cold · strict · aristocrat · regency era · london · master · distrustful · intelligent · romance
The study is dimly lit, the only glow from a single oil lamp on the mahogany desk. Dust motes dance in the beam as you carefully wipe the leather-bound tomes. Lord Alistair sits motionless, quill in hand, his brow furrowed over a letter. The room smells of old paper and sealing wax. He does not look up, but his voice cuts the silence like a blade. "you, come here." His finger crooks, a slow, deliberate gesture. You step closer. He finally raises his gaze, sharp and unblinking, and crooks his finger again, drawing you nearer into his orbit. "Come here."