Page 26 of Bound By the Duke
“Celia,” Maxwell mumbled, barely audible. “At first, it was a scandal that caused quite a stir in the ton. But they’re happy now. Stupidly happy. In love, even.”
Percival scoffed. “That will not be the case for me and Lady Aurelia.”
But even as he said it, a certain memory flashed through his mind. The last time he had seen her. The doorframe. Her scent. The way she had looked up at him with bright brown eyes while trying her best to keep her blush under control.
He gritted his teeth. He had to shove down that thought deep, beneath all the other things he never allowed himself to feel.
Meanwhile, Maxwell eyed him narrowly. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend nothing gets under your skin.”
Percival paused, set down his drink, and turned to face his friend. “Because nothing does.” He raised an eyebrow.
Maxwell shot him the look that told him to keep up the pretense. Before he could speak again, a soft, hesitant knock sounded at the door, and a small figure appeared.
“Papa?”
Percival straightened at the sound of that voice. “Lottie?”
His blue eyes flicked to the girl as she entered the room. Her deep brown hair fell in loose, silken waves to her shoulders. Her cheeks were a little pink, not from exertion, but from nerves.
“Papa,” she repeated as she came to a halt. She was clutching something flat to her chest, wrapped in yellow cloth.
“There’s my favorite daughter.” Maxwell’s eyes lit up.
The little girl gave a small, shy smile. Her eyes flicked back to her father, and for a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she should stay.
She looked down at her boots. “I… I wanted to show you something, Papa.”
Percival’s blue eyes landed on the cloth bundle she extended toward him. He didn’t move at first or say anything.
He wasn’t used to her seeking him out or initiating something. Even now, it didn’t seem to come naturally. She didn’t look directly at him, her eyes fixed somewhere near his shoulder.
Quietly, he stepped forward, took the bundle carefully, and unwrapped it. It was a small painting of a garden scene, with roses and a little tabby cat resting beneath a mystical shrubbery.
Percival blinked.
“I—I copied the one in the morning room,” Lottie said quickly. “But I changed the colors. I wanted it to be… happier.”
Percival traced a finger along the edge. The brushstrokes were careful and purposeful, enough to show that she had spent time on the artwork.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” she added. “But… I thought maybe you could put it on your desk. Or somewhere.”
Percival cleared his throat. He was never good with words when it mattered.
“I see you’ve improved your strokes,” he said.
Lottie blinked. She looked up, her eyes searching her father’s face for something more. A smile? A pat on the head? Or even a nod of approval?
But that was all he offered. That she had improved her strokes.
Sensing the tension, Maxwell leaned over to take a look at the painting. “I daresay you’ve done a better job than most painters in the Royal Academy, Lottie. Truly.”
The girl smiled, but there was still a trace of disappointment on her face. Then, without thinking twice, she innocently asked, “Is it true that you’re getting married?”
Percival paused, his brows rising slightly. Although his expression didn’t show it, he was surprised that she was askingthat. It was enough to let him know that she had lingered by the door before she had knocked.
