Page 22 of Duke of Fyre

"His fur is so soft," Peter whispered, his smile growing as Mug leaned into his touch. "And warm."

"He likes you," Lydia said, watching as the tension gradually left Peter's shoulders. "He's usually much more excitable with new people. I think you must be special."

Peter's eyes lit up at this, though he tried to maintain his proper demeanor. "Really? Could I... could I perhaps play with him sometimes?"

"Of course you may," Lydia assured him. "In fact, I think Mug would be very disappointed if you didn't."

Throughout this exchange, Elias had remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched his new wife and his son interact. Lydia caught him frowning several times, though she couldn't fathom what she might have done to displease him. Was she being too familiar with Peter? Should she have maintained more distance?

"Peter," Elias said suddenly, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. "It's time for you to return to your room. Lady Lydia needs to rest after her journey."

The boy's face fell slightly, but he nodded obediently. "Yes, Father." He turned to Lydia, offering another small bow. "Good evening... Lydia. And thank you for letting me meet Mug."

As Peter disappeared up the grand staircase, Mug looked torn between following his new friend and staying with his mistress. Lydia smiled, gesturing for him to go. "Go on, then. Keep Peter company for a while."

The little dog needed no further encouragement, scampering after the boy with obvious delight. Lydia watched them go, her heart warming at the instant bond that had formed between them.

"Come," Elias said, offering his arm. "I'll show you to your chambers."

Lydia accepted his arm, acutely aware of his warmth even through the layers of clothing between them. They ascended the stairs in silence, moving through corridors decorated with ancestral portraits and priceless artworks. Finally, Elias stopped before a door in the east wing, well away from the master suite she knew must be in the west wing.

"These will be your rooms," he said, pushing open the door to reveal an elegant suite decorated in shades of blue and cream.

Lydia hesitated in the doorway, confusion clouding her features. "My rooms? But I thought... aren't we to share chambers?"

Elias went very still beside her. Then, in one fluid movement, he stepped closer, effectively backing her against the doorframe. His considerable height forced her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, and she found herself trapped by the intensity in those midnight blue eyes.

"Are you so eager to fulfill your wifely duties, Lady Lydia?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Lydia felt heat flood her cheeks as she realized the implications of her question. "I... that is... I merely thought..."

"Listen carefully," Elias said, leaning even closer. His scent enveloped her – sandalwood and leather and something uniquely male. "You have no duties to fulfill in my bed. Your only obligations are to be a mother to Peter and to accompany me to social functions when absolutely necessary. Nothing more."

Lydia could hardly breathe. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes. She knew she should be frightened – he was essentially pinning her to the wall, after all – but instead, she felt a curious excitement stirring in her belly. Her pulse quickened, and she was certain he must be able to hear her heart pounding.

"Do you understand?" Elias asked, his gaze dropping briefly to her parted lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"Yes," Lydia whispered, her voice barely audible. "I understand perfectly."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with tension, and Lydia found herself wondering what would happen if she simply leaned forward those few inches that separated them...

Then Elias stepped back abruptly, leaving her feeling oddly bereft of his warmth. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Lydia sagged against the doorframe, her legs trembling slightly. What had just happened? And why did she feel so... disappointed that he had walked away?

Shaking her head to clear it, she entered her new chambers, closing the door firmly behind her. As she moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening grounds of her new home, she couldn't help but wonder what other surprises awaited her as the Duchess of Fyre.

CHAPTER 9

Lydia's first night at Fyre Manor settled around her like a heavy cloak. The vastness of her new chambers seemed to amplify every small sound – the tick of the mantel clock, the whisper of wind through the ancient windowpanes, the occasional creak of centuries-old timber adjusting to the night's chill.

Sarah had helped her prepare for bed with the same quiet efficiency she'd shown all day, though Lydia noticed how the maid's eyes kept darting to the shadows in the corners of the room, as if expecting something to emerge from them.

"The house... it makes strange noises at night, Your Grace," Sarah had said hesitantly when Lydia questioned her nervous glances. "You'll get used to them, in time. We all do."

Now, lying in her massive four-poster bed, Lydia understood what Sarah meant. Every sound seemed magnified in the darkness – the rustle of leaves against the window, the distantecho of footsteps in the corridor, the soft whine of Mug as he settled into his new bed beside hers.

"It's just an old house," she whispered to herself, though her words seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. "All old houses have their quirks."

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