Page 88 of Bound to the Heartless Duke
Every corner brought a question to her inquisitive mind. Although she had visited before as Cecilia’s friend, she had never ventured this deep into the manor.
At one point, she had suggested repainting the drawing room.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mrs. Gunther said, her tone firm but polite. “His Grace will not like it.”
Lily said nothing. But the idea rooted in her mind like a stubborn seed.
Let him dislike it, she had quietly told herself. Let him see that she wasn’t going to tiptoe her way through this marriage.
She would make herself familiar with his home, and she would certainly leave her mark. Even if he tried to leave no room for her. Even if he pretended not to care.
She would make him realize that she wasn’t easy to shut out.
When the sun dipped low in the sky, Lily retreated to her room, heavily exhausted. Her pink slippers were covered with dust from the walk outside, and at that moment, her brain filled with nothing but ledgers and names and menus.
But for the first time since she’d arrived at Blackmore Manor, she didn’t feel like a guest.
She felt like a duchess. Like someone meant to be there.
And despite the sting of Magnus’s absence, despite his rejection the night before, a smile touched her lips.
Let him feign indifference. She would be patient, but certainly not idle.
She would tempt him. She would make him burn. She would make him need her again.
When evening fell over the manor, and after she had taken a warm bath, she changed into a lavender gown that hugged her figure most adorably.
With a book resting idly on her lap—though the words blurred before her eyes—she sat in the receiving room wondering when her husband would come back home. Especially with the continuous rain, she couldn’t help but worry.
And then, suddenly, she heard distant footfalls. Immediately, she looked up, like a puppy hoping its master had returned from a long day away from home.
A knock sounded at her door, and her breath caught.
“Come in,” she said, her voice tight.
She knew it was not one of the servants. There was a certain way her husband walked and sounded. His stride was purposeful and rhythmic as though he marched. It seemed even if he had left the battlefield, his training hadn’t left him.
The door opened, and there he stood.
Magnus.
His dark hair was damp from rain, his green coat buttoned halfway, revealing the waistcoat beneath.
She stood up at the sight of him, noticing the weariness in his posture, but then…
His eyes. The moment they met hers, they flickered with exhaustion.
They held their stare for a moment before she broke the silence. “I was not expecting you.”
He stepped in, shutting the door behind him. “You’re my wife. I would be remiss if I did not check on you.”
She let out a faint chuckle that lacked humor.
Great of him to say, especially after treating her the way he had the previous night.
“Check on me,” she repeated dryly. “How very husbandly of you.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I was delayed. Business in the city ran long.”
