Chapter 9: First Ball as His Wife
978 Words
The grand mirror reflected Eleanor’s figure as she stood in her new gown—a masterpiece of deep sapphire silk, flowing like water around her slender frame. The color matched her eyes perfectly, as Alexander had specifically ordered it to do.
Behind her, two maids worked in silence, carefully adjusting the folds of her skirts and smoothing her sleeves.
Eleanor could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
Tonight was the first time she would attend a ball as the Duchess of Collinwood.
The entire nobility would be watching.
Judging.
Whispering.
Her fingers grazed the veil that still lay folded on the side table.
She knew she would have to wear it.
Alexander had made that clear — no one was to see her face yet.
Only him.
Only her husband.
Still, she wasn’t afraid.
Not anymore.
Because she knew he would be there.
Watching. Protecting.
Possessive.
And as if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened, and Alexander entered.
He froze when he saw her, his gaze slowly, hungrily, traveling the length of her body.
"My God," he murmured, his voice low, rough. "You’re beautiful."
Heat rose to Eleanor’s cheeks, but she smiled softly. "You chose the dress."
"I did," he said, stepping closer, "but I didn’t know it would make me want to cancel the entire night just to keep you here."
She laughed softly, but when his fingers brushed her waist, the laughter died in her throat, replaced by a soft gasp.
He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against her ear.
"Every man will want you tonight," he whispered darkly. "But only I will have you."
Her skin prickled at his words, a wave of heat rushing through her.
"But they won’t see me," she whispered, glancing at the veil.
His jaw tightened.
"No," he murmured, stepping back, his eyes still heavy with dark desire. "But they’ll know you’re mine. That’s enough."
---
The ballroom was filled with glittering chandeliers and the soft murmur of noble society.
As Alexander led Eleanor inside, conversations stopped.
Heads turned.
Eyes widened.
Every gaze followed them as they made their way toward the center of the room.
Eleanor’s hand rested lightly on Alexander’s arm, her body straight, her chin slightly lifted — as he had taught her.
But beneath her calm exterior, her heart was pounding.
She could feel the stares, the judgment, the curiosity.
The mysterious veiled Duchess.
But none of it mattered.
Because Alexander was there.
His hand was firm on her back, guiding her, steadying her.
He bent close to her ear.
"You’re doing perfectly," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.
She swallowed, nodding slightly.
Across the room, she spotted the King and Queen, seated on raised thrones at the far end.
Their eyes watched her closely.
Not with malice — but with careful curiosity.
Beside them, Alexander’s mother sat stiffly, her eyes cold and hard as she took in the sight of Eleanor clinging to her son.
But when Eleanor looked up at Alexander, she knew she had nothing to fear.
Because he was hers.
And she was his.
As the evening wore on, noblemen began to approach.
Curious. Bold.
Though no one could see her face, they were intrigued.
And Alexander hated it.
Eleanor could feel his body tense every time a man so much as looked her way.
When one particularly arrogant lord dared to bow and address her—
"My lady, might I say, I have never seen a woman hold the attention of the Duke so thoroughly. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to steal a dance?"
Before Eleanor could answer, Alexander was there, his arm tightening around her waist.
"She does not dance," he said coldly, his eyes like ice.
The nobleman paled slightly but attempted a smile. "Surely one dance wouldn’t harm—"
"She. Does. Not. Dance," Alexander repeated, his voice like a blade.
Eleanor rested a gentle hand on his chest, silently calming him.
But his eyes never left the man, watching him like a wolf ready to strike.
When the lord finally bowed and left, Alexander exhaled sharply, pulling Eleanor closer.
"I should have never brought you here," he muttered against her hair.
"Alexander—"
"I won’t let them look at you like that."
"You said they can’t see me," she whispered, touching his face gently.
He caught her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.
"But they want you," he whispered darkly. "And I don’t share."
Her heart raced as she saw the fierce possessiveness in his gaze.
"You never have to," she whispered.
---
Later, as the ball quieted slightly, the King and Queen summoned them.
Alexander led Eleanor forward, his hand never leaving her waist.
The Queen smiled softly, her eyes kind but sharp.
"So this is the mysterious Duchess," she said gently.
Alexander’s jaw tightened, but Eleanor smiled under her veil.
"It’s an honor, Your Majesty," she said quietly.
The Queen studied her for a long moment, then nodded approvingly.
"I hope my husband looks at me the way yours does you," she said, surprising Eleanor.
Eleanor glanced up at Alexander, who was watching her with dark, possessive affection.
The Queen smiled. "Take care of her, Alexander."
"Always," he answered firmly.
The King, silent until now, gave a small nod of approval.
---
On the carriage ride home, Eleanor sat close to Alexander, leaning against his shoulder.
"You were perfect," he murmured, kissing her hair.
She smiled softly. "You were very… protective."
He laughed quietly. "I told you, little wife, I don’t share."
She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes soft.
"And I don’t want to be shared," she whispered.
He caught her chin, tilting her face up to his.
"Good," he whispered, before capturing her lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and full of promises.
---
End of Chapter 9
- Writer
