She Kissed Him In Front Of Everyone To Save Him — Not Knowing That She Had Just Saved The Richest Duke
Chapter 14
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Lydia’s breath hitched. She had spent a month marveling at the sheer, terrifying scale of his wealth. She hadn’t considered the sheer, terrifying scale of his responsibility: hundreds of lives, thousands of livelihoods, all balanced on the stroke of his pen in a quiet room at midnight."Drink," she ordered quietly.He picked up the glass. He didn’t break eye contact as he drank, the firelight catching the sharp line of his throat as he swallowed. He set the empty glass down."You are not wearing your armor," he noted.Lydia looked down at herself. She was wearing a simple dark green day dress. No diamonds, no corset tight enough to crack ribs—just cotton and wool. "There is no one here to shoot at me," she said."I am here.""You are the one who bought the shield," Lydia countered, crossing her arms. "It seems counterproductive to shoot at it."Alistair let out a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. He stood up. He bypassed the desk, closing the distance between them until they were standing in the center of the Persian rug. The heat radiating off his body was palpable in the chilly, drafty room."I didn’t buy a shield, Lydia." His voice was low, devoid of the cynical bite he wore in public. "I bought a partner.""A business transaction," she reminded him. The words felt thin, even to her own ears.Alistair reached out. He didn’t touch her face. He took hold of her wrists, gently uncrossing her arms. His large fingers wrapped completely around the delicate bones, his thumb resting over her frantic pulse."Is it?" he asked.He stepped closer. The scent of rain, cedarwood, and ink enveloped her. Lydia looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird."My sister is secure," she whispered, a desperate attempt to cling to the facts. "I am secure. You have your untouchable Duchess. The transaction is complete.""The transaction," Alistair murmured, dipping his head until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from her ear, "did not account for the fact that I cannot stop thinking about the taste of your mouth."Lydia gasped, a sharp intake of air that drew the scent of him deep into her lungs. His lips brushed the shell of her ear—a barely-there contact that sent a jolt of lightning straight down her spine. He didn’t press further. He released her wrists, stepped back, and picked up his glass."Good night, Lydia," he said quietly, his eyes dark and heavy.Lydia fled the library. She ran up the grand staircase, her lungs burning, realizing with absolute, terrifying clarity that the most dangerous thing in her life was not the society she had escaped; it was the man she had married.The isolation of Derbyshire could not last forever. In late October, Alistair was required to host a small hunting party to secure a political alliance in the House of Lords.Ashborne was suddenly flooded with 20 guests. The quiet was shattered by the baying of hounds, the crack of fowling pieces, and the endless, exhausting chatter of the aristocracy. Lydia strapped her armor back on. She wore the diamonds. She wore the cold, imperious mask of the Duchess.