summary: When the season’s most eligible bachelor, Min Yoongi, encounters a sharp-tongued masked stranger at a masquerade ball, he expects nothing more than fleeting amusement. Instead, one reckless waltz leaves him captivated by a woman who vanishes before revealing her name.
warnings: yoongi is a warning in itself, high-society courtship politics, reputation stakes, ballroom tension.
note: this is my first try posting one of my many projects. I’ve been obsessed with bridgerton lately and hello? Min Yoongi. I hope you like this little one shot. I’m already working on the continuation and it would obviously contain mature content but let me know if you’d be interested.
word count: 1.3k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Epilogue
—
The ton had unanimously agreed that this season’s most eligible bachelor was none other than Mr. Min Yoongi. The Duke of Westmorland.
Reserved, devastatingly intelligent, and he possessed of a fortune large enough to make even the most composed mamas flutter, he had successfully evaded every attempt at courtship thus far and did not dance unless necessary. He did not linger in conversation and most certainly, he did not believe in love matches. Which was precisely why the masquerade ball at Lady Bridgerton’s estate had amused him.
Behind a mask, society’s rules loosened, titles blurred, expectations dimmed, that is until when you quite literally collided with him. Yoongi had stepped onto the terrace for air, the noise of the ballroom too shrill for his liking, when a blur of silk and hurried breath ran directly into his chest. A gloved hand pressed against him to steady herself, another clutched the railing.
“Forgive me,” you whispered urgently, not looking up. “If anyone asks, you have been speaking to me for the last five minutes.”
Yoongi arched a brow beneath his black half-mask. “Have I?”
“Yes,” you insisted, finally glancing up.
Your mask was silver, delicately shaped like moonlight, and your eyes, sparkling, intelligent, amused despite your distress, met his with a daring he had not encountered all season. He was intrigued to say less.
“I am an excellent conversationalist,” you added. “You would have been thoroughly entertained.”
A slow, reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. “And what pressing catastrophe requires my participation in this fiction?”
You subtly peeked over his shoulder toward the ballroom doors. “A viscount with far too much persistence and a mother with far too many ambitions.”
“Ah,” Yoongi murmured. “You are hiding.”
“For the moment.”
“Well,” he said coolly, stepping closer so his body shielded you from view, “I suppose I should ask what we have been discussing for the last five minutes.”
Your eyes sparkled again. “Whether love is a practical arrangement or a reckless indulgence.”
He huffed softly. “And which side did I argue?”
“You claimed love to be inefficient and distracting.”
“Then I was correct.”
“And I,” you countered smoothly, “informed you that life without a little recklessness is hardly living at all.”
There it was — that spark, that challenge.
Inside, the orchestra shifted into a waltz, he tilted his head toward the ballroom. “If we are to make this convincing, Miss…?”
You hesitated. “Tonight, I believe I am simply a girl.”
“Very well,” he smiled. “Then dance with me, simply a girl.”
You should have refused, this was not smart but there was something about him, something that, instead, made you offer your hand. You moved onto the floor as if you had practiced the steps for years. You danced boldly, not timid like the debutantes trained for perfection, anticipated his turns, matched his rhythm and even teased him with half-smiles and sharper words.
“You disapprove of society,” you observed softly as he spun you.
“I disapprove of predictability.”
“Then you must be terribly bored.”
His gaze locked on yours. “Not at present.”
For the first time in months — perhaps years — Min Yoongi felt something dangerously close to intrigue. Then, just as the music swelled toward its crescendo, your expression changed. A flicker of alarm and your grip tightened before you stepped away mid-turn.
“I must go.”
“What?” His hand remained suspended where yours had been.
“If you wish to see me again,” you said quickly, backing toward the crowd, “find the lady who does not wish to be found.”
“That is hardly helpful.”
You smiled, mischievous, almost apologetic.
“I did warn you. Recklessness.”
And then you were gone. Vanished into silk, masks, and chandeliers.
Yoongi stood in the center of the ballroom long after the music ended, scanning faces, colors, gloves — nothing. Only the faint scent of lavender and raspberry lingered.
For the first time in his carefully ordered life, Min Yoongi wanted something he did not possess.
A name.
—
The Duke did not believe in ghosts, and yet, for three days following the masquerade at Lady Bridgerton’s estate, he was haunted. He found himself scanning drawing rooms with careless precision, noting gloves, posture, the tilt of a head. Silver gowns, lavender perfume, laughter that might conceal sharp wit, but none of them were her.
—
The scandal had never been proven, which, in the ton, was far worse than guilt.
Years ago, her mother’s name had been whispered too freely beside that of a married duke — a friendship too close, letters too frequent, a financial arrangement too conveniently timed after the duke’s sudden departure for Vienna. No proof of impropriety had surfaced and no duel had been fought, no confession was made but society did not require truth, it required suggestion… and suggestion had lingered.
The family had survived — barely. Invitations reduced. Allies cautious. Suitors wary of attaching their name to something… unstable.
—
Her Majesty’s events were not attended — they were endured and one did not decline such an invitation. Not even families balancing on the edge of reputation.
The chandeliers in the palace glittered mercilessly. Every jewel gleamed brighter. Every whisper cut sharper. Desperate mamas throwing their debutant daughters into Yoongi, he of course would only engage with proper manners but never with interest. He had almost convinced himself you would not be present.
And then… he saw you. Pale blue silk this time. No mask. No moonlight to hide behind. Only poise carefully stitched into every movement, and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
You were laughing at something your mother had said — graceful and composed — but your shoulders were too straight. Your smile too measured. He knew you were hiding behind a mask still.
He crossed the ballroom before he could reconsider. When you turned and found him standing before you, the laughter died softly.
“Good evening,” he said.
“My lord.” A perfect curtsy. Neutral. Unremarkable.
“We have met.”
“I do not believe we have.”
“You enjoy debates on recklessness,” he replied calmly. “You favor lavender and raspberries. And you flee when cornered.”
A flicker, there — in your eyes.
“You mistake me for someone else, my lord.”
Behind you, the air shifted.
The viscount.
He approached with leisurely entitlement, bowing just slightly too late.
“Miss,” he greeted, as though tasting ownership in the word. “You have been scarce this evening.”
Yoongi did not look at him, he looked only at you and how you had gone still. Were you scared of him? Of your mother? Society’s lingering eyes? He frowned slightly as he tried to decide what to do.
“Have I interrupted?” the viscount continued smoothly, a charming smile with underlying intentions.
“Yes,” Yoongi answered.
A murmur rippled nearby.
The viscount’s smile tightened but he kept his eyes on you. “I was under the impression this dance was promised.”
“She has promised you nothing,” he replied evenly and commanding. “But I believe Her Majesty dislikes discord at her gatherings.”
The threat was clear, cause a scene, and you will answer for it. For a moment, it seemed the viscount might press the matter, then the orchestra began. Yoongi extended his hand. There was the slightest hesitation before you placed yours in his and you moved onto the floor beneath the Queen’s watchful gaze.
“You are reckless,” you whispered.
“You told me life required it.”
“This is not a game.”
“I am aware.”
The dance was slower than the masquerade. More exposed, with no masks, no excuses to flee this time, and no pretending.
“Your mother,” he said quietly, guiding her through a turn, “has endured cruelty that was never substantiated, has she not?.”
Your eyes met his as your breath stilled.
“You know nothing of that.”
“I know enough.”
The viscount circled the edge of the dance floor like a hawk.
