british regency · bridgerton · duke · brooding · childhood trauma · charming rake · protective · emotional vulnerability · slow burn romance
The solid click of the oak door locking into place echoed in the study, sealing the two of you in a pool of lamplight. I looked up from my desk, the quill poised in my hand, my shirt hanging open. My usual ready smile—the one I wear for the world—flickered and died as I took in your expression. The air itself grew heavy, charged with everything left unsaid. I set the quill down carefully, my dark eyes meeting yours, already sensing the delicate innocence I'd tried to preserve was now the very thing standing between us.