Page 50 of Duke of Fyre

Her heart began to race. She told herself firmly that this was about his pride—his position as a duke—and nothing more. He couldn't bear the idea of his duchess being insulted because it reflected poorly on him. It was simply a matter of propriety.

"You're doing it again," Elias said, his voice soft but perceptive.

"What?"

"Thinking too much." His hand lifted, almost as if in hesitation, before brushing a stray curl from her cheek. The touch was so light, it might have been a mere whisper of contact, but Lydia felt it deep in her chest. "Stop trying to explain away everything I do or say. Sometimes, Lydia, things are exactly what they appear to be."

She stared up at him, caught in the depth of his gaze. "And what do they appear to be, Your Grace?"

For a long moment, she thought he might answer her, his gaze heavy, his body close. But then a group of laughing ladies rounded the corner, and Elias stepped back, his expression closing off again.

"We should return home," he said, his tone suddenly gruff, as if retreating into himself. "You'll need time to prepare for the ball."

Lydia nodded, her breath catching in her throat as they walked back to the waiting carriage. She was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the lingering warmth where his fingers had brushed her skin.

This is nothing, she told herself firmly. Just a duke protecting his interests. Just proper dignity, social position, and…

"Stop that," Elias said suddenly, his voice low and amused.

"Stop what?"

"Whatever argument you're having with yourself. I can practically hear you thinking."

"I was merely considering the proper behavior for a duchess," Lydia replied primly, though her cheeks flushed again at the thought.

"No, you were trying to convince yourself that you were not worthy of being a duchess."

Lydia nearly tripped over her own feet. "I... what?", and that was precisely what she’d tell him if she had to

"You're not as subtle as you think, my dear." His voice had that dangerous softness again. "Though I must say, for someone so clever, you can be remarkably blind sometimes."

Before she could respond, they reached the carriage. Elias handed her in with perfect courtesy, his touch entirely proper, but Lydia felt it burn through her gloves nonetheless. As the carriage door closed behind them, they settled into the plush cushions in charged silence.

Lydia found herself thinking back to the pearl combs waiting in her chambers and the ball that lay ahead. Whatever happened this evening, she had a feeling it would be anything but dignified.

And judging by the way Elias's eyes kept straying to her, she wasn't the only one looking forward to it.

It was with this same excitement that mere hours later, Lydia stood before the mirror in her chamber, her heart racing as she surveyed herself in the reflection. Her maid had already begun the delicate process of preparing her for the evening, but Lydia's mind was elsewhere, lost in the memories of the afternoon's unexpected moments with Elias. The subtle brush of his fingers against her cheek, the dark glint in his eyes as he had looked at her in the park—those images kept repeating in her mind, making her pulse quicken every time she tried to focus on something else.

Sarah was now fastening the delicate pearl combs into Lydia's hair, the cool weight of the pearls adding an unexpected elegance to her usual hairstyle. Lydia's hair had been arrangedin soft waves, the color rich against the blue of her gown, and the combs—so simple, yet so intricate—brought an added shine to the entire ensemble. Her mind returned to the way Elias had instructed the modiste, the careful attention he had paid to every detail, and the knowing smile Sarah had worn when she'd revealed the accessories he had chosen.

"Your Grace, may I help you with your gloves?" Sarah's voice broke into her thoughts, and Lydia blinked, as if waking from a dream.

"Yes, please," she said, her voice slightly strained as Sarah slid the delicate silk gloves onto her arms. They were a perfect match for the gown, reaching just above her elbows, and the smooth texture was a constant reminder of the evening that awaited her.

When Sarah had finished with the gloves, she stepped back, admiring her work. "Your Grace, you are truly radiant. His Grace will be most pleased."

Lydia's stomach tightened at the mention of Elias. "I hope so," she murmured, her gaze slipping back to her reflection. It was difficult to deny how the gown transformed her, how it made her feel like someone else—someone who could walk confidently into a room and command attention. The woman she saw before her was polished, poised, the epitome of a duchess. But beneath the layers of silk and pearls, her thoughts were anything but steady.

"Your Grace, the carriage awaits," came the voice of a footman, his voice soft through the door.

Lydia nodded, forcing a calmness into her voice as she stood. She turned to Sarah with a fleeting smile. "Thank you. I'll be ready in a moment."

As the maid left the room, Lydia paused for one final look at herself in the mirror. The pearl combs glistened against her dark hair, the gown shimmered like a night sky filled with stars, and she felt as if the weight of the evening had already begun to settle on her shoulders.

She took a deep breath as she stepped into the hallway and found Elias waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in a tailored black suit that only highlighted his striking features. His gaze lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, the world outside the townhouse seemed to fade away. The way his eyes swept over her was both intense and appraising, like he was taking in every detail of her, from the soft curves of her figure to the careful arrangement of her hair. It was the first time she saw something in his gaze that could almost be described as... tender.

"Shall we?" His voice was low, but there was a warmth in it that made her heart flutter unexpectedly.

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