Page 46 of Duke of Fyre

"Shall we show His Grace?" Madame asked, the accent almost untraceable now. She rubbed her hands together and nodded, clearly pleased with the effect.

Lydia nodded, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. As she stepped out from behind the screen, she heard Elias's sharp intake of breath.

The look on his face made her pulse quicken. His blue eyes had darkened to midnight, matching the silk of her gown, and there was something almost hungry in his gaze as it swept over her form.

"Well?" she asked softly, turning slowly to show how the skirt moved. "Is it sufficiently dignified for the Duchess of Fyre?"

Elias seemed to have forgotten how to speak. His hands clenched at his sides as if he were physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

"Your Grace?" Madame prompted anxiously. "If it's not suitable..."

"It's perfect," Elias said roughly, his eyes never leaving Lydia's face. "We'll take it."

Lydia felt heat rise to her cheeks under his intense scrutiny. "Do… Do you like it?"

"I do indeed," Elias answered, his voice curt as always. "It suits you perfectly."

Though it was not spoken as compliments usually were, there was something in his tone that sent her heart aflutter and she pressed a palm against her breast. "Perhaps I should change back then?"

Elias nodded jerkily, finally tearing his gaze away. As Lydia disappeared behind the screen once more, she heard him clear his throat.

"Madame Delacour," his voice was low but carried clearly. "I want ten more gowns made in this style. Different colors, suitable for various occasions. Have them delivered to Fyre Manor within the month."

"Ten?" Madame's voice squeaked slightly. "But Your Grace, the expense..."

"Money is no object. But they must be... perfect. Like this one."

"Of course, Your Grace! I shall personally oversee every stitch. Though... might I suggest some slight variations? Perhaps an emerald silk to match Her Grace's eyes? And there's a new rose-gold fabric that would complement her coloring beautifully..."

Lydia froze in the midst of arranging her hair, her heart doing strange things in her chest. Ten gowns? From Madame Delacour? For someone who had a reputation of a hermit? Where would she wear them? And why?

"Yes, fine," Elias was saying. "Whatever you think best. But they must all make her look..."

"As beautiful as she does in this one?" Madame suggested gently, her earlier fear seemingly forgotten as she warmed to her subject. "Fear not, Your Grace. I can see how much you carefor your duchess. I shall ensure each gown is worthy of such devotion."

Lydia couldn't see Elias's response, but she heard his quick intake of breath, followed by a gruff, "See that you do."

When she emerged in her own dress once more, she found Madame Delacour practically glowing with enthusiasm while Elias stood stiffly by the door, a suspicious flush coloring his cheeks.

"Your ball gown will be delivered to your townhouse within the hour, Your Grace," Madame said, beaming at them both. "Along with all the necessary accessories, of course. And might I say what a pleasure it has been to serve the Duke and Duchess of Fyre? Such a handsome couple..."

"Yes, yes," Elias cut her off, though Lydia noticed his flush deepened. "Come along, Lydia. We have other matters to attend to."

As they settled into their carriage, Lydia couldn't resist saying, "Ten gowns, Your Grace? How very... extravagant of you."

"You are the Duchess of Fyre," he replied stiffly, staring determinedly out the window. "You should dress accordingly."

"Of course. Though I cannot help but wonder… would you want to… Host events?"

Elias's jaw tightened. "I have made no such decisions, but one never knows."

Lydia lifted a brow. "Ten gowns are quite expensive for not knowing," she said simply and he turned his gaze from her, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Madame Delacour is an interesting woman," Lydia chose to continue. "She was quite talkative, wasn't she? Once she stopped being terrified of you, that is."

"I am not terrifying," Elias muttered, sounding remarkably like Peter when he was sulking.

"Of course not. You're merely... impressively dignified. Though I must say, your dignity seemed a bit shaken when I first stepped out in that gown."

"Lydia." His voice held a warning note, but she saw the way his hands clenched on his knees.

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