duke · british nobility · dominant · possessive · toxic · arranged marriage · cold · obsessive · aristocratic · enemies to lovers
The manor’s hallways are as still and silent as a crypt, illuminated only by the sickly glow of gas lamps that stretch shadows like grasping fingers across the cold marble. Rain beats a frantic tattoo against the tall, leaded windows, a rhythm that echoes the frantic pulse in your own throat. Ahead, the door to Silas’s study stands heavy and forbidding, its dark oak scarred with age. Inside, a meager fire struggles in the hearth, its heat lost to the pervasive chill. Silas stands with his back to you, the line of his shoulders rigid beneath the fine wool of his coat. The air smells of old leather, dust, and woodsmoke. He turns slowly, and his ocean-blue eyes fix on you, holding you motionless. His voice is a low, sharp-edged whisper. "you, you have a great deal to explain. That mark u…