The silence was heavy. The Duke stood at the garden entrance, his face masked as he took in the scene before him. Eleanor, breathless standing inches away from James Harrow. His sharp gray eyes moved between them, taking in every detail, every unspoken truth.
James moved beside her, his jaw and hands tight, his entire body burning up with anger. "Your Grace," he said, with so much venom.
The Duke looked at him with a cool, almost amused gaze. "Lord Harrow," he responded smoothly. "It is late for a visit, is it not?"
Eleanor held her breath. This was a play of power, one where words were weapons, and she was caught in the middle.
James squared his shoulders. "Some matters cannot wait till morning."
The Duke let out a soft hum, moving closer into the garden. His presence was commanding, effortlessly engulfing everything around him. He was not an easy man to intimidate, he did not raise his voice, or resort to anger. Instead, he was in control with an unsettling calmness.
His eyes turned to Eleanor. "My lady," he murmured, reaching out. "Come."
A command. Not a request.
Eleanor hesitated. The weight of James's stare burning into her, urging her to resist, to stay. But the Duke's authority was finale, the silence between them was unbearable.
Finally, she stepped forward, placing her hand in the Duke's. His fingers curled around hers, firm but not cruel. He turned back to James. "A word of advice, Lord Harrow," he said, his voice polite but sharp as a blade. "Engaged women do not entertain old lovers in the middle of the night."
James's eyes darkened, and Eleanor felt his barely contained anger . "And what about women who are forced into engagements they do not want?" James shot back.
The Duke just smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "I would expect such a woman would be wise enough to understand the reality of her situation."
Eleanor's heart pounded uncontrollably.
James tightened his fists, his body vibrating with anger. "You cannot force her to love you," he said through clenched teeth.
The Duke tilted his head slightly, looking at James with something that almost resembled pity. "Love?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Lord Harrow, love is not the foundation of great marriages. *Power* is. And I assure you, Lady Eleanor understands that very well."
Eleanor felt a painful twist in her stomach. The words hurt, not because they were false, but because they were a cruel reminder of the world she lives in.
The Duke turned to her, his expression softening just a bit. "Shall we return, my dear?"
James took a step forward. "Eleanor, you don't have to do this," he said painfully.
She hesitated for just a second too long.
The Duke tightened his grip not painfully, but possessively. A silent warning.
"I" Eleanor said with a shaky voice. She looked at James, his blue eyes pleading, filled with a desperate kind of love.
Then she looked at the Duke, controlled, calculating, a man who had the power to ruin everything if she chose wrong.
She made her decision, and it felt so heavy, almost unbearable.
She turned away from James. "Good night, Lord Harrow," she whispered, forcing herself to walk back toward the estate with the Duke.
James exhaled sharply behind her, but she did not look back.
She just couldn't.
---
The moment they stepped into the dimly lit corridor of the Whitmore estate, the Duke released her hand and turned to face her fully. His expression was unreadable, his gaze intense.
"Did you think I would not see?" His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words pressed against her like a steel cage.
Eleanor swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she clutched her skirts. "I do not know what you mean."
A slow smirk curved his lips. "You are a terrible liar."
She inhaled sharply as he took a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small space between them.
"Tell me, Eleanor…" he murmured, reaching up to trace his fingers along the delicate curve of her jaw. "Did you truly intend to run away with him?"
Her breath hitched. His touch was unexpectedly light, almost teasing, but with an underlying dominance that sent shivers down her spine.
"I, I do not know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Duke chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "A dangerous answer."
His fingers slid gently down the side of her neck, warm and deliberate, until they hovered just above the neckline of her gown. It wasn't inappropriate, not quite but it was far too familiar. Intimate in a way that made her breath catch.
He didn't press further. He didn't need to.
The silence between them stretched, thick with everything left unsaid. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her, her heartbeat thudding in her chest, loud enough she was sure he could hear it.
It wasn't just the touch that unsettled her, it was how much she felt it. How much a part of her didn't want to pull away.
"I will not tolerate a scandal," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "If you are to be my wife, I expect loyalty."
Eleanor forced herself to meet his gaze. "And if I cannot give you love?"
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes something unreadable. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
His lips curved into an almost amused smile. "Then I suppose I shall have to make you *want* me instead."
Eleanor's breath caught.
He leaned in, so close that she could feel the heat of him, the way his breath teased her skin. He did not kiss her no, that would have been too easy. Instead, he let the tension stretch between them, let her feel the weight of his presence, the way his voice wrapped around her like a silken trap.
"You may pine for your past, Eleanor," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "but you will soon realize that *I* am your future."
With that, he pulled away, leaving her breathless, shaken, and utterly confused.
As he strode down the corridor, his words lingered in the air like a promise.
Or perhaps a warning.