NO MERCY, MY DUCHESS

8

The news of Eleanor's abrupt banishment reached Livia like a splinter of ice to the heart. Trapped in her guest chambers, the silence that followed Eleanor's departure was deafening, amplified by the absence of her friend's comforting presence.

The realization that Julian had punished Eleanor for her defiance, for their shared moments of levity, ignited a fresh surge of fury within her. She knew Eleanor's precarious position, the constant shadow of her illegitimacy.

To expose her to Julian's wrath, to send her away to some dreary institution, was an act of cold, calculated cruelty.

Livia, clearly not reading the room, or perhaps, simply beyond caring, stormed out of her guest chambers. The maid assigned to her, a young woman whose face was pale with apprehension, tried to stop her, but Livia brushed past her with a furious determination.

She swept down the grand staircase, her heart thumping with a mixture of righteous indignation and reckless disregard. She found him, as she expected, in his study.

She burst through the doors without knocking, finding Julian standing by his desk, Lord Gareth lounging in a nearby armchair, and Mr. Finch silently arranging papers. The air in the study was thick with a tension Livia, in her emotional state, was oblivious to.

"What have you done?!" Livia demanded, her voice shrill with outrage, utterly disregarding their presence. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing. "How dare you send Eleanor away? Bring her back! Bring her back this instant!"

Julian's head snapped up. His eyes, already clouded with the lingering anger from the night before, hardened into chips of obsidian. The sheer audacity of her, storming into his sanctuary, yelling at him, demanding anything, especially after her brazen declarations.

His control shattered.

This was not just mockery; this was open, public defiance, a blatant challenge to his authority, delivered right in front of his younger brother and his butler.

"You insolent creature!" Julian roared, his voice a raw, guttural sound that Livia had never heard from him before. The unshakeable calm, the meticulous composure, had vanished, replaced by an incandescent fury that twisted his handsome features into a mask of pure rage. "You dare to command me? You dare to raise your voice to me in my own home, after the disgrace you have wrought?!"

His arm shot out, a swift, brutal movement. He slapped her. The c***k echoed through the sudden, horrified silence of the study. Livia's head snapped to the side, her cheek stinging, a red mark blooming against her pale skin.

Her eyes widened, not just from the physical shock, but from the raw, terrifying violence of his act.

Lord Gareth, who had been frozen in his chair, visibly recoiled. Mr. Finch, ever the picture of stoicism, flinched almost imperceptibly, his gaze dropping to the floor. The air was thick with the immediate aftermath of the blow.

Without a word, Gareth, his face pale, rose quickly from his chair and slipped silently out of the room. Mr. Finch, after a brief, almost imperceptible nod to his master, followed, closing the heavy study door with a soft click behind him. They knew better than to remain.

Julian rose from his desk, his formidable height seeming to expand, his shadow falling over Livia. His eyes were no longer cold; they were dark and dangerous, burning with a terrifying intensity. A low, guttural growl left his lips, a sound that was less human and more primal.

He moved with a chilling deliberation, stepping around his desk. His gaze never left Livia's face, which was now a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He reached out, his hand locking onto the ornate brass bolt, and with a decisive click, he locked the study door.

The sound resonated in the sudden, deafening silence, sealing them in.

Livia's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum against the sudden, terrifying reality. The stinging pain on her cheek was nothing compared to the fear that now seized her.

He was no longer the composed Duke; he was a predator, unleashed.

Without breaking eye contact, Julian's hand swept across his desk in one swift motion, sending inkwells, quills, ledgers, and a heavy brass paperweight clattering to the floor with a deafening crash.

The sound was violent, shattering the last vestiges of polite society.

Then, he moved. He didn't speak. His hand shot out, not to her throat, but to her hair. He grabbed her roughly by the hair, his fingers tangling in the silken strands, pulling her head back with a force that made her cry out. Her body arched, helpless, as he bent her over the polished surface of his large, imposing desk. The cold wood pressed against her stomach, stealing her breath.

"You think to defy me?" he snarled, his voice low and vibrating with menace, close to her ear. "You think your childish games and your brazen lies will protect you? You think your cries for another man will save you from what you are to me?"

With a brutal, tearing sound, he ripped her clothes. The delicate silk of her gown tore apart, exposing the pale skin of her back, the curve of her hips. A wave of profound violation washed over Livia.

She was utterly exposed, vulnerable, at the mercy of his rage.

She screamed.

A raw, guttural sound of terror and despair, echoing in the now confined space of the study. He didn't try to hush her. He didn't try to muffle her cries. In fact, a dark, terrible satisfaction flickered in his eyes. He wanted her to scream. He wanted everyone to hear her screams. He wanted the entire manor to bear witness to her subjugation, to the price of her defiance.

And then, with a brutal thrust, he took her. Hard. Raw. Ruthless. Against the cold, unyielding surface of the desk.

There was no pretense of gentleness, no semblance of tenderness. It was an act of pure, unadulterated possession, a brutal assertion of his will, a chilling retribution for her insolence, her mockery, her proclaimed love for another man.

Livia's screams tore through the air, piercing the silence of Blackmoor Manor, a testament to the shattering of her spirit and the terrible, undeniable power of the Duke.

The world tilted, dissolved into pain and humiliation, and she knew, with a horrifying certainty, that this was only the beginning.