Chapter Seven: A Kingdom Of Eyes

The Carriage Ride:

The carriage bumped gently over the uneven cobbled path, the golden trim of the windows catching the evening light. Inside, there was silence heavy and charged.

Eleanor sat opposite the Duke, her gown flowing like water over the plush seat, the rich fabric glimmering every time she moved. A strand of hair had escaped resting against her bare shoulder and for the past ten minutes, he hadn't been able to look away from it.

This was their first social outing together, and she knows who is behind this outrageous idea. Her mother.

She wasn't speaking. She didn't need to. Her presence alone was loud and unsettling. Almost cruel.

The Duke shifted his gaze to the passing trees outside, jaw clenched.

Control yourself, he thought.

It was infuriating, the power she had over him. The scent of her perfume was soft, barely there, but enough to stir him. Her lips, painted a shade too provocative for tradition, seemed to part just enough to test his restraint. And her eyes, when they had briefly met his earlier, had been unreadable. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

He wasn't used to being this close to her without speaking. Without touching, especially after what happened the last time 

She crossed her legs slowly, the motion unintentional or so he hoped and it pulled his attention again.

He hated how she made him feel like a man out of control.

He had conquered men, destroyed alliances, bent nobles to his will. Yet here he was, battling the urge to reach across the small space between them and drown himself in her soft sweet scent. He wanted nothing more than to cup her lustful looking boobs in his hands and possibly mouth, he needed to escape before he lost control of himself.

Immediately the carriage finally slowed to a stop, he exhaled, almost in relief. He reached for the door.

"Shall we?" he asked, voice cool. Too cool.

Eleanor simply nodded, the corners of her lips barely lifting. As she took his arm and descended from the carriage, the Duke told himself, Tonight is not about wanting her. Tonight is about reminding everyone who she belongs to.

The Arrival:

The ballroom glowing in candlelight, chandeliers casting gold over velvet drapes, the marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Laughter echoed through the air, mingling with the orchestra's melody. But all of it faded the moment Eleanor entered.

She didn't walk. She arrived.

Every head turned.

The sudden hush that swept across the room wasn't planned, but it was instinctive, as if the space itself held its breath to take her in.

Her gown, a masterpiece of midnight silk and delicate lace, clung in all the right places and flowed like ink around her heels. A single sapphire hung at her neck, catching the light like a secret. Her hair, styled with effortless precision, shimmered under the chandeliers as though kissed by moonlight.

She held herself with a calm sort of confidence not forced, not rehearsed. Just presence. The kind that couldn't be taught.

The Duke followed a few steps behind, and even he, a man who could silence any room by sheer presence, was almost overlooked, next to her. But not for long.

Whispers rippled.

"That must be her…"

"She's more beautiful than I imagined."

"Do you think she's truly his?"

"He doesn't share. If she's here with him, she's his."

Men stared openly. Some with hunger. Others with admiration. A few women offered half hearted smiles, some could not hide the envy. Some looked to the Duke, waiting for a reaction.

But they didn't have to wait for long.

He caught up to her at the top of the staircase overlooking the ballroom, pausing beside her, hand resting lightly on the small of her back, not as a gesture of support, but possession.

She didn't flinch, but she did glance at him, eyes unreadable, and he smirked faintly, as if to say yes, let them look.

From Across the Room:

A young nobleman, handsome, confident, whispered something to his companion and began making his way toward them.

The Duke saw.

He didn't speak, didn't move but his cousin, Silas, appeared from the side of the ballroom with a glass of wine and intercepted the man with a charming distraction.

"Not tonight, my lord," Silas murmured in a low voice. "Unless you enjoy losing fingers."

The man paled and turned away.

The music swelled, and Eleanor descended the grand staircase with grace. Her gloved hand trailed lightly on the railing, the gown sweeping behind her like a whispered secret. The Duke followed at a calculated distance, not so near as to not seem possessive, but close enough that no one would mistake her for unclaimed.

The orchestra dipped into a waltz.

Glasses clinked.