“He has threatened us” you murmured. “If he cannot secure an engagement, he will ensure no one else dares attempt it.”
Yoongi’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“And you?” he asked. “Do you wish to be secured?”
You met his eyes fully then with no pretense.
“I wish,” you said softly, “to choose.”
The music swelled.
And suddenly the Queen herself beckoned for attention, announcing an unexpected presentation — a newly arrived Prince to be introduced.
The floor dissolved into movement. Courtiers shifted and lines broke. In the confusion, your hand slipped from his. He turned and you were already retreating.
“Wait—”
But you had vanished into silk and jewels once more. Except…
On the polished marble where you had stood lay something small… a silver ribbon.
Delicately embroidered with a crest — half-faded, nearly unnoticeable unless one looked closely. Not your family’s crest, your mother’s maiden crest. A name long buried in gossip columns. Yoongi bent to retrieve it.
And for the first time, he smiled, for he now knew for certain where to find you.
I can’t believe I actually got to see them live on their first concert back 😭 it was truly an amazing experience. Despite the rain and cold, they gave their everything and beyond.
i just wanted to say… I absolutely LOVED recklessness under moonlight 😭 seriously. The whole plot, the characters, the tension, the YEARNING!!! The SLOW BURN 😩😩😩 uuughhh I dieeeed!! Everything was amazing. And now this epilogue, you had me kicking my feet 🥹🩷. They are such a beautiful pair… and I am not ready to let them go. Please pleaseee please… I hope to see more snippets of their life together. I would love to see more from you of course, if you ever think of writing other stories… just… don’t say goodbye to them just yet 😭💜
Min Yoongi… the Duke that he is 😮💨😮💨 I need me a man like that.
aaaahhhh 😭😭 thank you so much for loving this story!! I never thought my silly ideas would be so well received by so many lovely people.
I appreciate you taking the time to write this as well. Getting to read your honest thoughts and comments is something I love as an aspiring writer. I hear you loud and clear 🤭 the Duke and Duchess will stick around for a bit longer… expect more glimpses of their lives in the future.
Recklessness under the Moonlight was such a SHDKKDKFKSMJFSNFJS read you have NO IDEA about the power you have over us with Duke Min cos OHMYGOD
When I discovered it across my feed AND I SAW DUKE MIN I KNEW... I K N E W THIS WAS GOING TO BE MY UNDOING AND UNDOING IT WAS
Some part of me is so HEJDKAKFJSJD that I discovered the fic in thr first place IN ITS EARLY DAYS BIT OHMYGOD when I say THIS... THIS IS WHAT BRIDGERTON S4 NEEDED AND THIS... THIS GAVE ME EVERY BIT OF YEARNIMG AND ANGST AND ACHE AND DISTANCE I YEARN FOR OHMYGOD THERE COULDN'T HAVE BEEN A BETTER TANNIE TO BE THE DUKE THAN YOONGI WAS IN THIS FIC
The man THAT HE IS
Quiet FORMIDABLE AND NOT LETTING HIS DUCHESS GO
She was his duchess LONG BEFORE THAT PROPOSAL AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I haven't read for over a month and this???? This was the best thing I could've asked for to come back with
🥺🥺🥺 the matching sapphires...the man ready to let his name be torn down by rumours so long as it protects her... the man who wouldn't let her life be a pawn on the chess board "YOU ARE NOT A PIECE TO BE TRADED DO YOU HEAR ME?!" I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR DUKE YOONGI DJDJKSNFNDNF
And the fact THAT THE FIRST TIME HE HEARS HER SAY HIS NAME ITS ALMOST AS A GOODBYE DJJDMSNFNSN ARTISTRY
The YEARNING
The ACHE
THE EMOTIONAL ANGST
THE SOULS AND HEARTS MEETING BUT THE TON BEING SOMETHING THAT MAY TEAR THEM AWAY
I dont have WORDS for how BEAUTIFUL this fic is and how it made every corner of my heart pang for them
It was just BEAUTIFUL
This fic. This... this is what the yearning is for
And the dialogue was HAUNTINGLY BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD
I'm always goint to come back to this fic when I miss a historical man in yearning and im glad that the first ever bridgerton x bts fic I read was this one
Thank you thank YOU for writing this and sharing
I can't wait to see any glimpses of them in the future with drabbles 💜💜💜
YOU have bewitched me heart mind and soul with this fic
Thank you🥺💖
My sweet, sweet purplebeebs… you had me in tears 😭🥹
This truly means the world to me, seriously… To know that you and many other sweet people took the time to read this and enjoyed my silly little writing!? it makes my heart happy 💜 it is the best feeling, I will make sure to write more drabbles of them soon.
I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice 🤭
And finally, thank YOU for also taking the time to write these sweet words 🩷 I hope you have the loveliest week wherever you are my dear.
warnings: Yoongi being Yoongi, so much fluff y’all
note: This is the last part of a series. I would recommend reading parts 1 through 5 to understand the story better.
note 2: I couldn’t let this story go TT.TT I love this Yoongi and reader so much, I had to give them something special. This will be the end of this Universe I think, but I already have so many other ideas that I can’t wait to share with you all. As always, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated but honestly, just you reading it makes me happy.
word count: 1.7k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
—
Two years later.~
Dawn came quietly to Shadow-Wood Manor. The lake was as still as ever, a perfect mirror of pale morning light, thin ribbons of mist drifting lazily across its surface. The ancient oaks stood still in the early light, their reflections stretching long and dark across the glass-like water. It was here that the estate felt most like him; calm, endlessly deep.
The world had not yet woken, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had paused—held gently in the hush of early morning. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic dip of oars through water.
You had woken to an empty bed, but you had not been surprised.You knew exactly where he would be, there were only two places he would go to find himself. After checking his studio but only finding his beloved piano, you went directly to your second guess, and there he was indeed. In the center of the lake.
The black-lacquered rowing boat cut smoothly through the water, each stroke of the oars steady and precise.Yoongi moved with the same quiet precision he always had. The world might have changed around him—titles, expectations, the weight of a life now shared—but here, in the stillness, he remained the same. Or so he told himself.
From the dock, you watched him for a moment, adjusting the small bundle in your arms as it stirred softly against your chest.
“Your Grace,” you called gently.
The oars stilled instantly. He turned—and the transformation was immediate. It always was. That sharp, calculating stillness he carried so effortlessly with the world softened in an instant when his gaze found you. And then— Something even softer when his eyes dropped to the baby in your arms.
He guided the boat back without a word, movements just slightly less measured now, just a touch quicker than usual. You smiled to yourself thinking impatience did not suit him. And yet, there it was. By the time the boat reached the dock, he was already stepping out, securing it quickly before turning back to you.
“You are awake early,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual edge.
“So are you.”
“I am always awake at this hour.”
“Yes,” you replied lightly, taking his hand as you stepped into the boat, “I have gathered that you are a deeply inconvenient man to be married to.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.
“And yet you accepted, my love.”
“I am beginning to question my judgment.”
“You are free to rescind your decision.”
You chuckled and settled onto the seat, adjusting your grip on the baby “Absolutely not. We have company now”
You shifted the baby slightly, revealing his small, peaceful face. Entirely unaware of the effect he had on the most feared man in England.
Yoongi said nothing. Just looked. As though committing every detail to memory. “…He was asleep when I left,” he said quietly.
“He just woke,” you answered softly. “And decided he would rather find you.”
