Free Web NovelChapter 38: 38 Officially My Scandal
Lucien grabbed a large, plush linen towel, wrapping it securely around Elian’s shoulders. He didn’t let go, his hands remaining on Elian’s covered shoulders as he guided the trembling truth seeker out of the washroom and back into the dark expanse of the bedchamber.
The room was illuminated only by the dying embers of the hearth and the silver moonlight cutting through the window. It felt entirely different now—smaller, more dangerous, like a trap that had successfully sprung closed.
Lucien led him to the edge of the grand bed. With surprising gentleness that felt entirely contradictory to the harsh words he had spoken moments ago, Lucien began to dry him. He pressed the towel against Elian’s damp skin, wiping away the water from his chest, his torso, and down his legs, careful to keep his movements steady so as not to aggravate the bandaged wrist resting weakly on the mattress.
Elian kept his gaze locked on the floorboards, his bottom lip bitten so raw he could taste copper. He felt utterly bare beneath that intense, green gaze, even as the fabric shielded him.
Once Elian was dry, Lucien walked over to his drawer, pulling out a loose, oversized silk tunic—one of his own. He returned to the bed and held it out.
"Put it on," Lucien commanded quietly.
With shaking fingers and just one functional hand, Elian clumsily guided his head and arms through the dark fabric. The silk was smooth, but it smelled heavily of cold cedar and clove—Lucien’s scent. It engulfed him, draping past his thighs, a constant reminder of who owned the room he was standing in.
"Lie down," Lucien said, watching the fabric settle on Elian’s frame.
Elian paused, hesitation clear in his eyes.
"Did you not hear me?" Lucien questioned, raising his brow.
"I..." Elian paused, biting back the sob that threatened to break once again from his throat.
This was exactly what he was avoiding: losing his last remaining dignity. Unfortunately, his unbridled desires had cost him that; Lucien had claimed his body tonight, and from that moment, he knew he had given his last rein of restraint to the Duke, rendering him powerless and voiceless.
"I heard you," he murmured and complied reluctantly.
He needed to disappear beneath the heavy furs; at least, that would give him some sense of privacy that he no longer had. He crawled into the center of the vast bed, curling onto his side and tucking his injured wrist safely against his chest. He pulled the blankets up to his chin, staring blankly at the dark canopy above.
Lucien stood by the bedside for a long moment, towering over him like an unyielding shadow. His own trousers were damp at the thighs from the sloshing bathwater, and his dark hair was slightly messy, but his face had returned to that impenetrable, aristocratic mask. The smug, toxic triumph in his eyes was muted, but it was there, glittering in the dark.
Without a word, Lucien turned on his heel and walked toward the small washroom door to clean his hands, leaving Elian alone with the crushing weight of the debt he had just incurred.
Elian inhaled quietly, closing his eyes.
He touched me... and I let him, tears rolled down the sides.
But that wasn’t the most horrific thought; the worst was the part where he enjoyed every single second of it, the part where he fell apart for the very man he hated.
"I’m sorry, Mother," he whispered, wiping his tears away.
This time, he didn’t bother shutting down his thoughts; he let them scream and claw until his tiredness lulled him to sleep.
After a while, Lucien walked back into the room, changed into loose black linen sleep trousers that hung low on his hips beneath an open white shirt.
He didn’t hurry to climb into bed; instead, he took his time, staring at Elian’s sleeping form under his sheets.
He saw the giant trail of tears across Elian’s cheeks and frowned. "You’re really an ingrate," he murmured, his hand reaching toward Elian’s cheek, stopping just before he touched the skin.
"Even when I’m not hurting you... you still cry. Ingrate," he withdrew his hand, dusting it beside him.
Elian suddenly stirred, adjusting his head on the pillow, causing his hair to fall over his forehead.
Without thinking, Lucien reached out, gently taking the strand away from Elian’s face, his fingers grazing Elian’s skin.
In fascination, he watched as Elian’s porcelain skin flushed beneath his touch, almost as if he were unconsciously aware he was being touched.
He’d never seen skin as porcelain as Elian’s; it almost looked unreal beneath the candlelight.
He suddenly frowned, stepping away from the bedside. What was he doing standing there and staring at Elian sleep?
He turned, pulling his cold mask on. He could simply lie next to Elian without touching him, but he could not risk it; without his gloves, he was vulnerable to Elian.
He went over to his high leather chair in the corner, lowering himself into it. He sat in silence, staring at the moon through the open window and wondering just how he was going to control this hunger that had suddenly unleashed inside him.
How does he curb the urge to always touch Elian? He thought he was in control, but in that washroom, he realized something unsettling and alarming: Elian was in control.
It was dangerous, life-threatening, and that was exactly why he would never show Elian how obsessed he was; if not, he’d lose every string of power he held over Elian.
A slow yawn suddenly crept out of his mouth, shocking him.
He thought the first time in Elian’s room was luck, but feeling the sleep creep into his eyes, he was certain that it had something to do with Elian.