The hum of strings and soft laughter faded into the background as Eleanor stepped further into the marble floored ballroom, her gown moving behind her like mist. All eyes were on her, some in admiration, others in quiet envy. She had long grown used to the attention, but tonight, it felt different. Sharper. As though something unseen was waiting.

From the balcony above, the Duke of Langley watched. His glass of wine remained untouched, his gaze fixed on the woman who now owned the room. His cousin Silas beside him. The way her shoulders held firm, chin raised, lips gently curved not in a smile, but in quiet triumph. Every man she passed turned slightly, stealing a glance. Every woman calculated or whispered. But Eleanor seemed untouched by it all.

Until she wasn't.

"Lady Eleanor."

A voice, cool and sharp, cut through the moment like a pin dropped in silence.

Eleanor turned. Slowly. Composed.

The woman approaching her was tall, older, and undeniably beautiful in that sharp, polished way. Her gown was deep crimson, that screamed power and fury. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

The room was already watching.

"I must admit," Meredith began, voice low and edged with steel, "I expected someone taller."

Eleanor paused mid step. A hush sound near them. Her expression remained serene.

"I wonder," Meredith continued, tilting her head, "if you truly understand what kind of man you've attached yourself to. Or are you just… another distraction?"

Eleanor's gaze didn't shift as she responded. "Is that what you were?"

The question sliced through the moment like glass. A few audible gasps echoed from nearby women pretending not to listen.

Meredith's lips parted, but Eleanor leaned in slightly. "If you've come to make me jealous, you've wasted your time. If you've come to scare me, I suggest you try harder."

Before Meredith could reply, a shadow moved behind Eleanor, tall, composed, unmistakably present. The Duke had descended the stairs, glass in one hand, the other resting lightly on Eleanor's back.

Meredith straightened, offering a cool curtsy. "Your Grace."

"Lady Meredith," he said, flatly.

She lingered half a moment, glanced between the both of them, then walked off.

Eleanor didn't watch her go.

She turned to the Duke. "She seems pleasant."

He looked at her a bit, "You handled her well."

"I didn't handle her. I simply responded. There's a difference."

He studied her, the way she stood so poised, unbothered, radiant and offered his arm. "Dance with me."

She hesitated, then slipped her hand into his.

As they stepped onto the ballroom floor, the orchestra swelled once more, and space parted for them. They were elegance and danger, grace and power, drawing every eye in the room.

They danced without speaking at first. His hand firm on her waist, hers resting lightly on his shoulder.

"Do they always watch you this much?" she asked quietly.

"They're watching you," he murmured back. "And wondering how I managed to keep you."

She met his eyes. "You haven't."

He smirked. 

"You surprise me," the Duke said, eyes locked on hers.

"How so?"

"You didn't raise your voice. You didn't flinch."

Eleanor tilted her head. "Why would I? A woman only loses her power when she believes someone else can take it."

He chuckled, low and real. "You're dangerous."

"I'm a woman surviving in a man's world."

They turned, his hand tightening slightly on her waist.

"You handled Meredith well," he murmured. "But there's something else behind your calm. What is it?"

Eleanor's smile faltered for the first time. "I'm learning how to deal and react to difficult situations without it breaking me."

He studied her. "And does it?"

"Not yet."

Another spin. Closer now.

"I thought I had figured you out," he admitted.

She raised a brow. "And now?"

"I was wrong."

Their steps slowed, moving more like shadows than dancers now. Eleanor felt the burn of his gaze, not just on her skin but beneath it.

"This is the first time we've done this," she said quietly.

"What?"

She was caught in the moment, she didn't realize she had said it out loud, she was enjoying their closeness, the way his hands were caressing her body. The way he looked at her, his masculine scent… 'what's happening to her'? He is the enemy.

"I wanted our first time to be like this. With everyone watching." He answered.

Ohh, she drifted back "To prove something?"

"To remind them what I already know."

She gave him a curious look.

"That you belong here," he said. "With me."

Their bodies stilled as the music drew its final note. Silence followed and then, applause. But neither moved.

The moment hung between them, breathless.

"I'm not yours," Eleanor whispered, voice trembling for the first time.

"I know," he said. "Not yet."