A faint exhale left him—something softer than a sigh. “Is that so?”
“Well,” you added, a hint of teasing in your voice, “it appears you are already his preferred parent.”
Yoongi’s brow lifted slightly.
“That is a bold claim.”
“Is it?”
You gently placed the baby into his arms. And just like that— The Duke of Westmorland, the man who could dismantle entire reputations with a single sentence… Looked completely undone.
He held the child with surprising ease, one hand supporting him instinctively, the other adjusting the small blanket with careful precision. “…He has grown,” Yoongi murmured.
“It has been two weeks since you last made that observation.”
“He has grown in those two weeks.”
You smiled. “I believe that is how children work.”
His lips twitched faintly. The baby stirred slightly, tiny fingers curling against the front of Yoongi’s shirt making him freeze completely and you bit back a laugh.
“Careful,” you whispered. “He may challenge your authority.”
“I doubt that.”
The baby made a small sound—something between a sigh and a quiet protest making Yoongi immediately adjust his hold bringing his forehead to rest closer to the small boy in his arms.
“There now,” he murmured, voice lower, softer than you had ever heard it. It was instinctive and unpracticed. Real.
Your heart did a funny thing at the sight. “You are very good at that,” you said quietly.
“I am learning.”
“You are adapting remarkably well for a man who once claimed he preferred silence.”
“I still prefer silence.”
The baby shifted again and Yoongi glanced down at him.
“…with exceptions.”
You laughed softly. There it was, that softness reserved only for you, and now— for that little baby that was half you, half him.
The three of you settled into the boat, Yoongi pushing gently away from the dock before sitting closer to you, the baby still cradled carefully in his arms.
You leaned slightly, resting your forehead briefly against his shoulder.
“You know,” you murmured softly, “for a man so feared, you are remarkably easy to love.”
He freed one arm and slipped it around your waist, pulling you even closer without hesitation.
“And for a woman so determined to sacrifice herself,” he replied quietly, “you are remarkably difficult to let go of.”
You smiled against him. “Good.”
“You are the only place that I want to be.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You could spend a lifetime watching him like this, hearing him say things like that, and it would never be enough. He brought warmth and light to your soul. Neither of you spoke. The lake carried you slowly forward, the morning light growing warmer with each passing second, it was peaceful and whole. Then, after a moment, you tilted your head slightly.
“You are thinking something.”
“I am always thinking something.”
“Yes,” you said knowingly, “but this time it is dangerous.”
His gaze lifted to yours.
“Dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds unlikely.”
“It is not,” you insisted. “You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that precedes a very inconvenient suggestion.”
A pause. Then—
“I think we should have a daughter.”
You stared at him unable to hold a laugh.
“…I knew it.”
He smirked softly and continued calmly.
“I believe it would be beneficial.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
You laughed again.
“Of course it would be.”
“I am serious.”
“I can tell.”
He adjusted the baby slightly, as though reinforcing his point.
“I would like a daughter.”
“And why is that?”
His gaze softened again, something thoughtful settling behind it.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I would like to see someone look at you the way this little down does… and know that she will grow to be just as impossibly reckless… and angelical as her mother.”
You blinked.That was not the answer you expected.
“That is… dangerously persuasive.”
“I am aware.”
You leaned back slightly chuckling, studying him.
“And if she inherits your temperament?”
“Then the world will suffer accordingly.”
You laughed again, softer this time.
“She would look just like you…” That simple thought made your heart skip a beat and almost made you say yes right then and there. “I will consider it.”
“You will consider it?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That is not a definitive answer.”
“It is the only answer you are receiving this morning.”
He studied you for a moment, then nodded once.
“Very well.” He smiled. “But I will revisit the matter.”
“I have no doubt.”
The baby made another small sound, shifting slightly in his arms.
Yoongi looked down immediately.
“…He disagrees.”
“With what?”
“With your lack of commitment.”
You shook your head, chuckling.
“Of course he does.”
The sun had fully risen now, the mist gone completely, the lake shimmering gold beneath the morning light. You watched them both for a moment… Your husband and son, a thousand indescribable feelings, but you knew one thing, during these little pockets of time in your own little world, you did not want to chase time. He had kept his word, the life he promised, at last, it was yours.
“My dear,” you said with a soft smile breaking the silence, “I still remember when you were a man once feared by all of society… but you have become quite gentle.”
Yoongi glanced up at you.
“Do not spread that rumor.”
“It is far too late.”
His lips curved slightly.
“Then I shall have to rely on you to maintain my reputation, Mrs. Min.”
You leaned forward slightly, your hand brushing gently against his cheek.
“I think I prefer the truth.”
“And what is that?”
You smiled.
“That you were never meant to be feared.”
His gaze held yours.
“No?”
“No.”
He placed his palm on top of your hand and closed his eyes, relishing your warmth and the softness of your touch.
“You were meant to be loved.”
For a moment, he said nothing, then his hand tightened gently around yours, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm. And though the world beyond the lake would always demand something of him— Power. Control. Strength. Here— he allowed himself something else entirely.
The boat drifted slowly across the water, this time, there was no past to outrun, no future to fear. Only this.
A quiet morning.
A shared life.
And a love that had finally, irrevocably— Become yours.
——
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It has come to this author’s attention that the notoriously inscrutable Duke of Westmorland has, quite irreversibly, succumbed to a most curious affliction.
No, not scandal (though he has certainly inspired his fair share), nor ambition (for he has long since mastered that particular game). But something far more dangerous.
Domestic bliss.
Indeed, those fortunate enough to glimpse the Duke in recent months report a most astonishing transformation—one involving quiet mornings, a certain Duchess who appears entirely immune to his formidable reputation, and, most recently, a very small heir who seems to command their undivided attention.
One can only conclude that love, in all its reckless persistence, has once again proven itself the most powerful force in society.
And if even the most guarded of hearts may be claimed so completely… What hope, dear reader, is there for the rest of us?
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
-
-
-
fin
Beautiful people ✨: @yoongiiuu93 @kalamity-cherry-blossom @ktownshizzle @themwordsblog
summary: Society thrives on whispers, but some declarations are meant to be heard by everyone and the Duke Min decides that some things are worth the spectacle.
warnings: yoongi being dangerously in love, society gossip, dramatic declarations, wedding night implications ;)))), the slow burn is finally burning, Yoongi our king of consent.
note: This is part 5 of a series, I highly recommend reading part 1, 2, 3 and 4 first to understand the story. The duke is officially down bad yaaall! XD I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated but honestly, just you reading it makes me happy.
word count: 8.6k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Epilogue
Sleep did not come. Your chamber was quiet, the candles long extinguished, yet the events of the evening burned through your mind with relentless clarity. The proposal. Two simple words that had unraveled the careful walls you had built around your heart.
You sat at the edge of the bed, still wrapped in your nightgown, fingers tangled in the sheets as dawn slowly crept through the tall windows. You wanted to say yes. God, you wanted to say yes. The memory of his arms around you in the study—his voice rough with desperation, the way he had looked at you as though losing you would truly destroy him—had lodged itself somewhere deep beneath your ribs, but wanting was not the same as allowing it.
Your gaze drifted to the window, to the distant outline of the lake beyond the trees. Ashford had not been defeated… you knew it in your bones. He had left humiliated, stripped of the power he had so carefully wielded—but men like Ashford did not retreat quietly. They retaliated, and if he did… Your throat tightened. It would be Yoongi who suffered.
