Page 28 of Bound to the Heartless Duke (Regency Beasts #4)

M agnus had not seen Nathan again.

Not since that cold and disquieting afternoon when Theo had spoken to him after the chaos he had caused in the drawing room.

Ever since Nathan’s departure, there had been no raised voices, no slammed doors, not even a bitter goodbye. Just silence. And absence.

And in Magnus’s experience, silence was always the more dangerous of the two.

Now that the house was like that, Lily’s footsteps were no longer accompanied by Nathan’s hopeful attempts to persuade her to marry Ronald Bailey.

Now, she walked with a certain reservedness, a grace that told him she was thinking too much, again.

It could be about her brother’s whereabouts.

It could be his—he wasn’t so sure. And though he kept his distance, though he told himself it was for the best, he found himself listening for her.

Watching the door when he heard her pass. Wondering.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it?

He had told himself that she was a business arrangement. That their upcoming wedding, which was just a few days away now, was a matter of closure, restitution, and benefit.

But when she stood like a lovely rose, when he remembered how she had defended him in front of Cecilia, how she still looked at her brother with sorrow and not hatred, like she already knew the pain of betrayal far too well, it did something to him.

And that thing? He couldn’t name it.

He had tried to.

Tried to convince himself it was an obligation. Gratitude, perhaps. Because the longer he sat with his thoughts, the longer he sat with her thoughts, it got more twisted.

Which was why now that he was seated across from Theo, his glass of brandy untouched, the same thoughts of Lily were the only thing on his mind.

“I want to do something for her,” he said quietly, as if saying it out loud might dilute it somehow.

Theo didn’t look up from the newspaper he had been reading. “You mean besides marrying her?”

Magnus’s jaw flexed. “Something kind. Something… meaningful.”

“Hmm.” Theo folded the paper and set it aside with a flick of his wrist. “Because that’s very much in character for you.”

Magnus gave him a dry look. “I’m capable of kindness.”

“Of course you are,” Theo said agreeably. “Just not without reason.”

Magnus leaned forward, wanting to make sure his words would sink in. “She defended me in front of my sister.She didn’t have to,” Magnus said, as though trying to make sense of it.

“No,” Theo agreed. “She could’ve left you to be shredded by her brother’s petty pride and Cecilia’s disappointment. But she didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Magnus said, seizing that like a lifeline. “So I thought perhaps?—”

“You could repay her?” Theo interrupted, his voice light with amusement, but his eyes sharp. “Some grand gesture of gratitude to ease your conscience before the wedding?”

Magnus hesitated, his grip tightening on the crystal glass.

Theo tilted his head. “Or is that simply what you’re telling yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Theo said, sitting forward with a wry smile, “that you’re going about this in your usual backward fashion.

Convincing yourself it’s debt when it’s clearly desire.

Calling it duty when it’s clearly affection.

You want to do something kind for her, Magnus, because you want to. Because she matters to you.”

“She doesn’t.” Magnus shook his head.

“She does,” Theo said flatly. “And it terrifies you.”

Magnus looked away immediately. The denial felt heavy on his tongue. He stared at the fireplace, watched the faintest glow of ash in the grate while listening to the tick of the clock on the wall.

“She’s not like them,” he said finally, the words sounding strange and fragile once spoken. “Not like the women I’ve met before. She’s… stubborn. Smart. Infuriating as hell. And she looks at me like she sees things I don’t want anyone to see.”

Theo huffed a chuckle. “And yet you can’t help but let her look.”

Magnus rubbed the back of his neck, restless. “If I give her too much… if I let her believe there’s more…”

“She’ll expect more,” Theo finished.

“Exactly.”

“But you’re the one who keeps offering more.”

Silence stretched between them once again, and for a moment, Magnus hated how Theo could read him so easily.

“I thought this would be simple,” he muttered.