Relaxing into the chair, he tried to keep his eyes open, waiting for those haunting images and screams to awaken, but before he knew it, his eyelids fell shut, and sleep invaded him.
Elian slowly stirred, squinting as the bright sun shone directly into his eyes. Feeling too comfortable on the soft bed, he didn’t feel like waking up. But he suddenly remembered he wasn’t in his room and immediately snapped his eyes open, darting them around the room.
He found Lucien, just like the other time, sleeping on a chair.
Why had he left his bed for me?
Not waiting for Lucien to wake, Elian decided to escape back to his room instead. He pressed his hand on the bed and tried to turn to the other side.
"Tss—" A sharp hiss escaped him as pain shot up his arm.
He sat up abruptly, holding his sprained wrist in his good hand, his lips pressed tight. He groaned, cursing internally.
He had almost forgotten about his wrist. From his side-eye, he saw Lucien’s eyes open and gritted his teeth.
There goes his escape.
"What are you doing?" Lucien asked, striding over to Elian before his question could even settle.
The sharp gasp from Elian had broken the sleeping spell from him, jerking him awake in an instant. Seeing Elian sitting on the bed with a dreadful look on his face, he suddenly wanted to make sure everything was okay with him.
He stopped beside the bed, gently taking Elian’s injured wrist in his hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked again, his voice surprisingly tender.
Elian focused his eyes on the bed beneath him. "Nothing, I was trying to stand up," he murmured.
"You’re careless," Lucien said, his other hand coming up to caress the wrapped wrist, his eyes roaming Elian’s sleepy face.
His brown curls looked messy, needing urgent rescue by oils and combs. "I really do not like your hair," Lucien mumbled.
Elian licked his lips. "If it’s so much trouble, I can cut them short—"
"Never," Lucien cut him off, his hand going under Elian’s jaw to cup his delicate chin as he leaned down. "Never cut them," he whispered, letting himself drown in those beautiful blue orbs.
"Do you hear me?" He narrowed his eyes, his thumb caressing Elian’s jawline.
Elian gulped, hating himself more as he leaned into that forbidden touch.
"I understand," he replied quietly.
Lucien smirked. "Good boy." His breath fanned hotly against Elian’s lips, teasing him.
And just when Elian thought Lucien wasn’t going to do it, he felt the warm, soft press against his own.
Lucien kissed him slowly, kneading his lips against Elian’s as his hand traveled from Elian’s jaw to his hair, bunching the soft curls behind Elian’s head to angle Elian’s head just how he wanted it.
Elian felt the soft lick of Lucien’s tongue on his lower lip and gasped, but that was the entry Lucien needed. His tongue slipped wetly into Elian’s mouth, swiping across his teeth before tangling with his tongue.
"Mmn..." Elian moaned softly, tilting his head higher to give Lucien better access.
Feeling the nonverbal invitation, Lucien growled low in his chest and pressed his knees one after the other onto his bed, his arms shooting out to gather Elian into his arms.
"Your Grace," Ms. Beck’s soft voice called behind the door.
Lucien immediately felt Elian stiffen in his arms. With great difficulty, he pulled his mouth away, pressing their foreheads together as their ragged breaths mixed.
"Good morning, Your Grace. I’m here to draw you a fresh bath," Ms. Beck knocked lightly on the door.
"Relax," Lucien locked his arms around Elian’s waist as the smaller man tried to scurry out of his hold. "No one enters unless I permit," he whispered, leaning in as if he wanted another kiss only to let his lips brush softly against Elian’s.
He knew Ms. Beck’s arrival should have broken this Elian-spell off, but he felt like he was forever falling into that forbidden pleasure.
"Return in twenty minutes, Ms. Beck," Lucien replied calmly.
"Yes, Your Grace," Ms. Beck answered.
Soon, they heard her footsteps walking toward the stairs.
Lucien let out a long sigh. "You’re officially my scandal, Elian," he murmured, touching Elian’s cheek. "It stays between us, do you understand?" he whispered.
Elian looked away, biting down on his lip. "It stays between us..." He said, "I would die before I tell it to anyone... especially my mother."
Lucien’s face suddenly darkened and he slowly released Elian, climbing down from the bed.
He’d die before he told anyone?
Was that how shameful it was for Elian to be associated with him?
Very well; it was good Elian had something to lose if people found out: his dignity and pride. That would keep him on the leash.
But to Lucien, it was more than just pride and dignity. It was his identity, purpose, and position. He couldn’t let such a hideous scandal out.
"Get up. Leave," Lucien commanded.
Elian didn’t need to be told twice; he slid off the bed and hurried toward the door before Lucien could change his unstable mind.
"Return to me in twenty minutes. Don’t try to clean yourself," Lucien said, glancing at Elian.
Elian paused at the door, nodded once, and walked out with a frown.
He knew this was just the beginning of his very complicated and dangerous life with the cold Duke.
