The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

The following morning, Eilika woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the heavy velvet curtains. She felt remarkably refreshed, the lingering heaviness of her fever finally replaced by a sense of calm. Looking down, she couldn’t help but smile; Roman was still sound asleep, his small arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if he feared she might vanish if he let go.

Moving with careful precision so as not to disturb him, she untangled herself and slipped out of the duvet. She freshened up first, had a warm water bath, then got dressed with the help of Joanna.

"Your Grace, shall I wake up the Young Master?" Joanna inquired, setting the comb on the dressing table.

"Let him sleep," Eilika replied. Standing up, she smoothed out her gown.

"But the Young Master has his morning tutors, Your Grace. His schedule is quite strict," Joanna replied, glancing toward the closed door.

"There will be no classes for him today," Eilika stated. "He needs rest and a bit of freedom more than he needs another lecture on history."

Before Joanna could protest, a servant approached and offered a deep, respectful bow. "Your Grace, the Dowager Duchess has sent this. She requested that you hand it to the Duke personally."

The servant held out a neatly folded outfit. Eilika recognized the clear message from her mother-in-law to ensure she would hand over the outfit to the Duke.

"Joanna, keep an eye on Roman. If he wakes up and asks for me, tell him to finish his morning routine and wait for me," Eilika instructed before taking the clothes and heading toward the Duke’s wing.

She had never stepped foot in Damian’s private quarters before. The atmosphere here was different. It was colder and more austere. The servant stopped at the threshold of the chamber, bowing as Eilika ventured further inside alone. The main chamber was vast and silent, the opulence of the vaulted ceilings making the space feel even emptier.

"Which one is his bedroom?" Eilika murmured to herself, noticing a heavy oak door standing slightly ajar.

Assuming he was already dressed and waiting for his breakfast, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She didn’t have time to look at the decor. Her eyes landed directly on Damian, who had just emerged from his washroom. He stood with his back to her, glistening with droplets of water, wearing nothing but a white towel slung precariously low around his waist.

"Ahh!" Eilika gasped, a sharp scream escaping her as she whipped around, her face instantly heating to a deep crimson.

Damian froze, startled by the sudden intrusion. He turned his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he took in the sight of his wife staring at the wall. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly calm despite the situation.

"Mother... Mother asked me to give this to you," Eilika stammered, holding the new clothes out blindly toward the side, her gaze fixed firmly on a landscape painting across the room. "She insisted you wear these today."

Damian crossed the room to reach her. As he reached out to take the clothes from her, she felt the heat radiating from his skin. Eilika stood frozen, her heart racing against her ribs like a trapped bird. He was standing far too close, the scent of sandalwood and fresh water filling her senses.

"You could have sent a servant to deliver the outfit," Damian said.

"Mother would be upset if she thought I was neglecting my duties," Eilika managed to answer, her voice small. She instinctively took a tiny step forward to create distance, a move that elicited a soft, rare chuckle from him.

"One day she may ask you to share my bed," Damian remarked, already moving toward the bed to lay out the clothes. "Will you obey her then?"

"No," Eilika replied firmly, her courage returning slightly. "She is already well aware of the state of our relationship."

She couldn’t resist a fleeting peek over her shoulder. The sight of the muscles flexing across his broad back as he moved was a sharp reminder of the man she had married, but she quickly shook her head, forcing her mind back to the task at hand.

"Is your luggage packed?" Damian asked, sliding into the crisp satin shirt.

"Not yet. You hadn’t confirmed if we were truly departing today," Eilika said, keeping her back mostly turned but listening to the rustle of fabric.

"Yes, we are," Damian stated. He pulled on his trousers. After tucking the shirt neatly into his waistband, he smoothed the fabric and looked toward her. "You can turn around now, Eilika. I am decent."

She finally pivoted on her heels to face him. Even in the relatively simple attire Georgia had selected, he looked undeniably striking.

"We will be departing in the afternoon in the motorcar," Damian stated, adjusting his cuffs.

"Is it safe?" Eilika asked, her brow furrowing. Motorcars were still a novelty, and the long road to Netham was known for its rugged terrain.

"I have had it thoroughly inspected by the mechanic," he replied, dismissive of the danger. He ran his fingers through his damp, dark hair, his gaze sweeping the room as he searched for a fresh towel to finish drying off.

"Shall I help?" Eilika asked. The moment the offer left her lips, she felt a surge of heat rush to her face. Realizing how intimate the gesture sounded, she quickly tried to backtrack. "I mean... I will go out and ask a servant to come in and assist you."

"Don’t bother," Damian said, his eyes locking onto hers. "I don’t care for servants hovering over me for such personal chores." He sat back on the plush recliner, a silent command in his posture as he watched her. "You can find a fresh towel in the cupboard. Be quick about it."

Eilika hesitated for a heartbeat before crossing the room to the carved wardrobe. Her fingers brushed against the wood as she opened it, finding the linens stacked neatly inside. As she pulled one out and turned back toward him, she realized that despite their distant relationship, this was perhaps the most domestic moment they had ever shared after their marriage.