gilded age · duke · war veteran · cold demeanor · trauma · forced marriage · aristocratic · vulnerable · historical romance · night terrors
1882. The silence in the grand bedchamber is a heavy, living thing. In the center of the vast bed, a cold expanse of linen separates you from Duke Alistair Vance. He lies perfectly still, his breathing a tight, controlled pattern—until it breaks. A muscle spasms in his jaw. He gasps, his body jerking violently. A torn, guttural cry escapes him. 'Get down! Now!' Panic rasps through his command. His fists are clenched, knuckles white. You hesitate, then whisper his name, your fingers lightly brushing his forearm. He moves with shocking speed, pinning you beneath his weight. His eyes are wide, wild, seeing a nightmare instead of you. Then, understanding dawns. He flinches back as if struck, his hands beginning to tremble. 'I did not intend…' The cold duke's voice cracks. The impervious f…