Your family name still carried the faint stain of scandal. It had faded over the years, yes—but it had never fully disappeared. You could endure whispers and small cruelties, but you could not endure watching the ton question him because of you.
A knock sounded softly at your door. Your maid’s voice followed.
“Miss? The guests are gathering by the lake for the morning activities.”
You closed your eyes briefly and nodded with a smile. He would be there waiting for you, waiting an answer.
——
The morning sun shimmered across the lake like scattered glass. Guests laughed nearby—gentlemen gathering for the hunt while several ladies observed with polite interest—but the laughter felt distant, muffled by the steady rhythm of your heart. You spotted him immediately. Yoongi stood near the water’s edge, sleeves rolled, the sharp lines of his figure softened slightly by the sunlight reflecting across the lake. Even at rest, there was something formidable about him, as though the world itself might hesitate before crossing him.
Yet when he turned and saw you, something in his expression shifted to a more guarded stance.
You approached slowly. “Your Grace.”
His gaze softened just slightly. “Miss —.”
Silence stretched between you while he glanced toward the lake, then back at you. “I hope you rested.”
You hesitated. “Not particularly.”
A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “Nor did I.”
Another silence. Finally, he exhaled quietly and looked away. “You need not answer my proposal.”
Your eyes snapped at him, something in your chest tightened. His tone was calm, but there was something restrained beneath it.
“I spoke impulsively last night,” he continued. “You were frightened. I was… not thinking clearly.”
You frowned slightly. “That is not—”
“You owe me nothing,” he interrupted gently. “And I will not place you in a position where gratitude feels like obligation.”
His gaze returned to yours then, steady but distant. “What happened in the study… I do not think it was a mistake; but I do regret that I allowed my emotions to overwhelm my judgment. I apologize for putting you in this position”
Your heart dropped. He thought you regretted it, he thought you didn’t want him.
“I deeply regret I… compromised you” he finished quietly.
For a moment you simply stared at him, almost mad at him, then something in you snapped. “Compromised?”
Yoongi blinked, surprised by the sudden sharpness in your tone.
“You believe that is why I did not answer you?”
“You said nothing,” he replied calmly.
“Yes, because I was attempting to decide whether accepting your proposal would ruin your life.”
That caught his attention and his brow furrowed. “You think marrying you would ruin me?”
“Yes.”
He stared at you as though you had just declared the sky green. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
“My family name still carries scandal,” you argued. “Ashford is reckless and vindictive. If he releases those documents—”
“He will not.”
“You cannot know that.”
“And you cannot decide my future for me.”
His words were quiet but firm.You folded your arms defensively. “I simply thought it prudent to consider—”
“You thought it noble to sacrifice yourself again,” he cut in.
His gaze darkened. “You were prepared to marry Ashford for me.”
“That was different.”
“It was exactly the same.”
Silence fell again.Then, slowly, something softer returned to his expression as he stepped closer. “Miss —,” he said quietly, “I asked you to marry me because I love you.”
Your heart skipped a beat, eyes wide and surprised at his bluntness.
“Not because it is convenient.” He studied your face carefully. “And if you do not wish it, I will accept that.”
The words hurt more than they should have.
“You are insufferable,” you said suddenly.
Yoongi blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are so accustomed to controlling every situation that you have already decided what my answer must be.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You assumed I would refuse.”
“Because you did not provide an answer.”
“Yes, because I was attempting to compose a response worthy of the moment!” you snapped.
He stared almost confused. “Worthy of—”
You exhaled dramatically. “Oh honestly, must I be so obvious?”
Then you stepped forward, took his hand, and said:
“If you must know, Your Grace, I intend to accept your proposal.” He was caught off guard as you so boldly took his hand in yours. “But only under one condition.”
His voice was quiet. “And that is?”
You lifted your chin slightly, a soft smile on your face as you continued. “That you accept the unfortunate truth that you are now irrevocably attached to a woman who will challenge you, embarrass you, and occasionally rescue you from your own stubborn pride.”
A slow, gentle and genuine smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He squeezed your hand. “I believe I can endure that.”
You smiled back. “Then yes, Your Grace.”
His voice softened. “You will marry me?”
“Yes.”
——
The orchestra had just begun the next waltz when the doors opened. Yoongi did not turn immediately. As host, he had spent the last quarter hour politely enduring conversation from a baron who insisted on discussing estate drainage with alarming enthusiasm. Yoongi had mastered the art of appearing attentive while listening to almost nothing.
But then the murmurs began as a ripple through the crowd and there was a subtle shift in the air of the room. Yoongi’s gaze lifted, and the rest of the ballroom disappeared.
You stood at the top of the staircase, framed by candlelight and gold banisters like a painting come to life. Your gown caught the light first. It was not like the pale champagne silk you had worn the previous evening. Tonight, it was deeper — a soft ivory satin that shimmered like moonlight on water, the skirt layered with delicate gauze that moved like mist when you descended the steps. Fine embroidery traced the bodice in silver thread, subtle but intricate, curling like frost along the neckline.
His chest tightened, but it was not the gown that held him captive, It was the look in your eyes. So determined and alive… and unmistakably, searching the room for him. Yoongi exhaled slowly with a smirk.
“Well,” he murmured under his breath, “that answers that.”
The baron was still speaking yet Yoongi had no idea about what. He simply handed the man his drink back without explanation and crossed the ballroom. People noticed, of course they did. Conversations faltered as the Duke cut a direct path through the crowd with the quiet certainty of a man who did not intend to be stopped. Lady Danbury saw it first. Her knowing smile spread slowly across her face. “Ah,” she said to the lady beside her. “Here we go.”
Yoongi reached you just as you stepped onto the ballroom floor. For a moment, neither of you spoke, you simply looked at one another. He bowed his head slightly.
“Miss.”
Your lips curved faintly. “Your Grace.”
The orchestra swelled around them and he extended his hand. “Dance with me.”
You glanced briefly at the crowded ballroom. Nearly every eye nearby was watching, then you placed your gloved hand in his. “It would be my honor.”
The moment he drew you into the waltz, Yoongi realized two things.
First: he had not truly breathed since that morning by the lake.
Second: you had absolutely no idea what you did to him.
Your hand rested lightly against his shoulder while his arm circled your waist, guiding you easily into the rhythm of the dance. The orchestra filled the ballroom with sweeping strings, violins rising and falling like the tide. You moved beautifully, not just graceful — though you were certainly that — but alive in the music. Each turn effortless, each step confident. It took every ounce of his composure not to stare openly.
“You are looking at me rather intensely, Your Grace,” you murmured.
“I am assessing the situation.”
Your brow lifted. “And what situation might that be?”
“The one in which half the room appears convinced we are already engaged.”
You laughed softly. “Well, that is certainly not my fault.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “It is mine.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Because you crossed the entire ballroom like a man marching to war?”
“Precisely.”
He spun you through another turn as you laughed. He noticed everything. The faint warmth of your waist beneath his hand, the soft scent of lavender in your hair, the way the candlelight caught the small curve of your beautiful smile. And then he noticed something else. The room. Or rather, the way the room watched you. Whispers passed quietly among the crowd with curious glances or raised brows. It did not concern him, if anything, it amused him.
“Tell me something,” you said softly.
“Yes?”
“Are you aware that once again everyone is staring and most likely judging at us?”
“Yes.”
“And that does not trouble you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Dangerous answer.”
