The Duke Thought He Was Marrying An Ugly Girl, Until The Veil Lifted And His Life Fell Apart

Chapter 10

Morning came slowly over Ashford Manor.

Alexander woke to gray light filtering through the curtains and the warmth of a body beside him. He turned his head carefully, afraid that any movement would break the spell. For a long moment, he simply watched her breathe — the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, the soft flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks.

Eloise was still asleep. In the quiet light, her face was soft — the sharp edges of her defenses lowered. She looked younger. More vulnerable. Like the woman she might have been if the world had not forced her to arm herself at every turn.

He thought about the first time he had seen her face. The shock. The fear. The way his carefully constructed walls had crumbled in a single heartbeat. He had thought her beauty was a weapon. He had been wrong. Her strength was the weapon. Her beauty was just the warning.

She had been right about everything. Right to prepare. Right to arm herself with contracts and secrets. Right to trust no one. Because the world had given her no reason to trust. Her father had kept her hidden. Society had whispered about her. Rookford had hunted her. And Alexander himself had walked into that church ready to use her.

But she had trusted him with the truth.

That was the part that struck him most. She had given him the weapon she could have used against him. The contract clause was still in effect — she could have held it over his head forever. But she had told him. She had laid her cards on the table and waited to see if he would fold.

And he had not folded.

He had knelt.

Eloise’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, and for a moment, there was no mask. Just a woman, waking up in a strange bed, in a strange house, beside a stranger who was her husband.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning.”

She sat up slowly, the blanket pooling around her waist. Her hair was loose and tangled, falling over her shoulders in dark waves. “Did you sleep?”

“Some,” he admitted. “You?”

“More than I expected.” She looked around the room, at the heavy curtains and the cold hearth and the morning light painting the walls. “This house is old.”

“It is. Three centuries of Ashfords. Most of them miserable.”

She almost smiled. “It has potential.”

“You have already made it warmer.”

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like a beginning. Like the first page of a book you already knew you would love.

“Rookford will not return,” Alexander said. “I will make certain of it. I will speak to the magistrate today. I will write letters to every club in London. By the time I am done, he will not be welcome anywhere. Lord Payton has connections in the Home Office — he will help me ensure that Rookford’s name becomes synonymous with disgrace.”

Eloise’s eyes widened. “You would do that — for me?”

“You are my wife. I would do more.” He reached out and took her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “I would tear down anyone who tried to harm you. I would burn London to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.”

She stared at their joined hands. “I have never had anyone speak of me that way.”

She paused, then added softly, “I do not know how to be a duchess.”

“Neither do I know how to be a good husband.” Alexander’s voice was gentle. “We will learn together.”