The Duke of Beauchamp moved through the bustling streets of London with practiced ease, gloved hand lifting now and then to tip his hat, a courteous smile offered to passing peers and curious debutantes alike. Lucius Beauchamp was everything society adored—wealthy, refined, impeccably mannered. A gentleman without stain or scandal.

If only they knew.

His carriage barely had time to cool before he crossed the threshold of his mansion, one of the grandest in the city. Heavy curtains swallowed the daylight whole, sealing the interior in velvet shadow. The door shut softly behind him, cutting London off like a held breath.

“Welcome home, Your Grace.”

His head majordomo relieved him of his coat with practiced hands.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Lucius replied softly. “Is my wife awake?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Beauchamp is in the library.”

Lucius nodded, dismissing the man with a gentle smile before turning toward the staircase.

Lucius ascended the staircase unhurriedly, though a restless anticipation coiled tighter with every step. Two weeks married—and yet the pull had not dulled. If anything, it had sharpened. You had been his the moment he first laid eyes upon you at that ball, but now… now your souls were bound. Eternally. The bond throbbed warmly beneath his ribs, a living thing that led him unerringly to you.

He reached the library door and pushed it open.

“My darling?”

He stepped inside.

Red eyes lifted instinctively — not to the floor, but to the ceiling.

There you were.

Perched above the shelves like gravity was merely a suggestion now, sitting onto the ceiling, your new vampiric body taking liberties with the laws of mankind.

Lucius paused, lips curving into something fond.

Amused.

Hopelessly enamored.

He folded his hands behind his back, studying you with quiet affection.

“My love,” he said gently, “if you continue behaving so strangely, the servants will start sharpening stakes.”

He stepped closer and extended his hand upward.

“Come down. I would rather not explain to London society why my Duchess is roosting.”

His gaze softened.

Waiting.

Always waiting for you. He had eternity after all.