Page 48 of Duke of Fyre

His eyes met hers again, and this time there was no mistaking the heat in them. "What I want," he said softly, "is becoming increasingly complicated."

The carriage lurched to a stop before she could respond, and Elias was opening the door before she could gather her scattered thoughts. As he helped her down, his hand lingered on hers perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"We should prepare for the ball," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "And Lydia?"

"Yes?"

"Do wear your hair up tonight. With those pearl combs you brought from Fyre Manor."

She stared at him, startled. "You noticed my hair combs?"

"I notice everything about you," he admitted quietly. Then, before she could respond, he was striding away toward his study, leaving her standing in the entrance hall with her heart racing and her thoughts in delightful disarray.

Well, she thought as she made her way upstairs, perhaps the Beast of Fyre wasn't quite as immune to improper thoughts as he pretended to be. And if he wanted to see her in pearl combs and midnight silk... well, who was she to deny such a polite request?

After all, proper dignity could only withstand so much temptation.

CHAPTER 19

Lydia's fingers trembled slightly as she brushed them over the delicate pearl combs laid out on her dressing table. The cool, smooth surface of the pearls was in stark contrast to the heat in her cheeks. That Elias had noticed them—had specifically requested she wear them—was enough to make her pulse quicken, though she knew better than to allow herself to indulge in such thoughts. She caught sight of her flushed reflection in the mirror, the pinkness of her cheeks standing out like a confession, and shook her head at her own foolishness.

"You're being ridiculous," she muttered firmly to her reflection, as if it could offer some wisdom. "He's simply concerned with proper appearances. Nothing more."

Still, her mind replayed the memory of his rough voice when he'd mentioned the combs earlier, the way his gaze had lingered on her, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake, before he'd turned and strode away with that characteristic, impassive confidence. She couldn't shake the memory of the heated almost-kiss in the carriage, the way her pulse had stuttered at the closeness of him,at the tension between them that had been almost too much to bear.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Your Grace?" came Sarah's voice, muffled through the thick wood. "Some additional items have arrived from Madame Delacour for this evening."

"More?" Lydia's voice held a note of surprise. Surely the midnight silk gown was enough. What else could possibly be necessary? But when Sarah laid out the contents with a flourish, Lydia caught her breath. The stockings were crafted from the finest silk, translucent and soft to the touch, the evening gloves a perfect match for the gown, and the fan—a masterpiece, adorned with tiny crystal beads that would surely catch the light just so—left Lydia speechless.

"His Grace was most specific about the accessories, ma'am," Sarah said with a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "He sent a messenger to Madame Delacour with quite detailed instructions."

Lydia felt a blush creep into her cheeks once more, but before she could respond, there came another knock. A footman entered, bearing a message from Elias. His formal handwriting seemed to mock the unspoken tension between them.

"His Grace suggests a brief turn in the park before we return to prepare for the ball. The park is particularly pleasant at this timeof day, should you wish to take some air before the evening's festivities."

Lydia bit back a smile at the carefully phrased words, so calculated in their formality. This was the same man who, mere hours ago, had nearly kissed her in a moving carriage, and who had apparently spent the interim sending messengers all over London with instructions about pearl combs and crystal-beaded fans.

"Sarah," she said with an attempt at nonchalance, though her voice wavered slightly, "perhaps the blue walking dress?"

It took only an hour before Lydia found herself descending the grand staircase of the townhouse. Elias was waiting at the entrance, a quiet figure in the shadowed hall. When he turned to face her, his eyes darkened, lingering on the soft blue silk of her gown and the way she had arranged her hair, with an effort to appear casually elegant.

"Shall we?" she asked, her voice soft, when he failed to speak immediately.

The streets of London were bustling as they emerged from the townhouse, the vibrant hum of the city alive around them. Carriages clattered past, their wheels striking the cobblestones in a rhythmic echo, while elegantly dressed ladies strolled along the sidewalk, their parasols twirling against the clear summer sky.

"The park is lovely at this time of day," Lydia said with casual lightness, though she kept a close watch on Elias from the corner of her eye. She noticed the way the sunlight caught the silver threading through his dark hair, the way his stern profile softened imperceptibly as his gaze flicked toward her.

"Which is why I suggested we might make a brief turn," he said, though she caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth, as if he was amused by her attempt at keeping things light. "Though I warn you, if we encounter any pirates or dragons..."

"On your honor as a duke, I promise only proper, dignified entertainment," Lydia teased, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. The warmth of his body through the fine fabric of his coat made her pulse quicken, and her fingers tightened slightly around his arm. "Though I did hear my sisters might be in town."

"Ah." Elias's expression darkened almost imperceptibly as they entered the park, the weight of his words hanging between them. "Your family."

As they strolled further into the park, several heads turned in their direction, whispers following in their wake. The Beast of Fyre rarely appeared in public, and never in something as frivolous as an afternoon stroll. Lydia could feel the tension beside her, the way Elias's muscles stiffened at the attention. He was a man used to remaining in the shadows, not under the public gaze.

"Relax," Lydia murmured, her voice soft but steady. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "No one expects you to actually enjoy yourself. Your reputation for proper dignity is quite safe."

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