She Kissed Him In Front Of Everyone To Save Him — Not Knowing That She Had Just Saved The Richest Duke
Chapter 15
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But the enemy had infiltrated the walls.Lord Ashford was a man who looked like an overripe plum: purplish, soft, and carrying a faint stench of rot. He was a political rival of Alistair’s, a man who had long resented the Westmorland monopoly on northern coal. He was also a man with a long memory.On the third afternoon, the men returned early from the damp moors. Lydia was in the conservatory, a massive glass structure filled with exotic, humid ferns, attempting to find ten minutes of silence. The heavy glass door opened. Ashford stepped in, his boots tracking mud onto the pristine tiles."Your Grace," he said, his smile resembling an open wound.Lydia did not turn around immediately. She carefully snipped a dead leaf off a fern with a pair of silver shears. "Lord Ashford. I trust the hunt was successful?""Passable," he said, stepping closer. The smell of wet wool and stale brandy hit her. "Though I find the true sport is usually found indoors."Lydia turned. She kept her face perfectly blank. "If you are looking for the billiards room, you have taken a wrong turn.""I am exactly where I intend to be." Ashford looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the heavy silk of her gown. "It truly is a remarkable transformation, from a penniless spinster in Bloomsbury to the mistress of Ashborne. Does the guilt ever keep you awake?"Lydia’s grip tightened on the silver shears. "I have no idea what you mean.""Oh, come now." Ashford took another step, invading her personal space. "We both know why Westmorland married you. You were a convenient scandal, a way to shut the doors on the marriage mart. But a man like Alistair Montgomery does not keep a stray dog on the velvet cushions forever. Eventually, he will want a true-bred hound. Someone with bloodlines. Not a woman whose brother drank himself into an early grave after cheating at cards."The world stopped. The air in the conservatory suddenly felt too thin to breathe. The mention of her brother—the wound that had never truly healed—was a jagged knife twisted directly into her ribs.The polite, cynical facade Lydia had worn for months cracked straight down the middle. She didn’t cry. She didn’t flinch. A cold, absolute fury settled in her bones, heavy and terrifying.Lydia took one step forward, closing the distance until she was inches from Ashford’s chest. The older man blinked, surprised by her advance."My brother," Lydia said, her voice dropping into a register so cold it could freeze boiling water, "was a naive boy who was preyed upon by vultures who needed to pay their tailoring bills. Vultures very much like you, Ashford."Ashford’s face darkened. "You dare—""I dare whatever I please!" Lydia cut in, her voice slicing through the humid air like a razor. "I am the Duchess of Westmorland. You are a guest in my home—a guest whose estates in Yorkshire are currently heavily mortgaged, if the rumors regarding your gambling debts are to be believed."