to it. I will not call you Pholios, because that is the name of the man who—” I cut off, remembering myself. “I suppose I could call you by your surname, but since it is also my surname, it feels strange. Perhaps I should dispense with any names at all and call you by that which I think only in my thoughts.”
He grins, as though he finds my last statement amusing. “If you’re to call me Eryx, then might I call you Chrysantha? It’s only fair.”
Fair? Fair! Men do not get to utter that word in a world that favors them in every single space of life.
“You will not call on me at all unless it is to uphold the terms of our agreement.”
Eryx shuts his eyes before slowly opening them again. “Very well. Let me assure you I will not touch you again unless permission is given.”
“Oh, it shan’t be given.”
“No? Then how are you to teach me to dance?”
My teeth hurt from how I’ve ground them together in the last few minutes. “Do not call on me again until it is time for tonight’s lesson.”
“Understood, Duchess.”