Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

M ayfair bustled with mid-morning activity as their carriage drew to a stop before a handsome brick facade. Lydia peered out the window, taking in the well-maintained window boxes and gleaming brass fixtures that marked their temporary residence.

"The house has been opened and prepared for our arrival," Elias said as he helped her down, his hand warm and steady against hers. "Though I'm afraid it won't be quite as... lively as Fyre Manor has become."

Lydia smiled at his dry tone. "No enthusiastic dogs or impromptu pirate battles? However shall we manage?"

"I'm certain you'll find some way to introduce chaos," he replied, though she caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. "You seem to have quite a talent for it."

Lydia's eyes widened slightly as she walked through the door and took in the place. It was… something. Everything was perfectly arranged, perfectly proper, and perfectly... lifeless. Rather like Fyre Manor had been before she'd arrived, she realized with a start.

The building itself seemed quite… well, sad.

"Your chambers are upstairs, first door on the right," Elias said, already moving toward what she assumed was his study. "I have some business to attend to, but perhaps…"

Her heart raced as she listened to him, only to come to a slow, dull plod when another man appeared to cut off his words .

"Your Grace," the butler interrupted with a small bow. "Lord Stone's card was delivered this morning. He asks if Your Grace and Her Grace might join him for dinner this evening at his club."

Elias frowned. "Impossible. We have the Hartley's ball tonight."

"Ah, about that..." Lydia hesitated, then forged ahead. "I was rather hoping to visit a modiste this afternoon. My current ball gowns are..."

"Perfectly adequate, I'm sure," Elias finished, and a small frown appeared between his brows.

"Unless… I am not sure about women's clothing and the like. Do you not have other dresses?"

Lydia fought a frustrated smile. The man truly had a hard time understanding women, she thought.

"Perhaps. But as you said, I am the Duchess of Fyre now. Shouldn't I dress accordingly?"

The frown between Elias's eyes deepened slightly, but then he nodded slowly. "Indeed. Very well, I shall have the carriage brought around."

"You could come with me," Lydia suggested, evidently surprising him. She too was almost shocked by the words leaving her lips. She hurried to explain further, fearful of giving him an idea that might offend him .

"Since you have such strong opinions about proper dignity, perhaps you'd like to ensure my selection meets your exacting standards?"

Despite her explanation, Elias stared at her as if she'd suggested they join a traveling circus. "Shopping for gowns? With you?"

"Unless you're afraid?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Lydia immediately wished she could call them back. Challenging the Duke of Fyre was hardly the way to win his cooperation. Heat immediately rose to her cheeks and somehow she managed to suppress the desire

To her amazement, however, something like amusement crossed his face. "Afraid? Of watching you try on gowns? Hardly."

"Then you'll come?" She tried - though she thought she quite miserably failed - to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Elias sighed, but Lydia could have sworn she saw a hint of a smile curling around his lips. "I suppose someone must ensure you don't choose anything too... whimsical."

"Oh, you think you can stop me?"

This time, he actually laughed - a sound that was quite foreign to her ears, and seemingly to those of the few servants in the vicinity.

"David," he spoke now, his voice low. "Arrange a carriage. I am taking my wife to have a dress made, it would seem."

Less than an hour later, they stood before Madame Delacour's elegant shopfront. This particular French modiste was renowned throughout London for her exquisite creations, though Lydia had never been able to afford her services before. She peered into the shop excitedly, then followed her husband as he walked through the door as though the place belonged to him.

A small bell chimed through the shop when he stepped inside and the shop girl who hurried forward stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Elias, her face draining of color.

"Y-Your Grace," she stammered, dropping into a wobbly curtsy. "We... we weren't expecting..."

"The Duke and Duchess of Fyre to grace our humble establishment!" Madame Delacour herself appeared, her accent thickening as she took in Elias's imposing figure. Lydia, of course, wondered if this was due to nerves or simply an attempt at impressing her husband. "What an honor! Only if we had known..."

"We require a ball gown," Elias cut through her fluttering . "For tonight's Hartley ball."

"Tonight?" Madame's eyes widened in horror. "But Your Grace, to create something worthy of the Duchess of Fyre in mere hours..."

"Surely you have something suitable already made?" Lydia intervened smoothly, noting how the modiste's hands trembled slightly. "I'm told your ready-made gowns are works of art in themselves."

Madame Delacour's expression brightened slightly. "Well... there is one piece... But no, perhaps it's too daring for..."

"Show us," Elias commanded, making both women jump and a small smile appeared around Lydia's lips. She could not deny that it was quite enjoyable to watch when the intimidation was not directed at her.