“You’ve never done simple well.” Theo stood up then. He patted his friend on the shoulder before adding, “You want to do something for her? Then do it. But don’t insult both of you by pretending it’s only because she defended you.”

With that, he left the room.

The silence that followed wasn’t as empty as earlier. It pressed around Magnus like a question demanding an answer. He sat still for a long moment, staring at the chair his friend had vacated, and suddenly, all he could picture was Lily curling up on it.

He could picture her posture when seated comfortably, her voice, and the ice behind her composure.

And, if he was being honest with himself, it was impossible to ignore.

She was impossible to ignore.

A breath escaped him as he stood up. He grabbed his coat with sudden purpose. If he were to lose control, then he might as well choose how it began.

He would find her. And this time, he wouldn’t speak in riddled

He found her near the stables. Sunlight flashed like gold across her shoulders, and it caught the red hue in her hair.

She was murmuring something to a horse, one hand rubbing large circles on the creature’s flank.

For a moment, he stood and watched the scene, as if trying to remember why he’d come at all. Something about her doing something absentmindedly stirred something within him.

However, she noticed him before he could speak.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” Lily said, before turning her head to the horse. “Especially not yours.”

He stepped forward anyway. “That’s unfortunate. I’ve come to offer you an escape.”

She turned back slowly, her eyebrow arched. “An escape?”

He nodded, folding his arms. “You’ve been caged here like a bird for days. I thought perhaps you might enjoy something less suffocating than this manor.”

She stared at him for a long moment, skepticism etched in every line of her face. “So, this is your idea of kindness?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Let me guess.” She leaned against the stable door. “Another contract hidden under roses? A carriage to take me to another obligation?”

He exhaled, his patience wearing thin. “Must everything be an argument with you?”

“Must you always come with a hidden reason?” Her voice sharpened, and he could sense the hurt behind her words. “Forgive me for not trusting you when your moods have ben inconsistent.”

He flinched at that. It happened so quickly, yet she caught it.

Magnus stepped closer, dropping his arms to his sides. “I didn’t come to fight with you, Lily.” His voice softened. “Believe it or not, I came because I thought you might like something… beautiful.”

That startled her, and she looked him in the eye. Magnus had never been a man who found gladness in prettiness.

Her lips parted with uncertainty. “Beautiful?”

He hesitated before extending a hand toward her. “Come with me.”

She blinked at him. “You haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“Then how do I know I won’t end up on some ship to India?”

He almost smiled. “You won’t.”

The honest in his tone must have reached her because shestared at his proffered hand a beat longer. Then, with a breath like surrender, she took it.

The drive into town was quiet. It was tense as usual, but for the strangest unknown reasons, it was not unpleasant. Magnus didn’t speak much, and Lily didn’t ask.

There was something in the silence that felt sacred and brighter, but they both seemed to hesitate to speak before they understood what it meant.

Eventually, the carriage came to a halt, and Lily was the first to peer through the window. Her breath caught when she saw it—the little theater on Kingsley Row.

She couldn’t believe it. The tickets were hard to find.

“You brought me to the theater,” she said softly, stunned.

Magnus stepped out of the carriage and extended a hand to help her down. “You once told me that you hadn’t been since your mother passed.”

Lily blinked quickly, and he couldn’t tell if it was the breeze or emotion that made her lashes flutter.

“I didn’t think you were listening that day,” she murmured, placing her hand in his.

“I always listen to you,” he said before he could stop himself.

She faltered, her hand still in his. “This isn’t a public performance, is it?”

“No. I had the place cleared.” He offered a small, devilish smile. “I bribed the stagehands. Scandalous, I know.”

As though he hadn’t done enough to leave her speechless, Lily froze. He had the whole theater cleared?

She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

“You bribed a theater?” she asked, stepping out of the carriage.

“I do worse things before breakfast.”

He guided her inside. The large space was dimly lit by candles and shafts of late afternoon light. The stage was empty but bathed in gold. There were petals scattered across the floorboards, and soft music piped from somewhere unseen.

