Page 29 of Bound to the Heartless Duke (Regency Beasts #4)

T he morning light filtered through the silk curtains, painting golden lines across the floorboards of Medlin Manor. Once, it was her home; now, it was something else. Something… borrowed. Something fading.

Lily stood still in the middle of her room, dressed in what could only be described as a dream turned into fabric. The delicate lace and satin shimmered like moonlight, the sleeves so fine they could melt at the warmth of a glance.

It was a wedding gown. Her wedding gown.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

Or rather, she tried to. It wasn’t that the smile wasn’t genuine; it was, but something heavy tightened in her chest. Probably because of the phantom of a brother whose absence had grown more disturbing by the day.

Or because of a husband whose gaze burned hotter than a flame.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

She took a deep breath. “Come in.”

She turned around to find him there.

Magnus Wyndham.

Speaking of the devil.

He looked as composed as ever, dressed in a tailored dark navy coat that only accentuated his jawline. But his eyes… those traitorous eyes always told more than he let on.

“You look…” He hesitated.

Was that a rare crack in his armor?

Lily tilted her head. “Yes?”

He straightened his cuffs, his eyes flicking to hers. “Like you’re trying very hard to make this real.”

That stung more than she let on.

She arched her eyebrows. “And you look like you’re trying very hard not to mention my brother,” she replied lightly, reaching for a pearl pin on her vanity and sliding it into her hair. “Have you heard anything?”

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

So she turned back to the mirror, checking her veil. “He’s always been difficult,” she murmured. “But I didn’t think he’d run.”

“I don’t think he’s run,” Magnus murmured, his voice quiet and measured. “I think he’s hiding. And I think he’s ashamed.”

Lily’s hands froze on her veil. Although the words got to her, she still managed to tilt her chin up, proud as a princess in a portrait. “Well, we all carry our burdens differently.”

Magnus’s eyes didn’t leave her reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t stop staring at her face. But whatever he was about to say was cut short when a sudden squeal sounded in the corridor.

“Lily Starks?—!”

The door flew open, and three elegant women stormed into the room in a flurry of silk, satin, and perfume.

Cecilia. Ava. Eveline.

Three duchesses. Three friends. The only people in the world who could make her laugh without trying.

When she turned around and saw them, her face lit up.

Cecilia ran straight to her and threw her arms around her. “I still cannot believe this is happening. You’re marrying my brother. I spent so long telling you all the reasons I hated him and now you’re marrying. I don’t know whether to be glad we’re becoming sisters or to pity you.”

Eveline stood back, her eyes wide with mock horror. “What do you mean you’re not running away? Lily, this is your last chance. We can still smuggle you out through the kitchens,” she said, before elbowing Magnus, who already took a step back.

Ava burst into a laugh, before stepping closer to take Lily’s hand. “You look stunning. Absolutely radiant.”

“I’m pretending not to notice how pale she looks,” Cecilia quipped, tugging on her veil playfully. “Is it because of the Duke, or because you haven’t eaten?”

“It’s because of you three descending like crows on the poor bride,” Magnus cut in.

“Oh, he speaks,” Eveline said with a grin, before looping her arm through her husband’s, who appeared quietly in the doorway. “Well done, Duke. You’ve officially frightened your bride speechless.”

Lily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now— genuinely smiling.

She didn’t realize how much she had been drowning under the weight of lying to her friends but now that she had their support, she felt she could face the journey ahead.

“Now, let’s have the best wedding,” Ava said, before hugging Lily.

As Ava stated, ‘best’ but not ‘biggest.’

The ceremony was intimate, precisely as they had planned. Or rather, precisely as Magnus had arranged, just as he managed everything else. There was no fanfare, no extravagant reception, just a quiet gathering of close friends, followed by a warm meal and enough toasts to keep the wine flowing.

Cecilia and Theo. Ava and Edwin. Eveline and William.

Three ducal couples. Each with their own stories and scars, seated around the dining table, watching Magnus and Lily intently.

“You know,” Edwin said, his tone casual as he passed the wine, “when Magnus told me he was getting married, I assumed it was a ruse. Some elaborate scheme to seize another estate or ruin an enemy.”

“I’m still not ruling that out,” Theo piped up with a smirk. “There’s something suspiciously domestic about you lately, Blackmore.”

Magnus didn’t respond. He simply glanced at Lily across the table.

She knew she must have looked a fright with her cheeks were flushed from laughter and reached up to smooth a hand over her hair.She caught him staring, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered what he saw when he looked at her like that.

Then, she looked away, turning to Cecilia to whisper something that made both of them dissolve into happy giggles.

William raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re enjoying yourself.”

Magnus took a sip of his wine. “You don’t know better.”

Cecilia, having overheard, leaned across the table with a playful grin. “Oh, he’s enjoying himself. Just look at him, trying not to smile.”

Ava joined in, as they all liked to tease Magnus. “We all saw the way he looked at you, Lily.”

Lily’s giggles died down, and she arched an eyebrow.

“How did he look at me?” she asked, trying her best not to sound too bothered.

“Like he might just throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of the room,” Eveline replied, digging into her Food. “Which would be quite the scandal, considering there’s still cake to be had.”

Lily laughed, even as she glanced at Magnus, who said nothing.

Dinner progressed, filled with that joy and warmth and stories of the past. But beneath it all, Lily felt that weight again. That heaviness attached to her smile. That ache behind her ribs.

And maybe amidst the laughter and chatter, Magnus noticed, because she felt his hand brush hers beneath the table.