The modiste scurried into the back room, returning moments later with a creation that made Lydia's breath catch. The gown was silk the color of midnight, scattered with tiny crystal beads that caught the light like stars. The neckline was daring without being scandalous, the waist nipped in to emphasize a woman's curves before flowing out into a full skirt perfect for dancing.

"It's beautiful," Lydia breathed, reaching out to touch the fabric.

"But perhaps too bold?" Madame suggested anxiously, glancing at Elias. "We have some lovely lavender silk that might be more appropriate for a duke's wife..."

"My wife will try this one," Elias said firmly. "She seems to like it."

Within seconds, Lydia found herself whisked behind a screen, where Madame's trembling fingers made quick work of her traveling dress. As the midnight silk settled around her, Lydia felt transformed. The gown fit as if it had been made for her, the color making her skin glow and her green eyes seem more vivid. She suppressed a gasp as she looked at herself. The role of duchess had seemed like an ill-fitting robe until this moment.

"Shall we show His Grace?" Madame asked, the accent almost untraceable now. She rubbed her hands together and nodded, clearly pleased with the effect.

Lydia nodded, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. As she stepped out from behind the screen, she heard Elias's sharp intake of breath.

The look on his face made her pulse quicken. His blue eyes had darkened to midnight, matching the silk of her gown, and there was something almost hungry in his gaze as it swept over her form.

"Well?" she asked softly, turning slowly to show how the skirt moved. "Is it sufficiently dignified for the Duchess of Fyre?"

Elias seemed to have forgotten how to speak. His hands clenched at his sides as if he were physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

"Your Grace?" Madame prompted anxiously. "If it's not suitable..."

"It's perfect," Elias said roughly, his eyes never leaving Lydia's face. "We'll take it."

Lydia felt heat rise to her cheeks under his intense scrutiny. "Do… Do you like it?"

"I do indeed," Elias answered, his voice curt as always. "It suits you perfectly."

Though it was not spoken as compliments usually were, there was something in his tone that sent her heart aflutter and she pressed a palm against her breast. "Perhaps I should change back then?"

Elias nodded jerkily, finally tearing his gaze away. As Lydia disappeared behind the screen once more, she heard him clear his throat.

"Madame Delacour," his voice was low but carried clearly. "I want ten more gowns made in this style. Different colors, suitable for various occasions. Have them delivered to Fyre Manor within the month."

"Ten?" Madame's voice squeaked slightly. "But Your Grace, the expense..."

"Money is no object. But they must be... perfect. Like this one."

"Of course, Your Grace! I shall personally oversee every stitch. Though... might I suggest some slight variations? Perhaps an emerald silk to match Her Grace's eyes? And there's a new rose-gold fabric that would complement her coloring beautifully..."

Lydia froze in the midst of arranging her hair, her heart doing strange things in her chest. Ten gowns? From Madame Delacour? For someone who had a reputation of a hermit? Where would she wear them? And why?

"Yes, fine," Elias was saying. "Whatever you think best. But they must all make her look..."

"As beautiful as she does in this one?" Madame suggested gently, her earlier fear seemingly forgotten as she warmed to her subject. "Fear not, Your Grace. I can see how much you care for your duchess. I shall ensure each gown is worthy of such devotion."

Lydia couldn't see Elias's response, but she heard his quick intake of breath, followed by a gruff, "See that you do."

When she emerged in her own dress once more, she found Madame Delacour practically glowing with enthusiasm while Elias stood stiffly by the door, a suspicious flush coloring his cheeks.

"Your ball gown will be delivered to your townhouse within the hour, Your Grace," Madame said, beaming at them both. "Along with all the necessary accessories, of course. And might I say what a pleasure it has been to serve the Duke and Duchess of Fyre? Such a handsome couple..."

"Yes, yes," Elias cut her off, though Lydia noticed his flush deepened. "Come along, Lydia. We have other matters to attend to."

As they settled into their carriage, Lydia couldn't resist saying, "Ten gowns, Your Grace? How very... extravagant of you."

"You are the Duchess of Fyre," he replied stiffly, staring determinedly out the window. "You should dress accordingly."

"Of course. Though I cannot help but wonder… would you want to… Host events?"

Elias's jaw tightened. "I have made no such decisions, but one never knows."

Lydia lifted a brow. "Ten gowns are quite expensive for not knowing," she said simply and he turned his gaze from her, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Madame Delacour is an interesting woman," Lydia chose to continue. "She was quite talkative, wasn't she? Once she stopped being terrified of you, that is."

