The chamber was deep beneath the estate, cold stone walls soaked in silence. A single torch flickered at the far end, casting shadows across James's bruised face. He was bonded to the iron frame of a chair, wrists tied and bloodied from the restraints. The air reeked of damp earth and quiet threat.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow. Calculated. And then he appeared. The Duke of Ashbourne, covered in a cloak of shadow and menace, his cousin Silas trailing casually behind him with a half smile, as if amused by the gravity of the situation.
"You've grown bolder since I last saw you," the Duke said, voice low but dangerous . "Or perhaps just more foolish."
James met his gaze, lips cracked but firm. "You have no right to keep me here."
The Duke stepped closer. "I have every right. You trespassed. You touched what belongs to me."
"She doesn't belong to you," James snarled.
Silas laughed softly from behind. "Oh, but she does belong to him. Even you know better, old friend."
The Duke didn't smile. He bent down, eye level with James. "You think this is about love? You think you can slip in like a thief and steal what I've claimed? Let me explain what happens next."
James clenched his jaw, silent.
"I could have you buried. Forgotten. And no one would whisper your name again," the Duke said coldly. "But that would be far too generous. No, your punishment is to live, In chains. With the knowledge that while you rot in here, she will be laying in my silk sheets, walking my halls, carrying my name and babies. You'll hear the bells when the wedding happens, James. I'll make sure you hear them echo down these walls."
There was silence, long and suffocating.
Finally, James bowed his head, and in the faint drop of his eyes. A flicker of defeat.
The Duke stood. "Good."
He turned to leave, brushing past Silas, who lingered only a moment longer.
"You should have ran," Silas whispered with a grin. "But then again, where would the fun be in that?"
The door slammed shut.
Later that morning…
"These past few days… I have forgotten what life looked like before the Duke invaded it."
Eleanor stood in the stables, the scent of hay and warm breath of horses grounding her more than she expected. Her gloved fingers ran across the mane of a chestnut mare. Athena, her childhood favorite. She hadn't ridden in weeks. Not since London. Not since him.
A stable hand bowed slightly as he passed. "Would you like her saddled, Lady Eleanor?"
She shook her head. "Not today, thank you."
Her gaze drifted far, to the hills beyond the estate walls. It used to feel endless, the world. Now it felt like a cage made of lace and gold.
She had asked the maids about James, subtly. Each answer was the same: they hadn't seen him. No one had seen or heard anything about him. And the more they avoided her eyes, the more she felt that something was wrong.
As she walked back toward the house, James remained in her thoughts
Back in the manor, she passed Lady Halbridge in the drawing room. Her mother was seated near the fire with a guest, sipping tea with. Eleanor walked past with a light nod, and her mother's voice followed.
"We must speak this evening. Your behavior yesterday was… noticed."
Eleanor didn't pause. She didn't care.
Instead, she found herself wandering around the music room, the place she once spent hours in with her younger brother Henry, before he left for his commission. She sat at the harp, plucking at strings James still in her thoughts, letting the sound carry her somewhere simpler.
Echoes of voices from her father's study, from the stairwell balcony, He was always locked in there handling business nonstop not caring what so ever happened in her life. A moment of stillness in the middle of the storm. She wondered, had he given her away, or had he simply surrendered?
The day passed in fragments, and as evening came, a letter arrived. No seal. No signature.
Just a line of writing.
"He's not gone. He's here. Below."
Her fingers trembled as she read it again.
The walls of her gilded cage suddenly felt closer. Tighter. And her breath caught in her throat.
Eleanor's fingers trembled as she folded the note, her heart racing wildly in her chest. The words written had shaken her, James was here, on this very same estate.
Glancing around the music room, she found a moment of privacy. Quickly, she slid the folded paper between the soft curves of her chest, tucking it into her corset where no one could easily find it. She composed herself, smoothing the front of her gown, though nothing could slow the fast rhythm of her heart.
"I should retire," she said quietly to Lady Beatrice, who had been flipping through sheet music with disinterest.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow but said nothing, giving Eleanor a small nod.
Eleanor turned, walking swiftly through the hallway, her mind spinning with questions. What was James doing here? Was he truly taken by the Duke? Was he imprisoned? She needed to get to her room somewhere quiet, somewhere safe where she could think. But as she rounded the corner, her steps slowed down.
He was there.
The Duke stood by the passage, arms crossed, jaw tight, his storm gray eyes locking at her the moment she came into view. There was no one else in sight.
"You," he said, his voice low with restrained fury. "Come with me."
Without giving her a chance to argue, he turned on his heel and led her through a side passage. Silent, tense steps echoed between them. He opened a heavy wooden door and ushered her into the private reading room, bookshelves, a desk, and a wide fireplace.
The moment the door shut behind them, his composure snapped.
"What were you thinking?" he barked, eyes burning into hers. "Sneaking off to meet him? Letting him touch you? You are mine, Eleanor!"
She stood still, trembling slightly, but not from fear.
"You don't own me," she replied, her voice steady but low. "You may have captured me with this engagement, but you will never own me."
He moved a step, then another, towering over her, his breath uneven. "You don't understand what you're playing with. Do you think I'm like the other boys who chase you around at parties? James doesn't know what danger he's in, you don't know what danger you're getting him into Eleanor."
She flinched, but met his gaze with fire of her own. "Then why not tell me? What have you done to him?"
The Duke didn't answer. His stare softened as he looked over her face, her lips, the wild curl of hair that had slipped from her braid. Something shifted in him. The fury remained but so did something else.
Desire.
His hand moved slowly, brushing against her wrist, trailing upward to her bare shoulder, and when she didn't flinch or pull away, he leaned closer. The air thickened. Her breath hitched.
"Do you really hate me this much?" he murmured.
"I should," she whispered.
And then he kissed her.
It was rough, desperate, hungry. His hands cupped her face, then slid down her waist, pulling her against him. And God help her, she kissed him back. She didn't know why, was it the confusion, the ache, the twisted tension between them? Or the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in his world?
His lips left hers, trailing heat down her neck. One of his hands tangled into the back of her dress, tugging her closer. Her fingers found his chest, and for a moment, just a moment Eleanor let go.
Not a minute later, reality crashed in.
James. The note. The fury. The shame.
She pushed him back, breathless, wide eyed. "No," she whispered. "No, this isn't, this isn't what I want."
He stood there, chest rising and falling fast, lips slightly parted. "You didn't stop me."
"I should have," she said, shaken. "I should have the moment you touched me."
And before he could say another word, she fled. Her slippers barely touched the floor as she raced down the corridor, the taste of his kiss still on her lips and the guilt blooming like fire in her chest.