“Accurate one.”
You turned again, the orchestra rising toward the end of the piece. Then you leaned slightly closer. “I warned you this morning.”
“You warned me about what?”
“That attaching yourself to me would create spectacle.”
His lips curved. “I recall something along those lines.”
“And yet you did not withdraw.”
“Yes,” he said calmly holding your gaze.
“Why?”
He hesitated with a soft sigh and then said quietly. “Because some things are worth the spectacle.”
The music ended and Yoongi released your hand only long enough to bow then he leaned closer. “Come with me.”
Your brow lifted. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not unless you intend to change your answer.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I shall be deeply inconvenienced.”
You laughed softly. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”
——
The conservatory was quiet. Moonlight streamed through the tall glass panels, bathing the room in silver light. Exotic plants cast long shadows across the marble floor, their leaves whispering faintly in the night air. The distant music of the ballroom drifted faintly through the walls. For a moment neither of you spoke. You turned slowly, taking in the room.
“It is beautiful here.”
“I thought you might prefer it to the audience we left outside.”
You smiled slightly. “That audience seemed very invested.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “Society tends to enjoy a good scandal.”
“And are we providing one?”
He stepped closer. “Almost certainly since I have you here with me… away from everyone.”
He came closer, and from his coat pocket he withdrew a small velvet box and your gaze immediately dropped to it.
“You did not—”
“I did.”
He opened it. Inside, nestled against dark velvet, lay the ring. A deep sapphire surrounded by delicate diamonds that shimmered in the moonlight. You gasped at the delicate beauty of it.
“It matches your brooch. ” you whispered.
“Yes.”He gently took your hand and you looked up at him, eyes soft with tenderness and warmth.
“You planned this.”
“Of course I did.”
“You expected me to say yes.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I hoped.” He slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly. You stared at it for a moment before looking back at him.
“Well,” you said softly, “now the spectacle truly begins.”
Yoongi studied your face and smiled. “No,” he murmured. “This is the part where it finally becomes simple.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Simple?”
“Yes.” His hand lifted gently to your rosy cheek, caressing it with utmost gentleness. “Because now the entire world knows exactly where I belong.”
You could practically feel yourself melting under his gaze and touch. “And where is that?”
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw. “Here, next to you.” And then he kissed you. Slow and soft. It wasn’t desperate like the night before, it was a silent promise to your future.
——
The morning edition spread across every drawing room in Mayfair. Engagements always caused excitement, but this one caused chaos.
The sheet read:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
London awoke today to the rather electrifying news that the famously inscrutable Duke of Westmorland has finally surrendered his formidable heart. Yes indeed, the most coveted bachelor in England has asked for a hand — and astonishingly, Miss Elsphet has accepted. A truly incomparable pair.
Across town, teacups rattled, Fans fluttered and half the ton attempted to determine how long the courtship had truly lasted. But the excitement did not last long, because by afternoon… Another story erupted.
Viscount Ashford had filed a formal complaint with a financial oversight committee.
His claim:
That Yoongi’s estate acquisitions had been built through illegal manipulation of debt contracts, and within hours, the rumor had reached every corner of Mayfair.
And this time…It did not remain quiet.
——
You learned of it from Lady Danbury. She burst into the room with surprising speed for a woman of such composure.
“Well,” she announced, removing her gloves dramatically, “that idiot has finally done it.”
You rose immediately from the couch. “What has happened?”
She handed you the morning circular making your stomach drop as your eyes moved across the page.
“He has accused your fiancé of financial corruption before a panel of investors and lords.” Lady Danbury said calmly.
Your heart began to race. “Where is Yoongi?”
Her expression softened slightly. “At the parliament.”
——
The chamber was packed. Members of society who had no legitimate business attending had somehow found seats anyway because scandal was always the greatest entertainment.
Ashford stood confidently near the center of the room. His voice carried clearly. “My concern,” he said smoothly, “is not personal grievance, but the integrity of our great British financial institutions.”
Several men murmured agreement. Yoongi sat across from him, perfectly still. Watching. Waiting. Ashford continued. “The Duke’s rapid acquisition of estates over the past decade shows suspicious timing with several bankruptcies—”
“Finished?” Yoongi asked quietly after an exhale.
The interruption rippled across the room and Ashford smiled thinly. “If Your Grace wishes to respond—”
“I do.”
Yoongi rose calmly with a dangerous look. He placed a thick ledger on the table. “Three months ago,” he said evenly, “I commissioned a complete independent audit of my holdings.”
Murmurs erupted immediately. Ashford’s smile faltered. “The results were finalized this morning.” Yoongi continued and opened the ledger.
“Every acquisition verified. Every transaction lawful.” He looked directly at Ashford. “You accused me publicly without requesting these documents.” Ashford stiffened. “You assumed they did not exist.”
A member of the panel cleared his throat. “Viscount Ashford… were you aware of this audit?” Ashford hesitated because he was indeed aware. Yoongi had smartly mentioned it once during a ball where other members of the parliament had been in attendance. There were witnesses. He had of course paid them a handsome amount of money to buy their silence but he had not expected for the audit to be finished by now.
Yoongi delivered the final blow. “There is, however, another matter worth investigating.” He placed a second document on the table. “Records of funds transferred to restore Ashford Hall.”
The room went silent as Yoongi’s voice echoed in the room. “The funds originated from accounts previously tied to a supposed Duke, the very same who was involved in the scandal regarding Miss Elsphet’s family.”
Ashford’s face went pale. “You—”
“You attempted to ruin her reputation,” Yoongi finished quietly as he turned to him, his tall, imposing figure over the Viscount. “You may explain to this panel why your estate was rebuilt with money tied to that very Duke, so close to the date of the supposed scandal.”
Gasps filled the chamber. Ashford realized too late that he had walked into a trap. A ripple of suspicious murmurs spread through the room. Several members leaned forward to examine the documents more closely while others turned their attention toward Ashford with poorly concealed interest making the viscount’s composure falter. Yoongi said nothing further. He simply stepped back from the table and folded his hands behind his back, watching with the same calm patience he might have shown observing a chess match already won.
The chairman of the panel cleared his throat. “Viscount Ashford,” he said slowly, “you have raised serious allegations before this body. It now appears we must examine your financial records with equal care.”
Ashford’s jaw tightened. Across the room, several gentlemen exchanged looks that made the outcome unmistakably clear. The scandal he had hoped to ignite had turned neatly in his hands, and it was finally beginning to burn him instead. It was only a matter of time before he would decide to embark on a rather premature and convenient trip to the countryside for a while.
——
Later that night When Yoongi returned home he had not expected to see you in his drawing room. You were waiting anxiously. You had escaped your house with the help of your lady’s maid. The moment you saw him, you crossed the room quickly, hands to his chest as if to ground yourself, to know for certain that he was there.
“What happened?”
He removed his coat slowly. “Ashford has destroyed himself.”
Relief flooded your chest. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
You exhaled shakily and looked down, fingers gripping the lapels of his vest. “I was afraid he might actually harm you.”
He grabbed your waist gently but firmly, then one hand cupped your cheek. The way he said your name still made your heart skip a beat and turn your legs into pudding.
“You worry too much.”
“Someone must.”
He studied you for a moment, then his expression softened. “You were frightened.”
“I was.”
His thumb gently traced the arch of your brow, your temple and that freckle he so adored under your eye.
“You need not be.”
Your voice was small and hesitant. “You say that now.”
