Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

G enevieve woke to the muted light of morning, her breath catching in the chilly air as she pulled her blankets tighter around herself. The house was unnaturally still, save for the muffled howling of the wind outside. Frowning, she slid out of bed and padded over to the window, pushing aside the thick velvet curtains.

Her breath hitched. The world outside had transformed overnight. Snow blanketed every surface, turning the landscape into a scene of white desolation. Flurries still fell in thick waves, carried by a fierce wind that rattled the windowpanes. Genevieve’s stomach tightened. No one would be leaving the estate anytime soon.

She pressed a hand to her temple, trying to push down the growing dread. Most of the guests had left the night before when word of the approaching storm spread. Her brother, Henry, had stayed up late with his best friend well after she had retired to her bed. Even her father had retired before Alexander had left as far as she knew. What if… No. Surely Alexander had not stayed the night.

Had he?

Genevieve’s chest tightened at the thought of him. She had barely managed to keep herself composed the night before.

There was a soft rap at her door. “My lady?” Collette, her maid, called.

“Come on in,” Genevieve said.

Her maid entered, and Genevieve knew instantly that her fears were realized.

The duke had not left.

Her maid shifted through Genevieve’s dresses, eyeing ones more suited for company than merely her family, which sharpened the dagger pressed upon the lady’s heart.

Now, she and Alexander were trapped in the same house, the storm ensuring that they would be forced into uncomfortable proximity. The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time near the man who had broken her heart.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memories of the previous evening, of their brief, tense exchange. His presence had rattled her in ways she had not anticipated. His familiar face, the deep timbre of his voice, had stirred something in her—something she did not want to confront. The spark of anger, the ache of old wounds, and worse yet, the simmering attraction that still lingered despite everything.

Genevieve drew in a steadying breath. She was not that girl anymore, the one who had foolishly believed in promises whispered in the dark. She had built walls, strong ones, and no amount of shared space—or whatever emotions she had buried deep—would change that.

But she could not deny the complication his presence brought. They would cross paths. It was inevitable now.

With a resigned sigh, she allowed Collette to dress her and made her way down the grand staircase, her heart pounding heavier with each step. When she entered the drawing room, her fears were immediately realized. Alexander stood near the fire, stoking the flames, his tall figure illuminated by the orange glow.

He looked different in this light—more weary, perhaps, or maybe it was the sadness she had not fully noticed the night before. The weight of his father’s death clung to him like a shadow, evident in the tired lines around his eyes. Despite herself, a small part of her ached for him, but that sympathy did little to dull the resentment that still simmered beneath her skin. She reminded herself that grief did not erase the past.

Alexander glanced up as she entered, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air too thick with unspoken words. He straightened as if preparing for battle.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice low as though testing the waters.

Genevieve forced a cool nod, stepping further into the room. “Morning.” She kept her tone polite but distant, determined to maintain the facade. “The storm seems worse than anticipated.”

He nodded, his gaze not leaving hers. “Yes. It looks like we are snowed in for the time being.”

Her stomach clenched. Being trapped here with him—of all people—felt like some cruel twist of fate. “I trust you will be comfortable until the storm passes,” she said, moving toward the fire to warm her hands, careful to keep a respectable distance between them.

Alexander watched her carefully, his brows furrowing slightly. “Genevieve, about last night…”

“No,” she cut him off sharply, not ready to have this conversation. “There is no need to discuss it. The past is behind us. We are snowed in together, but that does not mean we need to revisit old wounds.”

His jaw tightened. “I was not trying to upset you.”

“You did not,” she lied, her eyes fixed on the fire as she fought to keep her voice steady. “We were young and foolish once, and I have moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she could not afford to let him in, not again. The storm outside might be raging, but the one inside her was far more dangerous.

“I am not so sure about that,” Alexander said quietly, his voice laced with something she could not quite name—regret, perhaps. “It seems to me that you are still angry. And you have every right to be.”

Genevieve turned to face him, her eyes flashing. “Angry? No, Alexander. I was angry five years ago. Now? I simply do not care. You are just a man who broke a promise, one of many. It is in the past.”

He took a step closer, his expression softening, but there was an intensity in his gaze that sent a shiver through her. “You do care, Genevieve. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. The anger, the hurt… I know I caused it.”

She swallowed, willing herself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his words affected her. “It does not matter anymore.”

Alexander’s eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, the tension between them shifted—no longer cold but heated, the kind of heat that comes from unresolved feelings long buried. The firelight flickered, casting shadows on his face, making him seem both familiar and foreign all at once.

“Does not it?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “If it did not matter, why did you react the way you did last night? Why can we not even be in the same room without it feeling like there is a thousand things unsaid between us?”

Genevieve’s breath caught. She could feel the pull between them, the same one that had always been there, even when she wanted to deny it. The past and the present were all tangled together in the storm of emotions she thought she had long buried.

She looked away, fighting for control. “We are snowed in together, Alexander. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be.”

But even as she said the words, she knew they rang hollow. The storm outside may have trapped them, but it was the one brewing between them that truly threatened to break everything open.

And no matter how much she tried to deny it, that storm was not going away anytime soon.