Aurelia’s chest tightened. She, too, had once believed those rumors. That he was a beast, a shadow who became a duke, with scars too gruesome for daylight. That he was as cold as stone, unfeeling, unloving.
How foolish she had been.
The months she had spent at Whitmore Estate had proved differently. He was not cruel, nor monstrous. He was merely… wounded. A man stitched together with restraint and shadows. A man who guarded his heart so fiercely that few dared to look beyond the armor.
She looked at her husband, but his face betrayed nothing. He seemed accustomed to Madame Lisette’s fear. He stepped forward, carrying himself with that usual command that was so quiet yet filled the entire room.
Dread coiled in Aurelia’s gut. She was not pleased. He did not deserve the whispers, the stares, the tremors he inspired simply by existing.
She faced the modiste, tilting her chin up. “I would prefer a much more welcoming atmosphere.” She smiled softly, but a hint of protectiveness had crept into her tone.
Percival’s gaze flicked to her as she stared at the modiste so intently. Until Madame Lisette cleared her throat.
“Your Grace,” she spoke, her French accent smooth. “Tell me, what kind of gown would you like?”
Aurelia pressed her lips together, thinking of something that was not already in her colorful wardrobe.
“Something dark.” Her mouth curved.
“Dark?” Madame Lisette blinked slowly, clearly surprised. “Most ladies prefer ivory, jewel tones, or pastels for such an occasion.”
“Yes.” Aurelia nodded in agreement, then lifted her chin. “But I want black. Elegant and simple. A gown that will speak without words.” Her gaze slid, almost unconsciously, to Percival. “Something that matches… the duke.”
Madame Lisette’s brows rose, but a small smile tugged at her lips as if she understood more than Aurelia had intended to reveal.
“As you wish, Your Grace. Black it shall be. Strong lines. Clean elegance. A touch of daring, yes?”
Aurelia laughed softly. “Yes, exactly that.”
“Then you will leave all to me.”
With a graceful nod, the modiste clapped her hands. Two assistants came forward instantly. They gathered silks as smooth as midnight water, the finest laces, and a corset designed to sculpt the body into art.
As Aurelia allowed herself to be led into the fitting cabin, she caught Percival’s gaze one last time. Just like she had sensed, his eyes followed her, sharp and unblinking.
Before she disappeared inside, she didn’t miss the way they darkened, as though he could already imagine her in black silk and could not decide whether the thought thrilled or tormented him.
After what felt like an eternity, Aurelia finally stepped out of the fitting cabin. This time, the air seemed to freeze, her appearance monopolizing the room’s attention.
The gown hung over her like liquid night, black silk that caught the light with a soft glow. It hugged her figure in a way that made her curves both graceful and sensual. Her pale skin glowed against the dark fabric, her hair flowing like water down her back.
For a moment, Aurelia stood there, smoothing the fabric over her hips. But when she looked up, her movements halted.
Percival was staring. He had already half-risen from his chair, one hand braced against it as if he had forgotten himself. His blue eyes were locked on hers, glimmering with something raw and hot.
It wasn’t just admiration. It washunger.
Silence stretched between them.
Aurelia wasn’t sure what to do. She had never seen him look so mesmerized. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, not when his eyes slid over her every curve.
Her cheeks flushed when his gaze lingered on her neckline, before trailing down to her waist and then lower.
Her breath caught. The air between them thrummed with unspoken desire. She swayed slightly under his stare, fighting hard for composure.
“Do you… approve?” she asked softly, her voice almost trembling.
Percival’s jaw flexed, his throat working as though speaking had suddenly become too difficult.
