{FLASHBACK} — Winter 1702
The gust of chill wind sent violent shivers through Ember, driving her to bury her palms deep into the warmth of her cape.
She stood by the Belmont road, watching carriages roll lazily past as she awaited the one her father had promised would come. Yet, she had stood there from sunset until the dark of night had fully settled.
Ember crouched low when her feet began to ache, wrapping her arms tight around her frame as the wind grew frostier and harsher.
Meanwhile, the Duke, returning from a journey outside the town, spotted a small figure crouching in the windy night.
Wondering if the girl was lost, he instantly signaled his coachman to make a turn.
Ember was terrified when she watched a carriage that had just passed her suddenly turn back, slowing to a halt directly in front of her.
It was far more luxurious than anything her father would send. It was certainly not from him.
Dark rumors plagued the streets—stories of traffickers approaching young ladies in elegant guises to deceive them. These men would lock them in warehouses, starve them, and ship them to foreign lands to be sold.
What if they had upgraded from luxurious outfits to luxurious carriages? To Ember, the turn was deeply suspicious.
The carriage's small window slid aside gently, and a face leaned out. Ember couldn't see his features clearly in the cold night, but she assumed he was a scary-looking man.
Perhaps even more monstrous than she believed herself to be.
"Hello, young lady. Are you lost?"
His speech was refined and posh—not the rough tone a trafficker should possess—but it could still be a trick. He could have practiced the way the elite spoke to lure trusting ladies.
Ember ignored him, hoping he would assume she was deaf or simply realize she wasn't a worthy target.
"Young Lady, you seem to require assistance. Do you need a lift?"
He tried again.
When he received no response, he shut the carriage window.
Ember thought he had surrendered, finally realizing no client would be willing to buy her. She heaved a sigh of relief, but a second later, panic seized her again. The man had stepped down from the carriage instead and began to approach her.
Ember buried her head beneath her cape, struggling to steady her breathing.
The stranger smelled expensive.
Citrus.
It was a popular scent among the country's elite, one that only the wealthiest in Belmont could afford. Imports like that cost a fortune. That could only mean they anticipated a high price for her.
Goodness, was she really going to be sold?
The man crouched low before her.
"Hey, do you need help? I can help. Please, let me help you."
His baritone voice and the gentle way he hovered near her told Ember everything she needed to know about his age. He was young—likely in his late twenties or early thirties.
But she was still not convinced he was just a random rich man hoping to do a good deed.
"Please... don't hurt me."
Ember's small voice pleaded, her lips quivering.
"No. No, love. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help."
The Duke was taken aback that she could regard him as a threat. However, her fear only heightened his desire to offer a helping hand.
She was young; he could tell the moment he stepped out. She had a delicate figure, and he found himself wanting to see the face hidden beneath the hood.
Curiosity won and he crouched before her.
Gently, the Duke wrapped a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head up slowly.
She late him guide her chin. She let her gaze slants and finally pinned his.
Their gazes locked for the first time.
It was dark, but all he could see were the frostiest grey eyes he had ever encountered. And her lips, parted slightly in fear, were the rosiest he had ever seen.
Ember hastily turned her face away, remembering the scar she had to hide.
Yet, when she had looked into his oceanic gaze, she felt a sudden, inexplicable trust. Something about staring into those deep blue eyes assured her that he wasn't the monster she feared.
So, she let him take her hand in his warm palm and lead her into the carriage.
The interior was lined with plush cushions. The rich stranger insisted she use the pillows to rest, concerned she might have strained a muscle crouching in the cold for so long.
When he asked for her name, she refused to speak. She felt his gaze on her all through the ride and had consistently assumed she was hallucinating.
But, his gaze was on her. He sat across her, the novel he had been reading before he sited her by the road tossed aside and forgotten. He watched her intensely even though she had hidden her face behind the cape the whole time.
And when the carriage stumbled and she bolted forward, he had kept her steady by his hand around her waist. "Are you okay, love?" He had muttered.
She said nothing, quickly adjusting. Her heart beating a frantic rhythm.
He was a man she wished to meet again after this night.
However, the shock she felt the following day was indescribable. While visiting the modiste with Lauren, a carriage crawled past the shop window. It was the exact vehicle from the previous night.
Even if she feared she was mistaken in the daylight, the window slid open. The man stuck his face out, waving at the commoners as they bowed in respect.
She could not, in a hundred years, forget that oceanic gaze.
The man she mistook for a trafficker was, in fact, the Duke. And the man she believed was a stranger was the Duke of Belmont.
{PRESENT}
The sound of music swelling indicated that another dance set had begun.
Ember's heart missed a beat.
Lauren had returned to the ballroom to dance with Lord Mlythe, leaving Ember glued to the same spot, contemplating the Duke's request.
Why would he send for her?
Perhaps he wanted to know why she looked so lost that night in the snow. Or maybe he simply meant to ask if she arrived home safely.
Either way, she would be forced to take off her cape because… well, he was the Duke. It would be a grave disrespect to refuse to reveal her face to him.
Panic rose in her chest.
She didn't want the Duke to know what she looked like. She didn't want to reveal her scar to him.
Nevertheless, she marched toward the garden as the music drifted through the air.
Approaching the secluded spot, she caught a glimpse of the Duke's back. Ember was forced to gather her courage and prepare for the worst-case scenario.
He could have her thrown out for showing such a grotesque face to a man of his station. or, perhaps worse, he would just look disappointed that she wasn't the beautiful, charming girl he imagined.
Still, it was an honor that the Duke had requested to meet her in such a private place.
The Duke, who had occupied himself by staring at the dark sky, heard approaching footsteps and immediately twisted around.
She was in her cape again.
He had hoped he would finally get to see the face behind the hood.
"Your Grace."
Ember bowed respectfully, praying she could get past whatever he had to discuss without lowering her hood.
But she was fooling herself, and she knew it
"Take off your cape."