The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

”Who is it?” Louis asked, his relaxed demeanor vanishing instantly.

”Count Elias,” Maurice replied. ”However, before I could reach the two informants who were talking that night, they were already dead.”

”Dead? How?” Louis pressed, his eyes sharpening.

”Poison,” Maurice answered flatly. ”They were silenced before they could utter a single name beyond the Count’s.”

Damian’s frown deepened as he processed the news. He leaned back into his heavy velvet chair. ”Elias has been nursing a grudge ever since I refused to marry his daughter,” he muttered. ”I expected petty political resistance, not assassination attempts.”

”That Count holds a lower rank and limited resources,” Louis stated, pacing the length of the rug in deep contemplation. ”How could he possibly plan something so heinous on his own? I suspect a much larger hand is moving behind him, using his bitterness as a shield.”

Damian tapped his desk, his mind already calculating the web of alliances around him.

”Also, you refused to marry his daughter last year. The assassination attempts on you have been happening long before that,” Louis asserted, his expression darkening as he paced.

”Elias became a part of them,” Damian replied, his voice cold. ”We will have to make him talk.”

”How? It’s best you don’t go near him personally. Send your spies instead,” Louis suggested, always the pragmatist.

”Hmm. I’ll see to it. Above all, I need to ensure Roman and Eilika stay safe,” Damian pronounced.

Louis leaned against the heavy oak table. ”You let them roam in the market today. Though I must say, the security was tight.”

”It won’t happen again,” Damian answered shortly. He rose from his seat. ”I’m heading home. Louis, make sure Benedict has that report ready by tomorrow.”

Louis bowed slightly, his gaze steady. ”I’ll bring the report to you myself, Your Grace.”

Damian hummed in response, then left with Maurice for the mansion.

Stepping out of the motorcar, he headed straight for his chambers, his mind still heavy with the day’s political tensions.

However, as he moved down the quiet corridor, he stopped.

The sound of Roman’s bright laughter echoed from the gardens below. Damian shifted toward the open window and looked down.

In the courtyard, Eilika was blindfolded, her silk scarf tied securely. She was reaching out, her movements careful yet playful, as she attempted to catch Roman.

Maurice glanced at the Duke and noticed the immediate change; the cold, sharp lines of Damian’s expression had softened into something unrecognizable from the man who had just threatened an Earl.

Without a word, Damian turned and headed toward the garden.

Maurice remained at the window, choosing to let the Duke enjoy a private moment with the Duchess and his son.

In the garden, Roman darted back and forth, giggling loudly as he called out to Eilika. ”Over here, Mama! No, over here!” He constantly changed spots, his small feet crunching on the manicured grass.

Eilika laughed, her hands outstretched as she felt the air. ”I’m going to get you, Roman! I can hear your footsteps!”

Just as Roman went to dash past a large stone pillar, he nearly collided with a pair of polished black boots. He looked up, his eyes widening as he saw his father standing there, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

”Mama!” Roman shouted, scrambling to hide behind his father’s tall frame, using Damian’s legs as a shield.

Before Damian could even react, Eilika’s hands found his waist. She gripped him firmly, her laughter still ringing out, until the sudden realization hit her. This wasn’t the small, soft frame of a child. The fabric beneath her fingers eas different, and the body she was holding was solid.

She ripped the blindfold away, her eyes widening as she found herself staring directly into Damian’s chest.

”Your Grace!” she gasped.

Flustered, she tried to step back too quickly, her heel catching the heavy silk hem of her gown. She began to tilt backward, but Damian’s hand shot out, his arm circling her waist to pull her steady. Instinctively, Eilika reached up, her hands grasping his forearms tightly to anchor herself.

The garden went quiet, save for Roman’s muffled giggling from behind Damian. For a moment, neither of them moved. Damian’s gaze was steady, his usual coldness replaced by a flicker of something far more observant as he looked down at her.

”Careful, Duchess,” he said. ”The garden paths are not meant for blindfolded sprints.”

