“As your temporary guardian, acting under strict orders from your family, I am responsible for ensuring you maintain proper decorum.” Godric turned to the modiste. “Make the neckline more modest.”
“Please ignore him,” Nora told the woman quickly. “He is not the one paying, and he has no authority over my wardrobe choices.”
“Actually,” Godric said, his voice taking on that infuriatingly calm tone that meant he was about to be particularly stubborn, “As a duke, and as someone acting with the full knowledge and approval of your brother, I have every authority.”
They stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. The modiste looked between them nervously, clearly uncertain whom to obey.
Finally, the woman cleared her throat delicately. “Perhaps... perhaps I could show you some other designs? Something that might satisfy both parties?”
“That will do before the best, thank you,” Godric nodded curtly.
The modiste quickly scurried away, and Nora glared at him.
“When will you stop overstepping your bounds? You keep doing needless things that have nothing to do with protecting me!” she complained, sending a glare to her friends, who wisely gave them some space.
“This is also associated with your protection. I am trying to protect your virtue!”
“That is precisely what I said! You are interfering in matters that do not concern you! What makes you think that my virtue is yours to protect? You humiliated me in front of my friends and the modiste! You had no right to interfere with my choices!” Nora whispered furiously.
“I had every right,” Godric countered, though his voice was quieter now. “That dress would have drawn the wrong sort of attention.”
“The wrong sort?” Nora laughed bitterly. “And what sort is that? The sort where men actually notice me? Where I might actually attract a husband? Is that your true goal, Your Grace? To ensure I remain unmarried and miserable?”
Something flickered across Godric's face, there and gone too quickly for her to identify. “That is not –”
“You have ruined my season,” Nora continued, the words pouring out now that she had started. “You have frightened away suitors, interfered with my social engagements, invaded my privacy, and now you are dictating what I can and cannot wear. I picked a design I liked, something that made me feel beautiful and confident, and you just... You just ruined it!”
The modiste returned then with catalogues of some other designs, placatingly urging Nora to pick another. Penelope and Jane came to her side, supportively pointing at the options theyfelt would look best on her. After a few minutes of deliberation, she had settled on a design that bore some similarities with the first one, doing her best not to remain disappointed for too long.
Once everything had been finalized, she and her friends made their way out of the modiste, and she had been too upset to notice that the duke had not followed them out.
Once their laughter had faded from the doorway and he was certain they had put quite a bit of distance between themselves and the shop, Godric turned to the modiste.
He pointed at the dress on the mannequin, the very one Nora had wanted to have made, and said,
“I want to buy that.”
A handful of different emotions flashed through the modiste’s face at his words, but a moment later, she smiled happily, obviously glad to receive another customer.
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
The woman wrapped the dress inconspicuously and handed it over to him quickly after he had paid.
The duke took his package with him and went off to find his charge, somehow managing to catch her and her friends before they had gotten too far.
It wasn’t until he had returned home that he allowed himself to think about how he would eventually give it to Nora. He would forbid her from wearing it outside her home, but somehow, he could see her wearing it to meet him.
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind before his imagination supplied all too vivid images. And suddenly, Nora was standing before him in that daring gown, the low neckline revealing the curve of her breasts, the rich blue silk clinging to her figure. Her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her green eyes bright with desire, her lips parted in invitation as she beckoned him closer.
He shifted uncomfortably, his body responding predictably to the direction of his thoughts. He imagined crossing the room to her, slowly undoing the fastenings of the dress, peeling the silk away to reveal the soft skin beneath. Imagined laying her down and worshiping every inch of her with his hands and mouth, making her writhe and beg as he had before.
Imagined burying himself inside her and claiming her completely.
The fantasy was so vivid, so consuming, that for a moment, he allowed himself to simply drown in it.
But reality came crashing back all too soon, bringing with it the cold reminder of his purpose.
He had a mission. A goal that he had been working toward for over two decades. He had sworn to his dead parents that he would see justice done, that he would destroy the life of their killer.
