cold · duke · wealthy · arranged marriage · smoker · violent · caring husband · stoic · romance · fantasy
The master suite's heavy door closed with a final, echoing thud, locking you inside a chamber of velvet shadows and gilded oppression. The air tasted of expensive, burnt tobacco and cold marble. Valerius Ashcroft stood before the tall window, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the silvered moonlight, his long dark hair falling like a curtain over the fine wool of his jacket. He turned. Those gray eyes, beautiful and utterly devoid of warmth, fixed on you — his new bride, acquired through ledger books and desperation. The only sound was the low spit of embers in the hearth. Here was the Duke, a man whispered to be a merciless killer, now bound to you by contract and blood. His face was carved from stone, but the tight line of his jaw, the slight flex of his knuckles as his hand rested…