The Iron Duke’s Ruin

Lady Carrington De Lacy

Elara could hear the low murmur of voices outside the library door. Elara heard the talk of people outside the library door. She felt scared. Her heart was racing. She did not want to be seen like this.

Her dress was not on right and her lips were now swollen. She smelled like him. Elara quickly went behind the curtains that hung by the tall window. Her back was against the window and the curtains covered her up completely.

The door opened. Two people came in. Elara recognized the steady walk of Alistair and the faster steps of the steward Mr. Higgs.

“Close the door,” Alistair said, his voice the flat, authoritative tone of the Duke. It held none of the ragged heat that had been in it moments ago.

There was a rustle of papers. “The messenger from Lord Carrington was most insistent, Your Grace. The contracts require your final review and signature by week’s end. He emphasized that any further delay would be seen as… a slight.”

There was a beat of silence. Elara held her breath she had her hand pressed over her mouth.

“A slight,” Alistair repeated, the word dripping with cold amusement. “Carrington is eager to secure his daughter’s place beside a ducal title. His haste is transparent.”

“Shall I prepare a response, Your Grace?”

“Tell the messenger I will review the documents tonight. That is all.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Footsteps retreated. The door opened and closed again.

Silence took over the place. Then, a low, brutal sound came after…. a fist connecting with solid wood. The desk, perhaps. A single, contained explosion of violence. Elara flinched behind the curtain.

The rustle of fabric was her only warning. The curtain was swept aside. And Alistair stood there, his face a storm of fury and something darker, more desperate. He hadn’t left because he knew she was still there the entire time.

She gasped, stumbling back against the window. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

He didn’t let her finish. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. Not gentle. An anchor. “You heard.”

It wasn’t a question so she could only nod, her throat tight.

“Good.” He pulled her from the alcove, back into the library’s dim light. His eyes raked over her, taking in her dishevelment, the fear in her eyes. “Let there be no pretense between us, Elara. No illusions. In a week, I will sign a contract to marry Lady Seraphina Carrington. It is politics. It is duty. And a business transaction.”

His other hand came up, his thumb finding the frantic pulse at the base of her throat again. His touch was different now as if he was claiming her. “This… is not.”

“What is it?” The question was a whisper, torn from her.

“Mine,” he said, the word final and absolute. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You are in my service. Your time is mine. Your obedience is mine.” His thumb stroked her pulse point, feeling it leap. “This reaction is mine. Do you understand?”

She understood. It was a madness. It was a line crossed into shadow. Her body understood it perfectly. A fresh, aching heat bloomed low in her belly, a traitorous answer to his possession. She gave a slight, helpless nod.

“The folio,” he said, releasing her wrist but keeping his hand on her throat. “You didn’t finish.”

She blinked, her mind fogged with need and confusion. “The… the folio?”

A faint, dangerous smirk touched his lips. “You have a duty to complete. On the ladder. Now.”

He led her to the library ladder. His hand rested on her back holding her gently but firmly in place. The room still had the scent of their interrupted passion.

“The top shelf. The red ledger behind the atlas.”

Her legs felt weak, but she climbed. The worn rungs were familiar under her stockings. She reached the top, her fingers searching for the ledger. The silence below was heavy like everyone was waiting.

She could feel his eyes on her, a sensation that ran down her spine across the back of her knees and, along the curve of her hip where her dress was pulled tight as she stretched.

Her breath shallowed.

“I have it,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“Bring it down.”

She turned around. Held the ledger tightly to her chest. Then she started to climb down the ladder slowly. He was standing at the bottom not doing anything but just looking at her. When she was at the bottom he moved closer.

The man's body was right in front of the her so she could not move. The ladder felt cold against her back. At the time she could feel the warmth of his body through her dress.

He took the ledger from her hands that were shaking. And put the ledger on a table that was next to them. He kept eye contact with her thought out his actions.

the ledger was no longer the focus Elara was.

His hand moved to her leg, his palm gliding up the calf over her knee and pushed her skirt out of the way while fingers followed the seam of her stocking up to her thigh. The touch was slow and on purpose. Her head fell back against a rung with a soft thud.

"You are still wet " he whispered, his voice a low rough sound, against her ear. His fingers found the wetness of her through her thin undergarments. “For me. Even after you heard the word ‘nuptials’. Even now.”

She couldn’t deny it. A broken sound escaped her as his finger pressed against the sensitive fabric. “Yes.”

He kissed her then, not with the frantic hunger of before, but with a deep, consuming ownership. His tongue claimed her mouth as his fingers worked her through the linen of her clothes, a relentless, circling pressure that had her hips pushing against his hand. The ladder groaned softly with her desperate movement.

He broke the kiss, his breathing became heavily unstable. “Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. His were black with desire, the ducal mask completely gone, burned away by the same fire that was melting her from the inside.

“This is what I think of when I read their contracts,” he said, his finger slipping beneath the edge of her underclothes, finding her bare, slick flesh. She jerked.

“This heat. This sound you make.” He stroked her, once, slowly, and her knees buckled then held her up, his arm like iron around her waist. “This is real. That is paper. Remember that.”

He did not let her come. He took her to the point where she was trembling and breathless. Her body was tight around his hand and every nerve was screaming. She was pleading with sounds that she did not know she could make.

He stopped. Withdrew his hand. The feeling of being denied was so strong that it was hurting her.

She fell back against the ladder. She had no strength and she was shaking. She wanted to cry out. The sound was stuck in her throat.

He moved back. Fixed his clothes. It was very clear that he was aroused and it was pushing against his trousers. He did not try to hide it but looked at her as she was leaning against the wood. She looked like she was, in pain. She wanted him and his face got tighter.. “Dismissed, Elara.”

She did not know how she moved, or even how she was able straightened her dress, and how she walked on her legs that were trembling. As her hand touched the door knob his voice stopped her. It was cold and clear. It came from all the way across the room. And she just stood there, her hand on the door knob.

“Tomorrow evening. The same duty. Do not be late.”

She fled. His touch used to feel like it was a memory but now it felt real. It had become a part of her. The pain he left behind was a promise she did not know how to forget.