There was complete silence in the duke's room but it still felt unsettling. She stared at the canopy above, tracing the intricate wood patterns that were barely visible in the dying fire.
Where is he, actually?
She had been delivered to his room like a parcel and was told he was unavailable?
Hours had passed, or so she thought. Time moved strangely when waiting for a moment you both dreaded and couldn't avoid.
Her mind, refusing to calm down, began to think about all the possibilities.
Perhaps he was called away on urgent business.
He must be a busy man, which was somehow a comforting thought because it meant he had more important things to take care of than the girl he bought as his bed warmer.
But then a colder thought slithered in, like always.
Maybe he looked at me and felt disappointed.
Maybe he wanted a woman who knew how to smile and understood his expectations.
Or what if this is a game? A test of my obedience?
She imagined him watching from some hidden panel, waiting to see what she would do. Would she lie there meekly? Would she cry or try to run?
The thought made her pull the sheet up higher, suddenly feeling exposed, her eyes drifting to the shadows in the corners of the room.
She lay there for what felt like another hour, her body growing stiff with tension, and her mind racing with the same thoughts again and again. Sleep felt impossible.
Unable to tolerate her swirling thoughts anymore, she sat up and slipped from the bed. She stood near the bed and looking around for something to calm her racing mind and heart. Her eyes landed on his large desk in the corner, stacked with papers.
She walked towards it with her heart pounding. It felt like an invasion of privacy she had no right to. But she was already sold to him. What more could she lose by looking? What punishment could be worse than this?
The desk as expected had stacks of ledgers and opened letters. The handwriting was beautiful. She could tell he was a workaholic.
In the far corner she saw a small, worn book. It was placed under a brass paperweight, looking out of place among the ledgers and business letters.
Her curiosity piqued, she carefully lifted the paperweight and picked up the book. It was a collection of love poetry. She was stunned, clearly not expecting the duke to be a fan of poetry, especially love poetry.
An unexpected smile touched her lips for the first time that day. She opened the book and read a few lines. It was about love and yearning.
She turned a few more pages but immediately stopped when she heard the sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor. Someone was walking towards the room.
Is it the duke? Didn't that man say he wasn't available tonight? Then why is he here?
Panic flooded her body. She slammed the poetry book shut, her hands trembling as she fumbled to put it exactly where it was.
She turned, her thin nightgown swirling around her ankles and ran for the bed. She threw herself onto the far side go the bed, turned her back to the door, pulled the silk sheets up to her chin, and closed her eyes tightly.
Calm down. Calm down.
She tried to calm her racing heart and forced her breathing to slow, pretending to sleep.
The door opened without a knock or announcement. There was no need. After all, it was his own room. He walked in.
She couldn't see him, but she felt his presence. The air in the room suddenly changed.
She heard the soft thud of his boots being taken off, then the sound of a coat being removed and draped over a chair. He muttered a curse as he struggled with a cufflink.
Then he extinguished the lamp, and the room fell into complete darkness. She felt him moving around the foot of the bed, and then the mattress dipped.
She lay rigid, her breath caught in her throat. She waited for his hand to reach for her, for the touch she had been dreading all night.
But nothing happened.
Minutes passed and soon his breathing changed. He had fallen asleep without saying anything or even acknowledging her. He had made it clear that she was nothing more than an inconvenience he had to sleep beside.
Alina lay there, her heart still thumping. A new kind of anger began simmering inside her.
She was relieved that he didn't touch her, but she was offended too. He hadn't even looked at her, had treated her like a piece of furniture, like a new rug on his bed, an object to be ignored until needed.
She should have been grateful for his indifference, grateful that he slept on his side of the bed and left her alone.
But the indignity of it all, being bought like livestock, being delivered like a package, and then being ignored, hurt her more than any unwanted advance could have.
After a while, when she was sure he was deeply asleep, she slowly turned, making sure not to make a sound to wake him up. No matter how strong she believed herself to be, she wasn't ready to face him yet.
The room was dark, but her eyes had adjusted. The moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtains made everything look silver.
She saw him lying on his back, one arm above his head on the pillow, the other one resting on his stomach. The moonlight traced his broad shoulders, and she saw the dark sweep of his hair against the white pillow.
Feeling emboldened by the darkness and his sleep, she let her anger find a voice.
Looking at the man who could fall asleep so easily while she lay awake trembling made her even more angry.
"A very good night to you too, Your Grace. Don't mind me, I'm just the new rug." She whispered.
She watched for any sign of him stirring, any indication that he had heard her. But nothing happened. Satisfied that he didn't hear her, she turned back to her side of the bed.
Most of her anger was gone now, leaving only weariness. She closed her eyes, and this time, sleep quickly, and within minutes she was fast asleep.
On the other side of the bed, Austin Moore, Duke of Ravenmoor, lay perfectly still.
But in the darkness, he smiled.
A new rug?
Well, well. She might be more interesting than I expected.