The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Those particular words made Lucian stop dead in his tracks, his entire frame freezing as if he could not believe the absolute nonsense that had just escaped Laurent’s lips. A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face. Sensing the immediate, negative shift in the Duke’s mood, Laurent’s smile only widened, entirely unbothered by the look on his face. He simply offered a polite, shallow bow.

"Ah, I must have had a bit too much to drink at the banquet tonight. Forget what I said," Laurent chimed breezily, waving a dismissive hand. "But you know what? I’ll go right now and speak to His Imperial Majesty for you. Just don’t take too long changing, okay? I’ll see you back at the banquet, my friend!"

With a cheerful skip in his step, Laurent scurried off, disappearing back down the long corridor toward the roaring sounds of the ballroom.

Lucian remained standing, watching the man hurry away. He certainly was going to let himself believe that Laurent was entirely drunk, because how in heaven’s name did he even arrive at such an absurd, immoral conclusion? To suggest that he found the wife of Vincent Devereux appealing, the very woman who had just ruined his clothes and insulted his pride, was borderline blasphemy.

"What a clown," Lucian muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

Turning back toward his quarters, he quickened his pace, eager to scrub the scent of spilled wine and Laurent’s ridiculous teasing from his mind.

*****

Back in the sapphire wing, Vincent had successfully helped Penelope get rid of the stain on her dress.

"Better?" he asked, setting aside the damp cloth.

She nodded, staring down at the fabric in genuine disbelief. She was utterly stunned to see that he had managed to get rid of the stubborn wine stain so effortlessly. Her dress looked as good as new again, without a single trace of the dark crimson liquid left behind.

"Are you still heading back to the banquet?" she asked, turning to face him.

But Vincent had already sunk heavily into the mattress, letting his heavy frame fall back against the plush sheets. He let out a long, weary sigh, the heavy velvet of his cloak pooling around him.

"I think I’ll wait here until it’s time to see the Emperor," he replied, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "After attending the Sala, it’s exhausting seeing their faces all over again."

Penelope smiled softly at his clear exhaustion. Mirroring his movements, she climbed onto the bed and lay down on the mattress as well. She positioned herself so her head was gently touching his, their bodies angled in opposite directions as they both faced the high, painted ceiling of the imperial guest room.

The quiet of the room was a stark, comforting contrast to the overwhelming noise of the ballroom.

She liked that she also got to see this side of Vincent. Away from the prying eyes of the capital, the unyielding, untouchable mask of the Marquis completely slipped away, leaving only the man she had come to know.

"Is this why you don’t host events at the Devereux estate?" she asked softly into the quiet space. "You’re not a fan of crowds, are you? I mean, considering you manage a whole campaign, you’re still more reserved at royal parties and events."

"To be fair, if I did host one, no one would come," he shrugged, entirely unbothered by the thought.

Penelope parted her lips, her eyes widening in disbelief at his sheer cynicism.

"If you were to host an event, you’d be surprised how many guests you’ll receive," she insisted, turning her head slightly toward him. "The Marquis of Aelgard never hosts an event, so do you really believe that the one time you choose to host, no one would come?"

The fierce defensiveness in the way she spoke made Vincent smile. He truly didn’t care about the fickle whims of the high nobility anyway, but his wife was so wonderfully passionate about it that he could not help but lead her on.

"You think so?" he murmured, his voice laced with faint, lazy amusement.

Penelope had to twist her upper body entirely to look down at him, her expression dead serious. "I know so," she declared, cementing her stance with a firm, definitive tap of her palm against the plush mattress.

"In fact, let’s prove it. When we return to the Devereux estate... no wait, we still have things to do when we return," Penelope murmured, her voice trailing off as she thought about the pending issues waiting for them back in Vandalia. "How about, after we’ve got everything settled, we host a small event and see how many people show up? Hopefully before the winter season."

Vincent pretended to think about it, tilting his head slightly with a thoughtful hum. "There’s the annual autumn festival. How about that?"

