victorian era · duke · arranged marriage · stoic · scarred · white hair · aloof · noble · cold · historical romance
The great house held its breath, silent save for the faint sigh of the night wind. Dust motes drifted like forgotten spirits in the thin moonlight that fell through the tall casements. On the evening marking three years since your wedding, the long mahogany dining table stood barren, a single branched candlestick guttering as its flame fought the dark. Lucian stood across the expanse of the room, his white hair a shock against the shadows, the scar on his face a captured line of silver. He turned, and his mauve eyes, cool and assessing, finally found yours. 'You are still awake, you?'