Page 51 of A Virgin for the Ruthless Duke

She spoke and the other women instantly turned to her as though seeking guidance.

This young lady was comfortable being termed unladylike or even difficult simply because she wouldn’t simper and pander to the whims of the simple-minded men who made up most of the ton.

Even while he had admired her, he had known that Society would conspire to frustrate her simply because she dared to be different.

Most men of the ton thought her rigid and not feminine because of her outlandish opinions. Instead, he had noted the passion that she had in abundance and had known that the man who managed to marry her would be lucky indeed to be the focus of all that passion.

Perhaps even then, he had wanted her for himself, and that selfish aspect of his personality had reared its head the next time he met her in the ballroom, away from the eyes of her elder brother.

The reason was simple—Stephen was a dear friend of his, and while they were good friends, Richard had known that the man would not react kindly if he heard or caught him sniffing around his sister’s skirts. While the thought was foremost in his mind, it had not really stopped him. Instead, it added an edge of danger to their encounters.

He had decided to help her conquer the ton for two reasons. The first was because he was tired of them disparaging her and frustrating her when she simply wanted to secure her younger sister’s future.

So, he had set about making them realize the beauty they had grown blind to. It had just taken a tweak in the color of her dresses to change everything, and it had satisfied him to no end seeing them stare helplessly in awe of her beauty and superior wit.

He had been proud to be instrumental in her transformation, but that euphoria lasted only until she started attracting suitors, and he found himself unable to agree that any one of them would make a good husband to her… which led him to the second reason why he had wanted to transform her.

He wanted her to be his—a primitive urge that surprised him to the core. He had taken over her fashion to transform her into the version of her that he dreamed of—Selina the siren, who held the ton in thrall. And she had taken to the role like a fish to water, decimating gentlemen with just a flutter of her eyelashes.

At that moment, he realized that while he had helped her become her most authentic self, he had created a problem. Now, he had to compete for her attention with the numerous gentlemen who swarmed her like bees.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he had started those private lessons with her. So that he could spend quiet time with her. But it was dangerous, just like courting fire, because, atsome point, without his knowledge, his interest in her had slowly morphed into an awareness of her as a desirable woman, before transforming into a full-blown desire for her.

A desire that grew even hotter with every moment he spent with her, taking over his thoughts and haunting his dreams such that he woke up many nights with a stiff member, drenched in sweat.

She had become the bane of his existence, and with every encounter they had, he came close to taking her innocence and making her his in all the ways that mattered. Somehow, he knew that even then, he would not be satisfied. She had embedded herself into every inch of his being so that he was so attuned to her, so eager to keep her safe from harm, both physical and emotional.

It wasn’t simply lust. He was familiar with it, and he knew just how to slake it and get it out of his system. He should know. He had sown his wild oats quite diligently as a young man. What he felt for Selina surpassed simple lust. In fact, it edged into something he did not want to think about.

Perhaps he loved her.

The thought was scary, just as it was comforting. He could not bring her into the chaos that was his life. He did not know how to love anyone; he had never had much use of the emotion. His parents, who should have shown him love as a child, had been so preoccupied with chasing their pleasures that they had no time for him.

He knew he looked composed on the outside, but he was a mess inside, destroyed by having a dysfunctional family and having to live with their suffocating indifference. He had learned early on that the opposite of love was not always hatred but an enduring apathy towards another.

Perhaps he had grown up cynical because of his parents, because they were big hypocrites. Two people who had convinced the whole world that they were in love but they could barely look each other in the eye.

Instead, they brought their lovers home in a cold competition to see who was hurt more and faster. It was a sick game that had affected him so much. He hated them because they made him live like an orphan, even though they were both alive.

They couldn’t care less whether he was dead or alive, preoccupied as they were with their cold war and debauchery.

When he had come of age, he left home without a backward glance, content to leave the toxic atmosphere that pervaded their home. He had not returned until he had received a missive informing him of his father’s death. Apparently, he had been found dead in his mistress’s bed. He had probably died from an apoplexy caused by too much excitement.

While he should have felt grief at the news, Richard had felt numb, unable to summon even an iota of pity for the man. The previous Duke had only been a father to him in name. He had brought him into this world and made him heir to the dukedom, but apart from that, he had done nothing else for him.

So, Richard had returned home and did his duty. He buried his father and took over the dukedom. He had summoned his father’s lawyers and associates, and while going through his father’s will and documents, a small part of him had wished to see a note—anything addressed to him, anything at all to show that the former Duke had at least cared about his only son and heir.

It was not to be.

There was only his father’s will, which mentioned him and gave instructions on how he wanted him to run the estate. That was the proverbial nail in the coffin. Richard had decided to forget his father and move on. That was why he had renovated the study, removing all traces of the former Duke, including the large portrait that hung over the fireplace, which showed his father wearing a forbidding expression.

When the study was devoid of every trace of the man, Richard replaced the furniture, and when everything was ready, he stepped back into the management of the estate. After summoning the butler, they went through the accounts, and he decided that, at the very least, the former Duke was good for something.

He had kept the books meticulously so that the estate was still productive and prosperous. Richard had expected the coffers to be empty, given his father’s lifestyle, but whatever his fault, the man was meticulous with money, and for that, Richard was grateful. Perhaps life might have been easier, if he had developed the skill of meticulousness earlier on in his journey.

While Richard grappled with his resentment towards his father, his mother was trying to get back into his good graces as simply as she donned her many fashionable dresses. When he had met her upon his return, she had still looked beautiful, but she had aged. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a loneliness so acute that it sent chills down his spine.

Perhaps he should have felt pity for her, but it was difficult when he thought she deserved it. Sometimes, he believed that it served her right, and at least the emptiness she battled closely resembled the one he carried around, pretending to be all right when he was not.

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