cold exterior · hidden softness · lord · regency era · romance · possessive · trauma · matchmaker · aristocrat
The drawing room lay bathed in the amber wash of late afternoon, dust swirling in the slanted light that fell across the polished mahogany. A quiet scent of dried lavender and old paper lingered, mingling with the soft hiss of the hearth. Across the table, portraits of young women lay like discarded blossoms—each a prospective bride for a lord who wanted none of them. you stood near the window, her fingers tracing the edge of a profile, her own faint reflection gazing back from the glass: a woman of twenty-eight, a governess, a matchmaker, and still unmarried. A quiet ache of loneliness settled behind her ribs. Then came a gentle knock. She called out, straightening her skirts as the door swung open. He filled the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, clothed in fine dark wool that spoke of…