"Perfect. That would work."

Penelope knew for a fact that she wasn’t as naturally detached from society as Vincent was, since she was more of a social bird before she lost her mother and was trapped at home.

She liked to communicate with people, thriving when she found those who matched her energy, and still holding her own even when they didn’t. She hadn’t gone to the Sala simply because she didn’t feel like it. But if she had been by herself at the banquet tonight, she would have certainly floated through the room and spoken to far more people. However, given the choice, she would choose spending quiet time with her husband over a sea of superficial nobles any day.

Slowly, the lingering tension in her shoulders began to dissipate. That nightmare from earlier had almost ruined her wonderful night, but looking at Vincent now, she promised herself not to think about it or bring it up anymore. Tonight was theirs alone, and she wouldn’t let a fleeting shadow ruin it.

Vincent had his eyes closed once more, but she could tell he wasn’t sleeping. The subtle tension in his jaw gave him away, and she tilted her head absent-mindedly, watching him once more. She knew it was because of what the Emperor had said about wanting to see him after the banquet that kept him awake.

The Emperor must have an immense amount to share with him. It had been years since Vincent claimed to have last stood in the imperial presence, a lifetime ago, right after he had won his first bloody war and earned his place as the formidable new Marquis of Aelgard.

"You’re staring at me again, aren’t you?"

His voice, low and gravelly, snapped her clean out of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing that she was, in fact, staring directly at him.

But while Penelope was sitting there thinking he was merely suffering from exhaustion or heavy thoughts of state, the young man was quite literally battling a fierce, mounting war with his own primal needs. He hadn’t closed his eyes out of fatigue. He had closed them simply to resist looking at her—to block out the devastating sight of her beautiful face, her gorgeous eyes, and those lips that had been torturing him all evening. He was terrified that if he kept looking, he would lose what little restraint he had left, pull her beneath him, claim those lips, and never stop.

The silence between only them grew thick, heavy with an unspoken, suffocating heat.

Vincent opened his eyes, the gray depths dark and burning with an intensity that made Penelope’s heart race instantly. He didn’t look like a detached Lord right now; he looked like a man desperately starving for his wife. Without a word, he reached out from his position beside her, his warm hand anchoring firmly behind her neck. His thumb brushed against her jawline with a fierce, possessive pressure that made her breath hitch.

Maybe if he just had a taste, it would help him pull himself together.

He knew it was a bad idea, but what if—

Shifting slightly while keeping his head aligned with hers on the mattress, he began pulling Penelope’s head down toward his. Her lips were just inches away, their breath mingling in the quiet space, before he suddenly stopped. Her own eyes were beautifully closed, her expression entirely soft and inviting, perfectly poised to welcome him.

Gosh, the moments when he actually needed her to stop him, she was always all the more willing to let him.

Vincent closed his eyes for a split second, a silent, internal curse vibrating in his chest.

Silly woman.

Just so she could also feel a fraction of the burning frustration he was going through, he chose to deny her as well. He lightly tapped her cheek with his finger, the playful contact snapping her clean out of the magical trance.

"What are you doing?" he asked smoothly, his eyebrows lifting with a look of pure innocence as he noticed the baffled expression on her face. She was entirely too cute.

Penelope blinked her eyes open, realizing he hadn’t kissed her like he so obviously had been planning to do. She wanted nothing more than to snap back an answer to his stupid question, but the faint, wicked glint in his gray eyes made her realize he was just teasing her.

She clicked her tongue in mild annoyance, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering warmth. Defeated, she rolled over to her side, turning her back to him.

"Never mind," she muttered, clutching one of the pillows to her chest.

Vincent let out a low chuckle at her sulking reaction, the sound vibrating warmly against the mattress. He began to reach out to pull her back against him, but before his hand could touch her shoulder, a sharp, formal knock on the door cut through the quiet room, instantly shattering the air.

Without anyone even speaking from the other side, Vincent’s amusement quietly vanished. He knew exactly who it was, and he knew his time was up.