Eilika felt the heat rush to her cheeks, her heart hammering against her ribs. Damian released her only after ensuring she was balanced, though his gaze immediately dropped to her discarded sandals lying several feet away on the stone path.

”Were you playing with your bare feet?” he inquired.

”Hmm. Walking on the grass with bare feet is good for the soul,” Eilika replied, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She felt a bit exposed under his scrutiny, her toes still peeking out from beneath the silk hem of her gown.

”And what if you had hurt yourself?” Damian arched an eyebrow, his protective instincts overriding the lightness of the moment. ”There could be sharp stones or insects despite the staff’s efforts.”

”The grass is manicured perfectly, Damian. It’s like walking on velvet,” Eilika answered with a small, defiant smile. She suddenly realized the garden had grown quiet. ”Where did Roman go?”

She looked around the hedges and stone pillars, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Just then, a servant stepped forward from the shadows of the veranda and bowed.

”The Young Master has headed to his chambers, My Lord.”

Damian looked back at Eilika, the corner of his mouth twitching. ”Roman wanted us to share the moment together,” he mumbled.

”Huh?” Eilika blinked, not catching his quiet remark.

”Nothing,” Damian replied. He turned and walked toward the stone path, his long strides taking him to the spot where her sandals lay discarded.

She panicked, seeing the high-ranking Duke of Varos reach for her footwear. ”I’ll wear them! Your Grace, please—” she rushed over, her bare feet pressing into the grass.

Before she could grab them, Damian dropped to one knee, placing the sandals firmly in front of her. ”You can place your hand on my shoulder,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pulled a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of his overcoat.

Eilika hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs, before she lightly rested her hand on his broad shoulder.

She watched, breathless, as he took her right foot in his hand.

With a steady, gentle motion, he used the expensive fabric of his handkerchief to wipe the blades of grass and dust from her skin.

Despite her quiet protests and the flush deepening on her face, he didn’t stop. Once her feet were clean, he carefully slid the sandals back on.

He looked up at her then, his hand resting loosely on his knee as he remained at her level for a moment. The usual coldness in his eyes had been replaced by a quiet intensity.

”Doesn’t the sun’s heat tire you out?” Damian asked, standing up and towering over her once more. ”Try to play indoors if you must. The palace has plenty of galleries that stay cool even in this weather.”

He tucked the ruined handkerchief back into his pocket, seemingly unbothered by the dirt on the silk.

”It is good to play outdoors,” Eilika insisted, her eyes bright from the afternoon sun.

”It turns out you have a penchant for it,” Damian remarked, watching the way her expression lit up.

”Yes. I used to—” She cut herself off, realizing she was becoming overly excited in his presence. She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. ”You must be tired. We should go in.”

Damian hummed in agreement and walked alongside her into the palace.

As they entered the quiet of his chambers, Eilika glanced back at the door, surprised that the usual trail of servants hadn’t followed them inside.

”I prefer to change without the servants’ intrusion,” Damian explained, already unfastening the heavy silver buttons of his overcoat.

”Oh, I almost forgot,” Eilika said, lightly tapping her forehead with her palm.

”Help me, since you are already here,” he said, draped the coat over a chair.

”Huh? Me?” She pointed a finger at herself, her eyes widening.

”Yes, you, Eilika. We can talk about what you and Roman found during your time outside,” he replied.

Eilika stepped closer, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the first button of his waistcoat.

To steady her nerves, she began to recount their adventure in the market. She spoke of the bustling stalls, the baker’s kindness, and how Roman had carefully chosen treats for the three of them.

Damian listened intently, his gaze fixed on her face as she spoke.

”You love yellow lemon tarts!?” Damian mused.

”Hmm. The sour and sweet taste is best,” Eilika answered, turning as she held the waistcoat close and lowering it to the chair.

”You won’t take him outside anymore. This was the first and last time I allowed it,” Damian suddenly said, vanishing the smile from her face.