Muffled sounds leaked through the heavy doors.
Loud, breathless moans rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, broken by the creaking of the bed and the rustling of the sheets.
The chamber beyond was alive with heat and indulgence, its walls doing little to contain the intensity within.
Outside, Count Ward stood in the corridor, his back leaning against the wall. He kept his head lowered, his face covered in shadows. He pretended not to hear anything even as the sounds pressed insistently against the silence.
He was no pervert. He had simply been instructed to remain within the manor for the duration of the act, ensuring that no one came looking for the Prince. And if anyone did, it was his responsibility to divert their attention elsewhere.
After all, this was nothing new. He had spent decades doing precisely this, safeguarding Marlow's privacy while the Prince indulged with countless women.
But this time, it was different.
