Page 8 of Duke of Fyre

Just then, her father's voice boomed across the room. "I say, did you hear about the baker who went broke? He ran out of dough!"

A collective groan rippled through the parlor. Lydia couldn't help but giggle at the sheer awfulness of the joke, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. As her laughter subsided, she glanced up, only to find the Duke watching her with an odd expression. His brow was furrowed, but there was something in his eyes – a flicker of... curiosity? – that made Lydia's heart skip a nervous beat.

She quickly turned back to her duties, lifting the next cup with hands that trembled only slightly. As she poured, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing. The movement startled her, and a few drops of tea splashed onto the saucer.

"Oh!" Lydia exclaimed, mortified. She quickly reached for a napkin to dab at the spill.

"Clumsy girl," she heard her mother mutter under her breath.

Lydia's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She chanced a glance at the Duke, certain she would find disapproval etched on his stern features. To her surprise, he was watching her with that same intensity she had noticed earlier. She could not quite make out what it was she noticed in his gaze, but she was certain that it was not disapproval.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. Then the Duke blinked, and the connection was broken.

Lydia released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She straightened her shoulders and continued her task.

Later, as they moved to the dining room for dinner, Lydia felt her anxiety mounting. She was overly aware of every movement, every word spoken, terrified of making another misstep. The Duke's presence seemed to fill the room, casting a pall of tension.

"So, Your Grace," Lydia's father ventured as the first course was served. "I understand you have extensive holdings in the north. How do you find the climate there compared to London?"

The Duke's response was curt. "Colder. Wetter. But infinitely more tolerable than the cloying atmosphere of town."

An awkward silence fell over the table. Lydia, desperate to salvage the conversation, spoke up. "I've always thought the north sounded terribly romantic. All those windswept moors and ancient castles. It must be quite beautiful in its own way."

The Duke's eyes flicked to her, his gaze intense. Lydia felt her cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny, but she held his gaze, refusing to be cowed. "Beauty, Lady Lydia," he said, his voice low and rich, "is often a mask for danger. The moors you find so romantic have swallowed many an unwary traveler."

Lydia felt a chill run down her spine at his words. Was it a warning? A threat? Or perhaps... a challenge? She couldn't be sure, but she found herself unable to look away from those piercing blue eyes for the remainder of the meal.

As the last plates were cleared away, Lydia's mother spoke up, her voice overly bright. "Perhaps we should retire to the drawing room for coffee? Lydia, my dear, why don't you show His Grace the way?"

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Lydia rose, forcing a smile. "Of course. Your Grace, if you'll follow me?"

As they made their way down the hallway, Lydia was acutely aware of the Duke's presence behind her. His footsteps were nearly silent on the plush carpet, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could sense his gaze on her back. It took all her willpower not to turn and look at him, to try and decipher the mystery that was Elias Blacknight.

Just as they reached the drawing room door, the Duke spoke, his voice low and intense. "Lady Lydia," he said, causing her to turn and face him. "Before we proceed any further, there is something you must know."

Lydia's heart leapt into her throat. Was he about to call off the engagement? Had her behavior, or Mug's, offended him so greatly? She looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. From this distance, she could see flecks of silver in those midnight blue eyes, could detect the faint scent of sandalwood and leather that clung to him.

"Yes, Your Grace?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Duke's face was impassive as he continued, but Lydia thought she detected a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I have a son. He is ten years old, and he is the sole reason I am seeking a wife. I require a mother for my child, nothing more. If you find this arrangement unsatisfactory, now is the time to speak up."

Lydia felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Of all the things she had expected him to say, this was not it. A son? A child who needed a mother? She searched the Duke's face, tryingto understand the emotions that flickered behind his carefully controlled expression.

"I... I see," she said, struggling to gather her thoughts. "May I ask what happened to the boy's mother?"

A shadow passed over the Duke's face, and for a moment, Lydia saw a glimpse of the pain he usually kept so well hidden. "She is gone," he said, his voice rough with some unnamed emotion. "That is all you need to know."

Lydia nodded, her mind whirling. A motherless child, a cold and distant father... her heart ached for the boy she had never met. And yet, a small part of her couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Surely, if she could be a good mother to the Duke's son, he would come to appreciate her. Perhaps even...

No, she told herself firmly. She couldn't allow herself to entertain such foolish fantasies. This was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. And yet, as she looked up at the Duke, she couldn't help but wonder if there might be more to this enigmatic man than met the eye.

"I understand, Your Grace," she said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "And I accept. I have helped raise my younger sisters, so I have some experience with children. I would be honored to be a mother to your son."

For a second, the Duke's brows lifted and a begrudging look of respect flickered across his features, but it was gone as quickly asit had appeared. For a moment, Lydia thought she saw his gaze drop to her lips, but surely that was just her imagination.

"Very well," he said, his tone clipped but somehow softer than before. "I shall have my solicitor draw up the marriage contract. We will wed in a fortnight's time."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode towards the front door, leaving Lydia staring after him in shock. She hurried to follow, her mind still reeling from their conversation.

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