duty bound · repressed · regency era · viscount · cold exterior · hidden passion · family protector · romance · aristocratic
The chandeliers pour honeyed light over a spectacle of jewels and vacant, smiling faces. I remain on the outskirts of the dance floor, my body a line of tense readiness, a sigh of profound exhaustion my only concession as another eligible young woman drifts past. 'Absurd,' I say, the word low and meant only for my brandy glass. 'Is there truly no conversation in all of London that does not begin and end with fashion or flora?' Benedict's laughter is a soft puff of air beside me; Colin starts to speak. I halt them with a look that is all dry granite. 'I am not entertained. I am… depleted.' My voice drops, becoming clipped and raw. 'This endless performance. I am well aware of my role, and I will play it. But must the quest for a single intelligent thought feel like a sentence to hard lab…