chapter 10

Taking a steadying breath, Damien strode toward the door and pulled it open.

"Let him in." His voice was smooth, collected, as if the last ten minutes of sheer chaos had not occurred.

As the heavy oak door swung open, his father’s imposing figure stepped into the room, his presence alone enough to command silence. Lord Reginald Blackwell was a man of formidable intellect and reputation—a scholar whose works had once been studied across the empire. Though he had since retired, his authority had not diminished, and Damien knew all too well that there were few men in society who could rival his father’s influence.

At once, Damien rose from his seat, his posture impeccable, and executed a proper torso bow—a mark of deep respect.

“Your Grace,” he greeted, his voice measured and formal.

Lord Reginald nodded once, his sharp gaze sweeping the room before he strode toward the very seaden Damien had vacated and took his place upon it. His movements were deliberate, steeped in the etiquette and discipline that had defined his life. Folding his hands over the carved wooden armrests, he fixed his son with a piercing stare.

“Would you mind explaining your situation?” he asked, his tone calm yet carrying an unmistakable demand for truth.

Damien stood unmoving for a brief moment, collecting his thoughts. The child in his arms stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips before she nestled once more into his chest. With calculated care, he adjusted his hold on her, then met his father’s gaze with a solemn expression.

“As you see, Your Grace,” he began, his voice firm, “I had a dear friend—a man of great honor—who named me as the guardian of his child. Alas, due to the plague that swept through his continent, both he and his wife perished within their dukedom, leaving none to care for the babe.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing, “I had no other choice but to adopt this child and grant her the life she rightly deserves.”

His words were steady, carrying no trace of hesitation, and yet, in the back of his mind, he could scarcely believe the lengths to which he was going to justify the presence of the infant in his arms.

Lord Reginald regarded him for a long moment, his sharp eyes betraying no emotion. Then, with a measured nod, he spoke.

“A noble act,” he conceded. “But tell me, what of your fiancée? Is she aware of this child? Does she accept that you shall enter into marriage already bearing responsibility for an infant?”

Damien hesitated. A fleeting silence passed between them before he offered his carefully prepared response.

“Not yet, Your Grace. I intend to write to her and disclose the situation. Should she consent, we shall proceed with the marriage as you so wish.”

His father leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, did not waver.

“And what,” he asked, his voice now tinged with quiet authority, “if she does not?”

A flicker of tension passed through Damien’s frame. Though outwardly composed, he could feel the weight of his father’s question pressing down upon him.

Still, he inclined his head and replied with an air of certainty, “Then we shall cross that bridge when the time comes. For now, let us think for the best.”

Lord Reginald’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, betraying a trace of displeasure at the ambiguity of his son’s response. But Damien remained unwavering, his expression impassive.

Yet, within the recesses of his mind, an entirely different sentiment festered. How could she reject this alliance when she was the very architect of it? He suppressed the urge to scoff at the irony of it all.

I am not merely marrying a troublemaker, he mused bitterly. I am marrying trouble itself.

The realization did nothing to ease his predicament. He stood there, bearing the weight of his father’s scrutiny, the child nestled in his arms, and the intricate web of deception he had spun—all while knowing that Kara, the very source of his torment, was likely eavesdropping from within his bathing chamber.

Only God knows where she will lead me next…

And so, he remained where he stood, his grip on the infant tightening slightly, as the first chapter of his carefully crafted tale began to unfold.

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