Page 58 of Duke of Fyre

When she looked up at Elias's face, it changed before her eyes, twisting into something monstrous. His familiar features melted and reformed, becoming something ancient and terrible. The strong jaw she had admired became sharp, predatory. His aristocratic nose elongated, becoming almost beak-like. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. His grip on her arm was too tight, burning cold through her gloves, and his eyes, once warm and human, now glowed with an unholy light.

They spun faster and faster, the ballroom blurring around them, and she could feel something dark and ancient stirring in the shadows. Something that had been waiting, watching, all this time. The music grew louder, discordant, filled with voices that weren't human. The other dancers she glimpsed through their dizzying turns were mere shadows, their faces blank and featureless.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" dream-Elias asked, his voice a harsh whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "To know what lies beneath the mask?"

Lydia woke with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. Sweat had dampened her nightgown, making it cling uncomfortably to her skin. "Just a dream," she whispered to herself, but the words sounded hollow in the darkness of her chamber. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to shake off the lingering unease of the nightmare.

Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky when Lydia finally drifted back to sleep, her dreams still uneasy, but no longer nightmarish. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, sheknew. She would have to face Elias across the breakfast table, would have to maintain the facade of their perfect arrangement in front of the servants and little Peter. But for now, she let herself sink into unconsciousness, trying not to think about what the new day might hold, or why her nightmare had seemed so much more than just a dream.

As she slipped into sleep, one last thought drifted through her mind: in all the novels she had read about love, no one had ever mentioned how much it felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing that one step forward could lead to either flight or falling.

CHAPTER 23

The morning sun streamed through the library windows, casting warm patterns across the polished wood tables where Lydia arranged her London purchases. She adjusted each item carefully, wanting everything to be perfect for Peter. A stack of books here, the box of artist's materials there, each positioned to catch the light just so. It was a small ritual—this careful, deliberate arrangement of gifts—one that grounded her in a familiar comfort, as though the simple act of giving could bridge the distance she sometimes felt in her own life.

As she set a final package aside, she found herself smiling. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind—London had been so full of people and places, of music and chatter, of bright gowns and eager faces—but all of it seemed to fade in comparison to the quiet peace of her manor and the joy of returning to those who truly mattered.

"Your Grace?" Miss Nancy appeared in the doorway, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "Master Peter has not only completedhis Latin exercises but done them exceptionally well. He's been quite determined since your return."

"Has he indeed?" Lydia beamed, adding a final touch to her display. "Well then, we must certainly reward such scholarly dedication. Though really, Miss Nancy, surely we can dispense with 'Your Grace' when it's just us?"

The governess's stern features softened. "Perhaps... Lydia. Though His Grace…"

"Is learning to be more flexible about such things," Lydia finished firmly, straightening the little pile of books in front of her. "Aren't you, Mug?"

The little dog, who had been industriously attempting to unwrap one of Peter's packages with his nose, barked enthusiastically. His tail knocked against a carefully arranged box, threatening to topple the entire display.

"Oh, you impossible creature," Lydia laughed, rescuing the packages just in time. "These aren't for you, you know. Though..." She pulled a small paper-wrapped bundle from her pocket. "I might have brought you something from that lovely shop in London."

Mug's eyes lit up at the sight of the beautifully carved wooden ball, perfectly sized for his mouth. He accepted it with grave dignity before immediately rolling onto his back to show off his belly.

"Shameless," Lydia said fondly, watching as Mug wriggled around in delight, too caught up in the excitement of his new toy to mind the overturned boxes. Just as she was about to scoop up the mess, the soft patter of running feet echoed down the hallway.

Peter burst into the room, his golden curls wild and cravat slightly askew in his haste. He skidded to a stop just inside the door, clearly trying to remember his manners despite the excitement bubbling over.

"Welcome home, Your— I mean, Lydia!" His formal greeting dissolved into a joyful cry as he rushed forward, launching himself into her arms. "You're back! Did you really go to a ball? Was it magnificent? Did Father dance? Did you see any pirates in London? Did you bring me—" He stopped himself, cheeks pink. "Not that you had to bring anything, I just..."

Lydia laughed, hugging him tightly, her heart swelling at his enthusiasm. "Breathe, darling," she said softly, holding him close for a long moment. "One question at a time. Though perhaps..." She gestured toward the table. "These might answer some of them?"

Peter's eyes widened at the sight of the carefully arranged packages, his gaze darting from one to the other. "Are those... for me?"

"Well, they're certainly not for Mug," Lydia teased, nudging the little dog aside as he attempted to gnaw on another gift. "He has quite enough treasures buried in the rose garden already.Though speaking of gardens..." She pulled a small packet of seeds from her pocket, holding it out. "I thought these might make a lovely addition to your herb collection."

Peter took the packet gingerly, his fingers tracing the delicate script on the front. "Lavender," he read softly. "Like your perfume!"

"Clever boy," Lydia smiled. "Yes, and it has wonderful medicinal properties too. But that's just the beginning. Go on, open the rest!"

With great care, Peter began unwrapping the first large package. His gasp of delight as he revealed a leather-bound book of adventure stories made Lydia's heart swell.

"Tales of High Adventure on the Seven Seas," he breathed, running his fingers over the gilded lettering. "Oh, Lydia! It's perfect!" He flipped through the pages eagerly, his eyes lighting up at the beautiful illustrations of ships and distant shores. "Look at these ships! They're just like the ones we imagined for our stories!"

"I thought they might inspire some new adventures," Lydia smiled, watching him closely. She knew how much he loved pirates and faraway lands. "Though there's more..."

But Peter was already reaching for the next package, his hands trembling with excitement. When he revealed the set of artist's materials—fine drawing pencils, a box of colored crayons, anda sketchbook with creamy white pages—his face lit up in a way that made Lydia's heart skip a beat.

"These are... these are real artists' materials!" He held the crayons like they were precious gems. "Like proper artists use! I've never... that is..." He swallowed hard, overcome with emotion. "Thank you," he whispered.

Lydia felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she watched him. She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are a proper artist, Peter. And every proper artist needs the right tools."

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