"I am not terrifying," Elias muttered, sounding remarkably like Peter when he was sulking.

"Of course not. You're merely... impressively dignified. Though I must say, your dignity seemed a bit shaken when I first stepped out in that gown."

"Lydia." His voice held a warning note, but she saw the way his hands clenched on his knees.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"You're doing it again."

"Simply making observations," she said cheerfully. "Though I do hope some of those ten gowns will be suitable for dancing. It would be a shame to waste all that lovely silk standing in corners..."

"We are not having this discussion again."

"No? But what is it that you have against dancin g? Perhaps that is something we should discuss, because I hardly think you were always so against…"

Her words cut off in a small gasp as Elias suddenly leaned across the carriage, bringing his face mere inches from hers. "Perhaps," he said softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble that made her shiver, "we should discuss how impossibly beautiful you looked in that gown. How every man at tonight's ball will want to dance with you. How I'll have to watch them all trailing after you like lovesick puppies, while I..."

He broke off abruptly, seeming to realize what he'd been about to say. Lydia's heart was racing so fast she felt light-headed.

"While you what?" she whispered.

For a moment, she thought he might actually answer. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt herself swaying toward him almost unconsciously.

Then the carriage hit a bump, breaking the spell. Elias withdrew to his own seat so quickly he nearly knocked his hat askew.

"While I maintain proper dignity," he finished stiffly, though his voice was slightly hoarse. "As befits the Duke of Fyre."

"Of course," Lydia agreed, trying to steady her breathing. "Heaven forbid you should do anything improper. Like notice your wife's eyes. Or order her ten ball gowns. Or almost kiss her in a moving carriage."

The sound Elias made might have been a laugh or a groan. "You truly are impossible."

"So you keep saying." Lydia smiled, enjoying the way his eyes kept straying to her despite his best efforts. "Though I notice you haven't actually denied any of it."

The look he gave her could have melted steel, but Lydia merely smiled sweetly in response. After all, she thought as their carriage rolled toward home, if the Beast of Fyre was going to insist on maintaining his dignity, the least she could do was make it as difficult as possible for him.

And judging by the way his eyes had darkened when she'd worn that gown, she was succeeding admirably.

As they neared the townhouse, Lydia noticed Elias's eyes darken again as they passed a milliner's shop. "Perhaps," he said slowly, as though the words were being dragged from him, "we should consider some suitable accessories to accompany your new gowns."

"More shopping, Your Grace?" Lydia couldn't resist teasing him. "And here I thought you'd reached your limit for the day."

"One must be thorough," he replied with mock severity. "Unless you'd prefer to attend the ball without proper..."

"Oh no," Lydia interrupted quickly, fighting back a smile. "Far be it from me to interfere with your sudden interest in ladies' fashion. Though I must say, this newfound expertise is rather unexpected."

"I merely wish to ensure everything is..." he paused, searching for the right word.

"Perfect?" Lydia suggested innocently.

The look he gave her should have turned her to stone, but she merely smiled back, enjoying the way his jaw tightened. "Is something wrong with perfection?"

"Not at all," she agreed with a small smile. "And I suppose I should be grateful you didn't order matching ribbons for Mug. I fear even London's finest modistes might balk at creating fashionable attire for impossibly small dogs."

This time Elias did laugh, the sound rich and warm in the confined space of the carriage. "Don't give him ideas. The last thing we need is Peter deciding his pirate crew requires formal attire."

"Oh, but think how dignified they'd look! Tiny cravats, miniature waistcoats..."

"Lydia."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Stop plotting."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said serenely. "I'm merely considering ways to maintain proper dignity. Isn't that what you want?"

His eyes met hers again, and this time there was no mistaking the heat in them. "What I want," he said softly, "is becoming increasingly complicated."

The carriage lurched to a stop before she could respond, and Elias was opening the door before she could gather her scattered thoughts. As he helped her down, his hand lingered on hers perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"We should prepare for the ball," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "And Lydia?"

"Yes?"

"Do wear your hair up tonight. With those pearl combs you brought from Fyre Manor."

She stared at him, startled. "You noticed my hair combs?"

"I notice everything about you," he admitted quietly. Then, before she could respond, he was striding away toward his study, leaving her standing in the entrance hall with her heart racing and her thoughts in delightful disarray.

Well, she thought as she made her way upstairs, perhaps the Beast of Fyre wasn't quite as immune to improper thoughts as he pretended to be. And if he wanted to see her in pearl combs and midnight silk... well, who was she to deny such a polite request?

After all, proper dignity could only withstand so much temptation.