Page 28 of Duke of Fyre

"Your Grace," Miss Nancy's voice came from behind the group, slightly breathless as she finally caught up. "I tried to suggest a more... sedate activity, but?—"

"But I insisted," Lydia interrupted smoothly. "The weather was simply too perfect to waste indoors. The responsibility is entirely mine."

Elias found his gaze drawn to his wife despite himself. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and a leaf had somehow become tangled in her dark curls. She looked utterly unlike a proper duchess – and yet, something about the way she stood there, chin lifted defiantly as she shielded his son from censure, made his heart beat faster.

Which only served to irritate him further.

"I would have thought," he said coldly, "that as Duchess of Fyre, you would show more concern for the proper appearance of your stepson. He looks like a?—"

"Like a boy who has been enjoying his childhood," Lydia cut in, her green eyes flashing. "Which is exactly what he is, Your Grace, despite your best efforts to make him forget it."

The silence that followed her words was deafening. Peter's eyes darted between his father and stepmother, his small hands twisting anxiously in his ruined jacket.

"Miss Nancy," Elias said finally, his voice clipped. "Please escort my son to his chambers to change before dinner."

"Yes, Your Grace," the governess said quickly, clearly relieved to be removing Peter from the brewing storm. "Come along, Master Peter."= Let's get you cleaned up before dinner."

Peter cast one last worried glance between his father and stepmother before allowing himself to be led away. Mug, showing surprising wisdom for such a scruffy creature, followed them up the stairs.

Once they were alone, Lydia turned the full force of her indignation on Elias. "How dare you suggest I'm a bad influence? All I've done is show that boy a moment of joy – something that seems to be in remarkably short supply in this mausoleum you call a home!"

"Watch your tone," Elias warned, taking a step closer. "You forget yourself, madam."

"No, Your Grace, you forget that Peter is a child!" Lydia shot back, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. "A child who needs time to play, to laugh, to simply be young. Why does that frighten you so much?"

"It does not frighten me," Elias growled, closing the distance between them even further. "I simply understand, better than you ever could, the weight of responsibility that comes with our position in society."

"He's ten years old!" Lydia exclaimed, standing her ground despite the way her pulse quickened at his nearness. "The weight of responsibility will come soon enough. For now, all I'm asking is one hour a day – one single hour where he can set aside his lessons and simply play."

Elias found himself caught by the passion in her eyes, the slight flush of her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She was magnificent in her anger, he realized with a jolt. Like a goddess of justice, defending the right of children to be children.

"One hour?" he repeated, his voice rougher than he'd intended.

"Yes," Lydia said firmly. "One hour each day where he doesn't have to be the future Duke of Fyre. Where he can just be Peter." Her expression softened slightly as she added, "Surely you remember what it was like to be young? To want to run and play and imagine?"

The question struck uncomfortably close to home. Elias did remember – remembered all too well the harsh lessons his own father had used to drive such childish impulses from him. He'd sworn to be different with Peter, hadn't he? And yet...

"Please," Lydia said softly, and something in her tone made him look down at her. Her eyes were wide and earnest, her lips slightly parted as she gazed up at him. "Just one hour. That's all I ask."

Elias became acutely aware of how close they were standing. If he leaned down just slightly, he could capture those tempting lips with his own, could taste the passion that made her eyes spark so brilliantly...

He took a hasty step backward, alarmed by the direction of his thoughts. "Very well," he said gruffly. "One hour per day. But he must complete all his other lessons first, and his clothing must be protected during these... activities."

The smile that blazed across Lydia's face was like sunrise breaking over the horizon. "Thank you, Elias," she said warmly, using his given name for the first time since their wedding night.

The sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine. Without another word, he turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing in the vast hall. He needed distance – from her smile, from her warmth, from the dangerous way she made him want things he had no business wanting.

Behind him, he heard a small sound of triumph, and he could picture her celebration perfectly – the way her eyes would be dancing, the slight bounce she probably couldn't quite suppress. Despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

One hour per day. What harm could it do? And if it meant seeing Peter smile more often – seeing Lydia smile more often – well, that was merely an incidental benefit. Nothing more.

Elias walked quickly through the corridors of Fyre Manor, his thoughts in turmoil. The memory of Lydia's defiant eyes and flushed cheeks haunted him, along with that maddening scent of lavender that seemed to linger wherever she went.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the voices drifting from the small sitting room near Peter's chambers. But his son's quiet words made him pause mid-stride.

"Miss Nancy?" Peter's voice was hesitant, thoughtful. "What... what is it supposed to feel like? Having a mother, I mean."

Elias found himself frozen in place, just out of sight of the partially open door. He knew he should walk away, that eavesdropping was beneath his dignity, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

---