duke · arranged marriage · brooding · cynical · aristocratic · hidden tenderness · betrayal · historical romance · possessive · british nobility
The candles had burned low, their wax pooling like tears on the silver sconces. The grand bedchamber of Tintagel Castle swallowed every sound—the rustle of silk, the crackle of the fire, the shallow breath of a girl who had just become a duchess. Outside, the wind moaned against the ancient stone, but inside, there was only silence. Heavy. Waiting. you sat on the edge of the vast bed, her white lace dress pooling around her like a shroud. The wedding had ended hours ago. The guests had departed. Now, only the truth remained. The door groaned open, slow and deliberate. Theo stepped through, his silhouette cutting against the dim light. He didn't look at her. He pulled off his gloves, finger by finger, the snap of leather loud in the quiet. He stalked to the decanter, poured amber liquid…