“And I will say it tomorrow.” A smile meant only to reassure you. “And the day after.”
Your fingers curled around his hair. “Good.”
He leaned closer. “Why?”
Your breath caught.
“Because you are marrying a very anxious woman.”
His lips brushed yours softly as he smiled.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“I am.”
——
The investigation did not conclude that afternoon, but the damage to Ashford’s reputation was immediate. Within a day, the whispers that had once followed you began shifting toward a far more delicious topic — the spectacular downfall of the viscount who had attempted to accuse a Duke and an honorable family in order to save his estate.
Society, as it often did, chose its loyalties with remarkable speed, and by the time the wedding approached several days later, London had already decided the far more interesting story was not scandal at all… But the marriage of the great Duke of Westmorland.
——
Dawn crept softly over the grounds of Shadow-Wood Manor. Mist lingered over the great lake, curling through the ancient oak trees that lined the estate like silent sentinels. The manor itself stood solemn and magnificent against the pale morning sky, its dark limestone glowing faintly silver beneath the rising sun.
Inside, however, the quiet dignity of the house had been replaced by the gentle chaos of preparation. Servants moved quickly through the halls carrying flowers, ribbons, and trays of breakfast that no one had the time to eat. In your chambers, the windows had been opened wide to allow the morning air to drift through.
Your gown hung near the balcony doors and it was breathtaking. The dress had arrived from London only two days prior, carefully packed in layers of tissue and satin ribbon. It was made of luminous ivory silk that seemed almost liquid in the light, the fabric draping elegantly over the bodice before falling into soft layers that flowed toward the floor like glistening water. The sleeves were delicate lace, embroidered with tiny pearl details that caught the light whenever you moved. The neckline was modest but graceful, framed with fine silver thread that traced subtle floral patterns across the bodice.
Your maid adjusted the final ribbons along the back. “You look like something from a painting, miss.”
You smiled faintly. “I feel more like something from a battlefield.”
Your maid laughed softly. “I believe His Grace would disagree.”
Before you could answer, a knock sounded at the door. A young footman stood there, holding a small velvet box and a folded piece of paper. “For you, miss. His Grace asked that this be delivered before you finished dressing.”
Your heart skipped. You dismissed the servant politely after thanking him and opened the note first. The handwriting was unmistakably his, somehow intensely personal.
My future Duchess,
I am told it is customary for brides to receive gifts from their husbands before the ceremony. I do not often concern myself with customs, but in this instance I am willing to make an exception.
If you find yourself nervous today, remember this:
There is nothing in this world you could do that would make me regret choosing you.
— Yoongi
You felt a knot on your throat, heart racing and stomach fluttering. You opened the velvet box. Inside lay a delicate necklace made of fine silver links with a single dark sapphire at its center—the same deep shade as the stone in your engagement ring.
You smiled. Trust him to choose something elegant rather than extravagant. You fastened it around your neck carefully with the help of your maid, then you whispered softly to yourself:
“Well… now I must marry him.”
——
The chapel on the estate had been prepared the night before. It was small compared to the grand churches of London, but it possessed a peaceful beauty that suited the occasion perfectly. Tall windows allowed sunlight to pour inside, illuminating rows of white camellias arranged along the wooden pews.
Wild roses and pale gardenias had been woven through ivy garlands along the walls. Soft candlelight flickered along the aisle despite the daylight.
At the front of the chapel stood Yoongi. And for once in his life, the famously composed Duke of Westmorland looked genuinely restless.
His attire was simple but striking. A perfectly tailored black coat, cut sharply along his shoulders. Beneath it, a silver waistcoat embroidered subtly with dark shiny thread and a pristine white cravat tied with exacting precision. On his lapel, his sapphire brooch matching your stones.
His old friend and best man, Benedict leaned slightly towards him. “You appear nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You have checked the door six times.”
“I like certainty.”
He smiled knowingly.
“Ah.”
The doors opened. Every conversation stopped and Yoongi turned. The moment he saw you standing at the entrance of the chapel… The entire world seemed to still. For a man who had faced Parliament without hesitation a couple weeks ago, the sight of you walking toward him nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He had spent years mastering patience, restraint, and careful calculation, yet in that moment, watching the woman he loved walk down the aisle toward him, Yoongi realized something quietly astonishing.
For the first time in his life… He had absolutely no desire to restrain himself from the emotions of this moment.
The sunlight framed you in soft gold, the silk of your gown glowing gently as you began walking down the aisle. The veil resting over your hair shimmered faintly with tiny pearls. But none of it compared to your expression. Bright. Happy. In love.
Yoongi’s chest tightened. Benedict glanced sideways at him. “Well,” he murmured quietly, “you are quite ruined.”
He didn’t even hear him because you had reached the altar, and when you looked up at him… The love in his expression was unmistakable. He wasn’t restrained or hiding his emotions. It was just pure, unwavering devotion.
He took your hands carefully. “You look exquisite. Extraordinarily beautiful.”
You smiled softly and chuckled. “You look terrifyingly serious.”
“I am attempting to behave appropriately in a chapel.”
“That seems unlikely.”
His faint laugh that made your heart flutter.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur of vows and quiet emotion. But when it came time for the final moment— The priest smiled warmly. “You may kiss the bride.”
Yoongi did not hesitate. His hand lifted gently to your cheek as he leaned down and kissed you. Soft, tender and filled with quiet promises.
Applause filled the chapel but neither of you seemed to notice.
——
The celebration took place in the gardens of Shadow-Wood Manor. Long tables had been arranged beneath flowering trees, draped in pale linen and decorated with fresh roses gathered from the estate itself.
Crystal glasses sparkled in the afternoon sun. Music drifted lazily through the air from a small quartet positioned near the fountain. The atmosphere was warm, joyful, and surprisingly relaxed. But Yoongi had barely left your side since the ceremony ended, In fact, his arm had remained comfortably around your waist for the better part of twenty minutes.
You finally looked up at him with mild amusement. “Your Grace.”
“Yes?”
“You appear to have forgotten that we are in public.”
“I am aware.”
“And yet your hand has not moved.”
“It has moved,” he corrected calmly. “It simply returned.”
You laughed softly. “People are staring.”
“They stared at the ball as well.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“We were not married yet.” He leaned slightly closer. “That seems like a poor reason to stop now.”
You shook your head, smiling. “You are impossible.”
“I am your husband.”
A servant arrived with lemonade. Yoongi accepted two glasses and handed one to you. “To surviving society.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
“You married me,” he replied. “It is technically your fault.”
Lady Danbury appeared beside the table at that exact moment. “Well, well.” Her eyes moved between the two of you. “You have not separated once.”
Yoongi answered calmly. “I see no reason to begin today.”
She chuckled approvingly. “Good. I dislike dull marriages.” After she walked away, you leaned slightly closer to him.
“You realize she will be insufferable about this.”
“Yes.”
“You encouraged her.”
“Yes.”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
He studied you for a moment, then said softly. “I spent far too long pretending I could keep my hands to myself .”
Your teasing smile softened. “Well.” You squeezed his hand. “You may stop pretending now.”
His gaze warmed. “I intend to.”
Then, just before the musicians began the next piece of music, he leaned down and whispered quietly near your ear. “Though if you continue smiling at me like that, we may need to leave our own wedding breakfast early.”
Your cheeks warmed. “Your Grace!.”
“Yes?” He chuckled.
“You are behaving scandalously.”
