The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 34: What Lingers After

Adeline's breath hitched as she instinctively pulled her head back, heat rushing to her cheeks as she registered the compromising position they were in. His arm was braced firmly behind her, supporting her weight—but it was the way her chest pressed against him that made her pulse race. The soft crush of contact flustered her further.

"L-let me go!" she blurted, her voice cracking with humiliation.

She kicked out in a flurry, legs swinging aimlessly. Her hands pushed against his shoulder, desperate to reclaim even an inch of space. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze—not when his face remained maddeningly unreadable, as if he hadn't even noticed the scandalous closeness.

Lucien's grip didn't loosen. "Hold still. I can't set you down if you keep—"

Before he could finish, her left foot hit the cobblestone ground at an awkward angle. Pain shot through her toe, and she bit her lip to stifle a groan. It was no use—the sharp jolt overwhelmed her, and she let out a yelp.

Without a word, Lucien shifted, changing her position effortlessly into a bridal carry. The movement was swift yet gentle, and despite the awkwardness, his actions remained composed. Adeline, however, was mortified. She buried her face in her hands, hoping to hide the burning embarrassment etched across it.

It reminded her of the last time he had carried her—when she'd tried to escape. The memory left her oddly nostalgic.

As they made their way back toward the manor, the steady rhythm of his steps calmed her. Her cheeks burned as she recalled what had happened—her cloak snagged on the iron spikes, just like when she was fifteen, falling... and now being carried like some helpless damsel.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeated, pressing her hands harder against her face, wishing she could disappear.

Lucien stepped into the dimly lit living room. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting soft shadows across the space. The fireplace crackled gently, adding a cozy warmth to the chill of the night.

"I really am sorry," Adeline said, her voice small.

"It's alright. You've already said that three times," Lucien replied.

He carefully set her down on the couch, adjusting a pillow behind her back. His gaze shifted to her boot, his expression sharpening with focus.

"Would you mind if I see your left foot for a moment?" he asked, kneeling before her.

Adeline responded with a soft nod. "Uh... yeah, sure."

She bit her lip as Lucien gently tugged at the boot. The fabric grazed her swollen skin, sending a jolt of pain up her leg. She winced but said nothing, trying to remain composed.

Her foot was visibly swollen, the skin stretched tight and flushed with red. A thin trail of blood trickled from the wound, each drop blooming like a crimson petal.

Adeline cast a healing light, the magic enveloping her foot in a soft glow. A moment later, the glow sealed the wound and soothed the swollen skin—but when she tried to move her toes, a sharp ripple of pain surged through her. She groaned, caught off guard by the deep, buried ache.

Lucien's gaze narrowed, focused as he gently touched her ankle.

"Hold still," he said calmly, a flicker of understanding in his voice. 

Adeline watched as he removed his gloves, revealing his bare hands—pale, like fine porcelain.

She blinked, momentarily stunned.

How can a man who's fought battles have hands like that?

Disbelief flickered across her face. She'd expected calluses, scars... not this.