The touch sent a shiver through her but he felt far away, distant, and cold still. Even now that his hand was on her thigh, it still felt as though he were far away.

The ride back to Blackmore Manor was quiet.

The silence wasn’t oppressive, but it held… something.

Lily watched the passing scenery through the window, admiring the warm glow the August twilight cast on the trees. Her hands rested in her lap, clasped tightly, though she wasn’t sure why.

Maybe because the realization was sinking in deeply now. She was his wife now. Magnus Wyndham’s wife.

Yet she had never felt less certain of what that meant.

Magnus hadn’t touched her during the entire ride. Not once. Not her hand. Not her waist to guide her inside. Not even her shoulder in passing.

And it wasn’t just restraint. It was distance. A carefully maintained one. One that had been renewed the evening they kissed at the theater.

She told herself not to care. And yet, she still did. In fact, she cared more than she ought to.

Eventually, they arrived just before evening.

Blackmore Manor was as she remembered it—still, silent, opulent, and well-staffed. And the atmosphere felt like every other evening. It was hard to believe they had exchanged vows earlier that day.

They climbed out of the carriage, and Lily was immediately introduced to her new lady’s maid. At that moment, she deeply missed Summer.

Her room had been prepared, as well as Magnus’s. But they were separate rooms.

Of course, they are separate.

A few minutes later, she was standing in the candlelight, alone once more in her new chamber.

She couldn’t sleep. She had dressed in the soft satin nightgown that had first belonged to her late mother. She fingered the lace trimming the neck fondly.

Although she had never imagined her wedding to be this loveless, she had already made a promise to wear the gown on the night of her wedding.

She felt both foolish and vulnerable, but the way the silk cooled her skin made it worth it.

She did not know what to expect, if she were being honest. Not exactly. But surely… surely something more than silence. Something more than coldness and distance. From him.

Without thinking twice about it, she crossed the room and opened the door. The luxurious manor was still. No music, no laughter, no sign of celebration. No sign of him .

She chewed on her lower lip. Perhaps… perhaps he was waiting. Perhaps he?—

She exhaled sharply.

Stop being ridiculous, Lily.

She knew Magnus wouldn’t wait for her.

Drawing in a breath to compose herself, she stepped barefoot into the hallway and marched down the stairs, her fingers trailing along the polished railing.

As she moved toward the study, she spotted a sliver of light beneath the door.

Of course. That was where he was. Always in the study. Always alone. Even on their wedding night.

Without knocking, she pushed the door open.

Seated behind his desk, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a half-filled glass of brandy in front of him, Magnus didn’t notice. Until she stepped into the room.

His head snapped up, and he froze.

Lily stood close to the door, dressed in only her satin nightgown. It was revealing, provocatively elegant, letting her bare arms gleam in the firelight. The neckline was low enough to make his breath catch, and her hair… it hung down her back, begging for his fingers.

And her eyes? They were defiant, like she had something to break.

He stood up immediately. “Lily?—”

“Don’t,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her. “Don’t say you weren’t expecting me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m your wife.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She crossed the room slowly. Each step was deliberate and controlled, not betraying the nervous flutter in her chest. “I waited. In my room.”

“I know,” he said gruffly. “That’s why I stayed here.”

Her heart sank at his words. He didn’t even pretend otherwise for the sake of her feelings.

“You kissed me,” she reminded him, furious. “You touched me like a man starved. You said?—”

“I said I wouldn’t touch you again.”

“That was before.” Her voice cracked. “Before we got married.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes everything.”

He rounded the desk before she could say more. “Lily, you know what this marriage was supposed to be. A contract. A promise. A deal. I offered you security—your name, your home, your freedom. I did not offer you myself.”

Her throat burned. “And what if I want you?”

He froze. Then, he slowly looked at her like he couldn’t breathe. Like her words had hit him somewhere vulnerable. And yet, after a moment, he shook his head.

“No, Lily.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Why? Because you pity me? Because you think you’re protecting me from a part of yourself you think I can’t handle?”

“Because if I touch you again,” he said slowly, darkly, “I won’t stop.”

Her breath caught. The air thickened with tension.

“If I take you to bed,” he continued, each word like smoke and fire, “I won’t be able to keep pretending this marriage is something I can control. And I need to control it, Lily.”

“Why?” she whispered, desperate for an answer.

“Because wanting you hurts more than it should.”

Lily moved without thinking. One step. Then another. Magnus didn’t back away this time. His jaw was clenched tight, his chest rising and falling hard.

“You kissed me like you meant it,” she pointed out.

“I did.”

“Then why deny it now?”

“Because I can’t afford to need you,” he said, his voice rough. “Not like this.”

“But I’m your wife,” she emphasised again, breathless.

He looked at her then— really looked at her—and for a moment, he wavered. For a moment, his defenses shook.

She could feel it in the way his body leaned toward her. In the way his gaze dropped to her mouth. In the way the air crackled.

Suddenly, he grabbed her arms, and her breath stuttered. His grip was light enough to hold her in place as his face hovered a mere inch from hers.

Their breaths mingled, and he pulled her close enough that her chest pressed against his, that her pulse fluttered under his thumb.

But like a dish shattering against marble, his words broke the tension.

“I will not take you to bed,” he said quietly, cruelly tender. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Her lips parted in utmost disbelief. “You’ll regret that,” she whispered.

“I already do.”

She stared at him, fury and heartbreak warring in her chest.

And then, before she could stop herself, she turned sharply and stormed out of the study, not bothering to close the door behind her.

She didn’t look back, and neither did he.