“I believe that ship sailed the night in my study.”
You laughed softly but your cheeks turned bright red.
And as the afternoon sunlight shimmered across the gardens of Shadow-Wood Manor, surrounded by laughter, music, and the people who mattered most— It felt very much like the beginning of something extraordinary.
——
The manor had grown quiet.
Hours earlier the gardens had been filled with laughter, music, and the soft clinking of lemonade glasses. Guests had wandered the paths beside the lake while lanterns flickered beneath the trees and the musicians played long into the evening. Now, the celebration had faded into gentle silence. Moonlight stretched across the grounds of Shadow-Wood Manor, illuminating the great lake and the dark stone of the estate. Inside, most of the household had retired for the night.
Except for one room.
Your chambers were lit only by the soft glow of several candles placed along the mantle and the bedside table. Their light danced against the ivory silk of your discarded veil resting across the back of a chair. You stood near the tall window overlooking the lake.
The wedding dress had been carefully removed and replaced with something far simpler—a soft pale pink nightgown that brushed lightly along the floor when you moved. Your engagement ring caught the candlelight as you turned it slightly on your finger.
He was your husband now. The thought still felt surreal and it made you smile in disbelief. You heard a faint sound outside the door that made your heart skip, and you absolutely knew the rhythm of the footsteps now. The door opened quietly behind you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, Yoongi paused just inside the doorway, closing it gently before leaning back against it as if collecting his thoughts.
His coat was gone.
The silver waistcoat he had worn earlier in the day had been loosened, the top button of his shirt undone and his cravat nowhere in sight. His dark hair had fallen slightly out of its careful styling, leaving a few strands resting against his forehead.
He looked… less like a duke, and far more like the man who had kissed you breathless in his study weeks ago.
His eyes found you and you turned slowly to face him. “Well,” you said softly, attempting composure, “this appears to be the part where we pretend we have not spent the entire day surrounded by chaperones.”
His gaze moved slowly over you, unhurried, just quietly appreciative in a way that made warmth spread across your chest.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that part of the evening has officially ended.”
You folded your hands together to steady yourself. “That is rather a relief.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You seemed remarkably calm at the altar.”
“That was before I remembered I had married you.”
He pushed himself away from the door and crossed the room slowly. “You say that as though it were a concerning development.”
“Well,” you replied lightly, “the most coveted and dare I say intimidating man in England is now legally responsible for my happiness.”
He stopped directly in front of you. “Intimidating?”
“That is what society insists.”
His voice dropped slightly. “And what do you insist?”
You thought for a moment then answered honestly. “I insist that the most intimidating and dangerous thing about you… is how easily you undo me.”
For a moment he simply looked at you. The playful air between you faded into something more tense and electrifying. His hand lifted slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear and whispered your name sending a soft shiver down your spine.
“I have imagined this moment more times than I care to admit.”
Your breath caught slightly. “You have?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw. “It never looked quite like this.”
You tilted your head slightly. “No?”
“No.” His gaze softened. “In my imagination you were usually arguing with me.”
You laughed softly. “That still may happen.”
“I expect it will.” His hand slid gently to your waist. The movement was slow and deliberate, he wanted to give you time to calm and relax. “Tell me something,” he murmured.
“Yes?”
“Are you nervous?”
You considered the question then shook your head slightly. “No.”
“Why not?”
You reached up, resting your hand lightly against his chest, beneath your palm, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Because I trust you.”
You could see his expression shifting from his usual playful and teasing demeanor into an overwhelming affection. His forehead rested briefly against yours. “You should not say things like that so easily.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes it very difficult for me to behave like a gentleman.”
Your lips curved faintly. “I thought we had already established that you were not particularly skilled at that.”
His breath brushed softly across your cheek as he leaned closer and said your name again.
“Yes?”
His voice dropped to a low murmur. “If you want me to stop at any point tonight… you only need to say so.”
Your heart fluttered, there was no way. So instead of answering with words… You lifted onto your toes and kissed him. A soft brush of your lips on his first since you noticed that for a moment he froze in surprise, then his hand tightened gently at your waist as he returned the kiss, deeper this time, months of restraint finally giving way to something warm and consuming.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was slightly uneven. “Well,” he murmured quietly, “that was not the answer I expected.”
You smiled. “It was the answer you deserved.”
His eyes darkened slightly with amusement. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because if you continue looking at me like that…” His fingers traced lightly along the small sapphire pendant around your neck —the one he had given you that morning.
“…we may not make it to the bed at all, Mrs. Min.”
You softly chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, as he pressed a soft, tender kiss on your temple, then your cheek and finally kissed your lips. His thoughts narrowed to a single, overwhelming truth— you. He wanted to take it slow for you, needed to be careful and most importantly, he wanted you to be comfortable.
He let out a slow, controlled breath as you pulled away for a moment — his body already reacting to your red, parted lips and dreamy eyes. His eyes flickered over you again, lingering on your nightgown, and for once? He didn't try to hide how affected he was by this. His voice came out rougher than usual as he shifted slightly to cup your jaw, and what had your breath hitch was the moment he dragged you to the windowsill, his lips finding your neck leaving wet kisses down your chest that made you close your eyes.
His hands roamed over your curves, slowly pulling the fabric up, you felt his fingers on your thighs and couldn’t help the slightest shiver. That made him look up at you, silently checking if you were still okay with this. As you nodded, he lowered to his knees, kissing reverently along your leg, up to your thighs but kept glancing back at you not wanting to miss a moment. When his fingers went between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness, you let out a moan as he slid a finger through your slit, teasing, testing, only to then insert one finger, your hands dug into his shoulders for stability and he let out a sharp, ragged exhale as he watched you writhe above him—your body reacting so perfectly to his touch. His fingers curled slightly inside of you, dragging against that sweet spot causing sinful noises tumble from your lips.
"God" he muttered gruffly. "Look at you... So perfect like this." Listening to you moan was making it harder to think straight. He could feel himself getting harder under you already, the way you started to grind against his hand driving him almost crazy. When he pushed another finger deeper inside you, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth when you moaned—He could feel a jolt of desire shoot through him at your desperate sounds. He pumped his fingers deeper, feeling your tightness for a moment before slowly withdrawing them only to bring them up to his mouth, his tongue teasing your taste off them before he finally looked up at you from under his lashes—almost reverent—the only movement in the otherwise still darkness of the room. He nuzzled your thigh, placing a quick kiss to the sensitive skin.
“Relax." He murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours and you noticed a glimmer of desire and love. His hands slide up to grip your hips, holding you in place to finally feel his tongue drag over you—slow and teasing at first. His thumbs tracing slow, torturous circles over your thighs, then he leaned in again—this time, the tip of his tongue licked you purposefully but still light, the barest touch against your folds but enough to make you whimper. He looks up at you again—watching you with dark, hooded eyes as his tongue moved, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of you, a slow stroke of his tongue along your center. He moved faster now—more determined to bring you to the brink, his tongue circling over your folds only to then do it teasingly and torturously slow. He was not patient now. "I don't know what you are doing to me," he mumbled, his fingers tightening around your thighs placing them over his shoulders. "Just... cannot get enough." He paused to nibble at the inside of your thigh "I need to hear more from you”.
Your pants and sobs were rough and unhinged as he sucked on your clit, his thumb flicking over the sensitive bud made you arch your back pulling on his hair, that action alone making him swear. "That's it," he rasped against you. "Let me hear you." His fingers keeping your legs spread wide for him. His heart skipped a beat at those wonderful sounds you kept letting out, almost making him insane, so much so that he couldn’t help but wonder if they would sound even better if he had you in a different position.
