Chapter 8: Teasing the Duke & Facing His Mother
1181 Words
The morning light was soft, streaming through the tall windows of the manor as Eleanor sat near the window, brushing her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder to where Alexander stood, reading over some documents on the far side of the room.
For days now, he had been teasing her relentlessly. Touching her waist when he passed by, leaning in too close when speaking, brushing his fingers against hers during breakfast — each touch burning deeper into her skin, leaving her breathless and confused.
But last night, when he kissed her, something had changed.
There was a tenderness in him she had not expected, and a hunger she had not fully understood until she felt his lips on hers.
And now—she wanted to see if she could turn the game around.
Eleanor smiled softly to herself, gathering her courage.
If he could play this game, so could she.
Rising gracefully from her chair, she approached him. Her soft footsteps made no sound against the polished floor.
He didn’t notice her at first, too focused on the parchment in his hand.
But when she stood directly behind him, reaching gently to rest a hand on his shoulder, his body tensed ever so slightly.
"Working already, husband?" she asked softly, her breath intentionally brushing against his ear.
Alexander froze, the paper in his hand lowering as he turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze cutting to her.
"Yes," he murmured, watching her carefully, as though trying to figure out what she was up to.
Eleanor smiled sweetly, leaning in slightly more.
"Should I let you be then?" she teased, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder before sliding away.
She saw it — the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened.
And then, just as she turned to walk away, he caught her wrist.
"Not so fast," Alexander said softly, his voice a deep rumble that sent a thrill through her chest.
He turned her gently to face him, but his eyes were dangerous now — dark and unreadable.
"What game are you playing, little wife?"
Eleanor’s heart raced, but she tilted her head with a soft smile. "The same one you’ve been playing since the day I arrived, my lord."
His eyes narrowed, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
But instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek.
"Careful, Eleanor," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You don’t know how far I’ll go when I start playing back."
She shivered, but didn’t pull away. "Perhaps I want to find out."
His sharp intake of breath told her she had won this round
Later that afternoon, Eleanor was in the garden when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel.
She turned to see a black, ornate carriage rolling to a stop before the grand entrance.
The door opened, and a tall, elegant woman stepped out, her posture perfect, her chin high.
She wore a gown of deep emerald silk, her silver-streaked dark hair styled immaculately.
Her eyes — sharp, cold, assessing — swept over the estate before landing on Eleanor.
Eleanor felt a wave of nerves twist in her stomach.
She knew instantly who this was.
The Duchess Dowager. Alexander’s mother.
"Your Grace," Edward greeted as he stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Edward," the woman said with a curt nod. "Fetch my son."
Eleanor straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin as the woman strode toward her.
"So," the Duchess Dowager said, stopping a few feet away. "You are the girl my son has taken as his wife."
Eleanor forced a polite smile. "Yes, Your Grace."
The older woman’s eyes swept over her, taking in her simple gown, her veiled face.
"I expected someone... different."
Eleanor said nothing, though her hands clenched at her sides.
"You should know," the Dowager said coolly, "that Alexander was meant to marry someone of status. A woman raised to stand beside a Duke. Not a nobody paraded through an auction house."
Before Eleanor could respond, a voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Enough, Mother."
Alexander was there, striding toward them, his eyes hard and cold as ice.
He did not glance at his mother as he reached Eleanor’s side, placing a firm, possessive hand on her waist.
"This is my wife. The woman I chose. You will treat her with respect."
The Dowager’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She is beneath you."
Alexander’s gaze darkened, and Eleanor felt his grip on her tighten slightly.
"No one is above her," he said in a low, deadly voice. "Not even you."
The Duchess blinked, surprised, but covered it quickly with a sharp look.
"I see," she murmured. "So you are truly lost to her."
"Not lost," Alexander said, now watching Eleanor as he gently brushed his fingers along her waist. "Found."
Eleanor’s heart clenched at his words, tears pricking her eyes.
For the first time, she realized how much he had truly chosen her — against his own family, against society.
The Dowager’s gaze flicked between them before she gave a tight nod.
"Very well. But know that the court will judge you both."
"Let them try," Alexander said coldly. "I have never cared for their approval, and I won’t start now."
With that, he turned, guiding Eleanor firmly back toward the manor.
--
Once inside, Alexander did not speak at first.
Eleanor followed him quietly until they reached his study.
Only then did he turn to face her.
"I’m sorry," he said, surprising her.
"For what?" she whispered.
"For her. For the way she looked at you. For every word she spoke."
Eleanor swallowed. "You don’t need to apologize."
He reached up, cupping her face gently, his thumb stroking over her cheek.
"I do. You are my wife. And I will not allow anyone to look down on you."
Tears filled her eyes as she leaned into his touch.
"You don’t have to fight everyone for me," she whispered.
"I will fight the world if I must," he said fiercely. "No one will touch you. No one will hurt you. Not while I breathe."
Her breath hitched.
And when he kissed her again, it was not a kiss of possession this time—
But of tenderness. Love. Devotion.
---
As they lay in bed, Eleanor curled on Alexander’s chest, her fingers lightly trailing over the fabric of his nightshirt.
His hand gently stroked her hair, keeping her close.
"I will never let anyone take you away," he murmured, almost to himself.
She looked up at him, smiling softly.
"And I don’t want to leave."
His hand stilled, and his eyes darkened slightly before softening as he looked down at her.
"Good," he whispered.
She reached up, brushing her fingers over his jaw. "Thank you… for standing up for me today."
He caught her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm.
"You never have to thank me for that, Eleanor," he whispered against her skin. "You are mine. My life now belongs to you."
- Writer
