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The two maids scrambled to their feet, bowing frantically before turning and fleeing down the rear service staircase as fast as their legs could carry them.

George stood alone, his chest heaving. The silence that returned to the gallery felt heavy, suffocating, and charged with an unsettling energy.

He leaned back against the wall as the servants' cruel words echoed continuously through his mind. A temporary Duchess... holding the seat until I tire of the arrangement.

His own household staff, the very people pledged to serve her, viewed Helena as a temporary fixture. It burned through his soul with agony. He had convinced himself that his strict adherence to the rules was necessary to protect her from his own dark nature. Yet in doing so, he had exposed her to the most insidious form of disrespect within her own home. He had allowed the world to believe that she was unloved, unwanted, and disposable.

I cannot allow this to continue. She is the Duchess of Cavendish. She is the mistress of this estate, and I will not permit a single soul to treat her as anything less.

His mind flashed back to the breathless, searing passion of the kiss they had shared. The uninhibited heat, the desperate way her fingers had clung to his coat, and the truth that had existed between them in that singular moment. He had fled from that kiss out of fear, hiding behind his cold rules like a coward. But now, he saw clearly that his cowardice was destroying the very dignity he had sworn to uphold.

Things had to change if he was to maintain his household. Publicly, socially, and privately, the performance of cold indifference was over.

Instead of turning toward his private study or his lonely bedchamber, he marched straight down the corridor, heading directly toward the Duchess's private suite.

A sharp knock reverberated against the thick oak. Helena stirred slowly as the unexpected sound broke through the morning quiet. It was far too early for her maid to be bringing her morning tea or stoking the hearth, and the insistence behind the rap made her pulse flutter nervously against her ribs. Pushing back the sheets, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes as she moved toward the door.

"Who is it so early in the morning?"

But before she could grasp the brass latch, the door swung inward with force.

Without uttering a single word of greeting or requesting her leave, George strode purposefully in, carrying past her shoulder before he turned on his heel and shut the door firmly. The sudden intrusion left Helena breathless, her heart hammering violently in her throat. She glanced in the mirror and immediately noticed the extreme delicacy of her current attire. She was dressed only in her nightwear, a fine, silky gown trimmed with intricate lace across the fitted bodice, the delicate, translucent material clinging softly to her silhouette and leaving the full swell of her breasts almost entirely visible.

George stood motionless before the closed door, his broad shoulders squared and his jaw set in a hard line that seemed carved from dark granite. His icy blue eyes dropped slowly, flowing from the pale column of her throat to the sheer lace of her bodice where her breath hitched, and finally sweeping over the entire length of her slender body. There was a raw intensity burning in his expression that threatened to consume more than just her freedom in that instant.

Does he plan to invade every inch of my life without any care for my disposition? Helena thought furiously, her mind whirling as she felt the weight of his gaze press against her skin. His eyes seem to hold anger and desire in an unsettled mix.

Unable to bear the unshielded scrutiny a moment longer, Helena turned away and hurried swiftly behind the tall folding screen that stood near her dressing table. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for a heavy cashmere shawl draped over the back of a velvet armchair, wrapping the soft fabric tightly around her shoulders and crossing it securely over her chest until every inch of lace was completely concealed. She took a deep breath, forcing her racing heart to slow as she summoned every ounce of her pride and composure. When she finally stepped out from behind the divider, her head was held high, her posture erect, and her expression carefully schooled into a mask of composure, though a playful glint flickered in her eyes.

She offered him a gentle incline of her head, her lips curving into a confident smile of satisfaction as she observed his unmoving form. "Good morning, Your Grace. Did one evening without defeating me in chess already become unbearable for you?"

To her complete surprise, George did not smile. Not a single line of his handsome face softened, and the heavy gloom hanging over his shoulders remained unbroken. Instead, he crossed the chamber slowly, pulling back a velvet armchair positioned near the hearth and seating himself squarely upon it.

George rested his dark gaze upon her face, his voice cutting through the bedchamber with a binding chill that put her immediately on guard. "I believe it is time I made some changes to our present situation. Currently, the terms cannot hold."

Helena frowned, the playful satisfaction draining completely from her countenance as she folded her arms tightly over her shawl-wrapped chest, taking two deliberate steps toward the hearth to meet his piercing gaze directly. "Changes, Your Grace? I was under the impression that the terms of our marriage were settled with clarity before we ever stepped before the altar. We agreed upon our boundaries, our public obligations, and the quiet management of this estate. What could possibly have transpired between yesterday evening and this morning to render our established arrangement so suddenly unviable?"

Her tone carried a careful blend of sharp curiosity and rising defensiveness, and from George's face, it seemed to unnerve him. He inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed her guarded posture, though his expression remained resolutely unreadable.

"What has transpired is the plain reality that our quiet isolation here has failed to protect this household from the malicious scrutiny of the world," George answered, his voice laced with suppressed bitterness. "Just minutes prior to coming here, while walking through the gallery, I had the misfortune of overhearing two of our own housemaids engaging in the most atrocious, unforgivable gossip. They spoke of this household with insolence, speculating freely upon the private intimacy of our marriage and thus warranting their immediate dismissal from Surrey."

"The boundaries we established have created a dangerous silence; a silence that idle minds are all too eager to fill with slanderous ruin. We can no longer afford the luxury of separate existences or public indifference, not when every servant and noble spectator is waiting to dismantle your standing."

Helena tilted her head, her brows drawing together as she studied the dark shadows beneath George's eyes, sensing an unspoken agitation tormenting his mind. "If this sudden urgency concerns our impending journey for Duke Caspian's grand assembly, I assure you, Your Grace, I am entirely prepared to face the ton," she stated firmly, stepping closer to his chair. "I have been wounded before by the sharp glances of high society, and I know how to armor myself against them. I know precisely how to navigate a London ballroom without giving our detractors any cause for triumph."

"It is not merely the ballrooms of London that require our attention," George countered, rising from his chair with imposing grace that instantly closed the distance between them. "The perception of our union must be managed everywhere, starting within the borders of this very estate. Even here, we are surrounded by wagging tongues, and this marriage must appear strong and unassailable. For Oliver's sake… and your own."

"I would never do anything to harm Oliver's standing in society, and you know it." Her eyes narrowed, their earlier softness disappearing in a glint of protective anger.

"And do you think you do not matter at all? You are my wife, and I will not have you slandered by the ton, still less by my own servants!"

"If I matter so much, if you control every word said about me, then why can you not bring yourself to call me by name? Your Grace?"

Because I cannot trust softness. Because I cannot trust myself. "Because you are my duchess. As we agreed. And as it must remain."

Chapter Fifteen

George fell silent, but it was too late to call back the words. He stiffened, his chest heaving as his eyes widened with surprise at his own outburst.