Page 89 of Bound to the Heartless Duke
Her eyes narrowed. “So long that you missed breakfast… and lunch?” She folded her arms. “Because it was quite clear you wanted to avoid me in the morning.”
“I didn’t eat,” he admitted simply. “There wasn’t time.”
“Then you must be starving.”
He nodded once. “I suppose I am.”
A beat passed. Then, she took a few steps forward, before crossing the room.
“Well,” she said in a casual tone, “as your wife, it is my solemn duty to ensure you do not waste away.”
He studied her, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “You mean to feed me yourself?”
“I do,” she said, tilting her chin up. “We shall dine in the west dining room. I had the fire lit there earlier. I hear it’s very romantic.”
Magnus stared at her for a moment, before muttering under his breath, “Romantic.”
“You have something against romance, Your Grace?” Lily cocked her head.
His eyes softened briefly. “Only when it is used as a weapon.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Then prepare for battle.”
And then she brushed past him, chuckling to herself.
The dinner she had prepared sat right in front of them. Not in the grand dining hall, but rather in the small, intimate west dining room, where the fire crackled and the storm outside could be heard.
Across the table, Lily made conversation. She had asked about his business, the staff, and every other thing she had learned earlier today. And all the while, she would lean just a little forward, with her tone a little breathless, and her smile a little knowing.
Magnus recognized every attempt. And successfully blocked each one like a knight blocking arrows.
Even when she reached for the bottle of claret, he would fill her glass before she could ask. Even when she attempted to lean toward him, he gently moved his chair to create more space. Even when she smiled sweetly and let her fingertips brush his sleeve when he passed the salt, he would politely move his hand away.
By the end of the meal, her patience was in shreds.
“You’re impossible,” she huffed, setting her fork down with an irritated clink.
Magnus glanced up, his expression neutral. “Am I?”
“You know precisely what I’m doing.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
“And you’re choosing to… what? Play the monk?”
He let out a slow breath and reached for his wine. “This again.”
She stood up abruptly, pushing back her chair, and crossed to him with slow steps. “Why are you so cold?”
“I’m not cold,” he said calmly. “I’m resolved.”
“To what? To punish yourself?”
His gaze snapped to hers, sudden and sharp. She’d hit a nerve. It was obvious.
But Magnus, being Magnus, managed to compose himself. “You think this is punishment?” he asked, his voice low.
Lily paced before the fire, her arms crossed over her chest. “You won’t touch me. You won’t speak to me unless absolutely necessary. You say I’m your wife, and yet every time I try to act like one, you freeze like I’ve set fire to your skin.”
