Page 25 of A Heart Disguised 1

“Very well,” he conceded with a nod, though his eyes sparkled with something that looked suspiciously like mischief. “I will speak with the couturier about your entire wardrobe. You shall have all you require—from the finest silk gowns to the sturdiest riding breeches.”

A flicker of relief coursed through me at the thought of donning trousers again, even if they were to be worn under the guise of riding attire. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps I could even convince him I needed them for… vigorous needlepoint sessions?

My brief moment of triumph was shattered as the duke rose from his seat with the fluid grace of a predator. I watched, frozen, as he prowled toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart, already working overtime, decided to audition for the position of war drummer in an army of panicked pixies.

He slid into the chair beside me, and I went as stiff as week-old bread. His proximity sent waves of tension rolling throughmy body, each one threatening to crack my carefully constructed facade.

“My dear,” he purred, his voice a velvet caress that made my skin prickle. His hand reached out, and I braced myself for claws or fire or whatever demonic touch he might inflict. Instead, his fingers brushed my cheek with surprising gentleness.

I held my breath, wondering if this was how a mouse felt just before the cat pounced. His face inched closer, and I silently bid farewell to my short, deception-filled life. But instead of fangs, I heard a soft chuckle.

“I must admit,” the duke murmured, his breath fanning across my face like a warm summer breeze—if summer breezes could make one’s insides quiver. “I did not expect my bride to be quite so… enchanting.”

Enchanting? Me? Had he perhaps mistaken me for one of the ornate candelabras? The very idea that this demon lord found me—a masquerading male with all the grace of a newborn foal—enchanting was so absurd, I almost laughed. Almost.

“You are rather delicate,” he continued, his voice dropping to a register that made my toes curl in my ill-fitting slippers. “I do hope you can handle me in our marital bed.”

Oh, sweet merciful heavens. If the floor could kindly open up and swallow me whole right now, that would be splendid. My knees went weak, and not in the romantic way described in Rosalind’s forbidden novels.

Before my brain could stop my treacherous mouth, I blurted out, “Is it true?”

Darius arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “What exactly do you wish to know, my curious little bride?”

I swallowed hard, my eyes betraying me as they flicked downward. “Your, um… size?” The words came out as a squeak that would have made a mouse proud.

His chuckle rumbled through the room. “Ah, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Before I could even process his words, let alone stammer out a response or perhaps fake a sudden and convenient fainting spell, Duke Darius captured my lips with his own. This was nothing like the chaste kisses I’d imagined in my naïve daydreams. No, this was a tempest, fierce and wild, and I was a leaf caught in its winds.

His lips were surprisingly soft against mine, a sensation that was quickly overshadowed as he pressed his body against me. The hard planes of his chest and the unyielding strength of his arms confirmed what I’d suspected—his body was as hard as the stone walls of his keep.

Then, to my utter bewilderment, he began to move his lips, teasing and toying with mine in a way I couldn’t have imagined possible. The gentle scrape of his fangs against my lower lip was a reminder of his otherworldly nature that both terrified and thrilled me.

Suddenly, I felt something probing at the seam of my lips. What was he doing? Was he trying to push into my mouth? In my shock and confusion, I gasped, inadvertently granting him access. His tongue slipped inside, and I found myself drowning in an entirely new sensation.

As the duke’s tongue invaded my mouth, my brain decided it had had quite enough of this nonsense and promptly shut down. His tongue, hot and insistent, explored every crevice, leaving no corner untouched. I tried to resist, my own tongue feebly attempting to push his out, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a pebble.

Duke Darius only seemed encouraged by my weak resistance, pressing deeper, his kiss becoming more demanding. I was pushed back against the seat, trapped between the soft cushions and the unyielding demon lord. The sensation wasoverwhelming—wet, hot, and utterly foreign. Our breaths mingled, but it was less a dance and more a conquest, with the duke setting a pace that left me dizzy and breathless.

My body melted against my will, responding to his touch in ways I didn’t know were possible. Was this what it felt like to be a candle, burning at both ends? No, this was more akin to being a moth, helplessly drawn to a flame that would surely consume me whole.

And consume me it did. This must be some demonic practice—a demon’s kiss. It was raw and primal, unlike anything I’d ever experienced or even imagined. The sinful intimacy of it made me certain I’d be struck down at any moment for participating in such an act. Yet like that helpless moth, I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t even think of resisting as I drowned in the heat of his mouth, lost in this forbidden dance.

The world around us faded away, and all I could focus on was the feel of his lips against mine, the careful dance of his fangs that never quite pierced skin, and the intoxicating taste that I couldn’t quite place—something wild and ancient, like lightning captured in a bottle. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and I was lost in sensations I had no name for, caught in the thrall of this demon’s kiss.

When he finally drew back, I was left gasping like a fish out of water, my lips tingling and my mind reeling. The duke regarded me with a satisfied smirk that made my insides do a complicated acrobatic routine.

“Expect this every day once we’re wed,” he said, his voice laced with dark promise.

Still dazed from the kiss that had apparently turned my bones to jelly, I barely registered his next words. “Considering it’s your first day in Lunaria,” he said, drawing me to my feet with an ease that reminded me of his inhuman strength, “it’s best you have an early night.”

With a wave of his hand, a servant materialized at my side. As I was guided away from the dining room, my mind replayed the kiss on an endless loop. One thought crystallized through the haze: I, Robin Aldercrest, was in way over my head. And the worst part? A tiny, traitorous part of me was thrilled by it all.

The room spun, a carousel of silk sheets and shadows, as I lay in bed, my fingers tracing the contours of my lips—lips that had been claimed by a demon’s kiss. The memory of Duke Darius’ mouth on mine was a relentless tide, crashing against the shores of my resolve, eroding it bit by bit.

I tossed and turned, the silken sheets doing little to soothe the strange fever that raged within me. Each rustle of fabric against my skin was a whispered reminder of the duke’s touch, sending unfamiliar shivers through my body that I couldn’t begin to understand.

Sleep finally claimed me, but it was a treacherous sanctuary, offering no reprieve. In my dreams, the duke was there, his golden eyes piercing through the fog of slumber, his face a vision of otherworldly beauty, and his lips—those sinful lips—were on mine once more, kissing me with a passion that bordered on the divine.

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