Suddenly, she stopped, before turning in a slow circle.

“You did all of this?” she whispered, stunned.

Magnus also stopped, watching her more than their surroundings. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I simply tried to give you something no one else could.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. No suitor had ever offered her a dance, let alone a private theater.

“You’re impossible,” she said, though her voice lacked heat.

“I know,” he murmured. “Come with me, My Lady,” he added, before leading her further.

He held her hand with one hand, the other around her waist as he helped her up the steps and the moment could only be described as sweet.

They sat in the private box near the stage, and for a long moment, neither spoke. The distant music filled the silence between them.

Well, before Lily broke it.

“I used to come here with my mother,” she said, her voice soft. “She would hum the scores for days after, always just a little off-key.”

Magnus watched her face, and he could see the memory painting something almost childlike across her expression.

“Did you love her?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Very much.”

“And your father?”

Her expression darkened. “He loved her. That was the best thing about him.”

“And the worst?”

“He spent the rest of his life trying to outrun his grief. Until it caught up to him.”

Magnus said nothing for a long moment. Although he tried to return his gaze to the stage, his eyes strayed back to her beautiful face.

“I know what that’s like,” he admitted quietly.

She turned to him, and their eyes locked. “Did you lose someone, too?”

His jaw flexed. “My aunt.”

Her eyebrows rose, surprise flashing between them. That was unexpected.

“You never speak of her.”

“I don’t know how to.”

Without thinking or considering the consequences, Lily rested her hand on his. It was a light and uncertain gesture, but it was real. Deep.

“What was she like?” she asked.

Magnus stared ahead at the stage, watching the actors move around. “Gentle. Smart. And kind to a fault.” A pause. “She died because she trusted someone she shouldn’t have.”

Lily didn’t press further. She only squeezed his hand gently, letting whatever weight in the atmosphere settle between them.

When the silence returned, it felt different somehow. Gentle. Companionable. And when she turned to look at his face again, she found him already staring at her.

His gaze fell on her lips.

There was no calculation now. No guardedness as the tension between them shifted into something different. Something fragile begging to become more.

“You’re dangerous,” Magnus said, his voice rough with restraint.

“So are you,” she whispered.

His hand rose to her jaw, his thumb softly brushing her cheekbone. “If I kiss you again?—”

“I won’t stop you.”

That was all he needed.

In one swift motion, his hand pulled her closer before their lips met in a kiss that was utterly unlike the last.

This wasn’t greed or chaos.

This was reverence. Hunger.

He kissed her like a man who had been holding back for far too long and now had finally broken free.

Lily melted into him immediately, her fingers knotting into the folds of his coat, her mouth moving against his in a rhythm that felt more like admission than desire.

When he pulled her even closer, the entire world felt like it narrowed to the space between their hearts. The stage was forgotten, including the beautiful theater.

All that mattered was her breath, which stuttered as he deepened the kiss, slow and all-consuming, as if he was memorizing the taste of her.

She moaned softly against his lips, and he exhaled sharply, his control waning. But it wasn’t lust that raged inside him. It was something more.

Need.

Hope.

Love.

She pulled back only a breath, her forehead touching his, her lips swollen, her eyes half-lidded.

“To you, this is nothing,” she said, her voice quivering.

She knew that after this kiss, he would revert to his cold, distant, confusing self.

“To me,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, his thumb tracing the seam of her wet lips, “this is dangerous.”

And with that, he pulled away. Abruptly. Without warning.

Lily blinked in confusion as the heat between them vanished like a flame pushed into snow.

Magnus didn’t look at her. He stood up, brushing down his coat. And when he spoke again, his tone was cold. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage. Take your time with the play.”

Then, he turned and left without a backward glance.

And Lily was left in the theater box, her heart pounding, her lips tingling, unsure whether she had just been kissed or warned or messed with.