With one swift movement, he lifted you up in his arms and took you to bed to place you delicately on the edge. He took a moment to observe the mess he had done of you already. What he didn’t expect was the moment you stood up and started to undress yourself. The soft delicate fabric falling to your feet, revealing your white silk stays. He helped you untie them, and very gently lifted your embroidered chemise. His eyes darkened with unabashed desire as he took you in, his hands clenched into tight fists for a moment before he let them move to touch you. His fingers slid over your smooth skin, leaving a trail of fire across your flesh as he cupped your cheek with his other hand.
“You are so beautiful, Duchess Min.” He leaned forward suddenly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down gently to leave a mark as he made quick work of his clothes, tossing them aside without a care. When he pulled back, his eyes were still on you—watching you watching him. Your hungry gaze on him only increased his impatience, the need to have you driving him almost frantic, then he sat down, patting his thigh—inviting you to straddle him "Come."
He held a moan as you settled over him, his hands immediately finding your hips to steady you. The feel of your bare skin against his was almost too much already. “I’ll take care of you." And then his fingers slid between you two—finding that sweet spot to tease again. You let your head fall back in pleasure, hands on his chest. He groaned softly, eyes fixed on your face as you let yourself go. He craved you with a need that was almost desperate. His fingers continued to tease you, his free hand moving to grip your throat very gently. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "I want to see your pretty face."
You pressed your chest against his—your bare skin and soaked clit rubbing against him was making his entire body feel like it was on fire. "God," he muttered. "You will be the end of me." His hips jerked upward instinctively chasing that friction.
“Yoongi, I—”
Your voice was so sweet and breathless. His body reacted on instinct, hips bucking up against you once more, hearing the way you said his name sent a jolt straight to his cock so he gently wrapped his arms around your back protectively and laid you down. Hovering over you, he noticed the way you looked up at him with such trust… it nearly broke his heart.
He reached down and ran his thumb across your bottom lip, he let out a shaky exhale at your silent agreement, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he paused for a moment to watch you carefully, taking note of every small reaction you gave him to make sure he wasn't hurting you, but the need to have you was driving him into madness now as he pressed himself against you, He lowered his head again to kiss your chest sucking your nipple, your hands roaming across his back, while he continued to trail gentle kisses across your breasts… he was being agonizingly slow, taking his time to memorize every inch of you with his mouth and tongue. He whispered against your skin in between kisses. "Can I go further?"
When you nodded breathless, he pressed another slow kiss to the curve of your breast before he had to steady his breathing, to keep himself under control. He was so close, so close to losing it, to just taking you without care… But you trusted him and he had to keep it together.
The next words that came from him were almost a whisper, voice rough and cautious. “It will hurt… so please tell me if you need to stop at any point.”
You nodded in response and he lowered his mouth to kiss your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. He fought to go slowly, his voice a low, almost rough rasp against your skin "I'll be gentle, my love. I promise."
He bent down, pressing another slow kiss to your other breast, biting gently on your nipple, before shifting to whisper in your ear. "Lift up for me."
You did as you were told, lifting your hips for him and positioning your legs around him, his eyes on yours as he spoke in a low, gentle tone. "I'm going to start… keep your eyes on me, okay?"
You took a deep breath and nodded, hands gripping his back. Your innocent eyes,m had his mind reeling with a mix of need and adoration. You were waiting for him to do what you'd both been thinking about for what felt like months now, and he'd be lying if it wasn't the most arousing thing he'd ever seen. When you saw him reach down to align his hard cock with your entrance, you started to breathe heavily, he saw the nervousness in your eyes, felt the way you tensed beneath him as he pressed against you but seeing that fear in your gaze had him freezing for a second, so he leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. "Breathe… I got you."
When he finally inserted himself into you, he tensed up completely at the feel of you, head tilting back as a low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest. He moved slow—careful in a way that made your breath tremble. He'd been thinking about this—dreaming about it, even—but feeling you like this was so much more than his imagination had ever come close to. He forced his eyes open, and God, you were beautiful. His gaze never left yours. For a moment he simply stilled, giving you time to adjust, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek.
“Are you alright?” he murmured.
You nodded, though the newness of the sensation made your fingers tighten against his shoulders taking in the pain and overwhelming feeling of being so intimately connected to him.
Encouraged, he shifted again, moving with patient restraint as the tension between you slowly changed into something warmer, deeper, and far more consuming. the protective part of him took over reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek again, speaking in a low murmur to try and keep your attention on him.
“I promise it will feel good in a moment… just focus on me, keep breathing."
The second he got a quiet, wordless yes from you—from the way your eyes held his and your body relaxed under him—he let out a sharp breath before finally moving again, achingly slow as he watched every single reaction on your face: the slight wince of pain melting into something else entirely when it got better. His hands tightened on you like iron bands as he muttered darkly against your lips:
"God… you are perfect”
You let out a soft gasp, your hands digging into his back. “Yoongi…”
The second he heard that moan fall from your lips— gasping his name, fingers scratching over his skin—he knew he wouldn't last long. He'd never been able to control himself well with you, and feeling you like this was breaking him. He leaned down, biting and kissing whatever skin he could reach. The way you were so responsive to him—your body, your voice, your entire being—had him completely at your mercy. His composure finally fractured, the restraint he had carried all evening dissolving as your voice broke against his shoulder. He buried his face against your neck, holding you closer as though the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.
He shifted his body, finding that angle that had you gasping beneath him, eyes on your face as he started to pick up speed while you kissed and nipped at his neck, and now he was trying desperately to keep his movements measured, controlled, even though he wanted to just take and claim and make you his. His forehead coming to rest against yours as he spoke between ragged breaths. "I have wanted you like this for so goddamn long,—."
The way you gasped for him—the way you moaned his name like a prayer—he felt like he was unraveling with every breath. He pressed another kiss to your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth in a slow, deep kiss as he thrusted harder trying to reach deeper into you, then spoke in a low tone. "I’ve been yours. Body and soul… and now… you are mine." He trailed his lips up the column of your neck, he bit down on your pulse point, sucking on the skin to leave a faint mark that would be there for days.
The way you were looking at him, saying his name over and over like the only thing in this world that mattered to you—had him seeing stars. His hips stuttered for a second, his hands tightening on your body as he groaned low and rough "Say my name just like that one more time."
The way you gasped and cried it like an oath was an addiction he would never get enough of. He would die happy with nothing but that one word from your lips. His hips were moving faster, rougher now, every nerve in his body on fire, he had you now, completely and utterly under him, crying out his name like you needed him just as badly as he needed you, and he never wanted anything more in his life than this moment.
You felt a shudder go down your spine, heat coiling deep in your stomach as he continued to thrust inside you, hands almost bruisingly tight on your back and ass. He leaned down to press a rough, messy kiss that was more tongue and teeth than anything. You were so close, so near to the edge and so was he, but he wanted you to fall first—wanted you to know just how good he could make you feel. Months of careful distance unraveled between you in a matter of moments. His hands moved over you with growing certainty, learning the shape of your body as though committing every detail of this very moment to memory.
He felt the way your body tensed beneath him, the little gasps and whimpers that escaped you as he worked you closer to the edge. The way your nails dug into his back—how perfect it felt—had him fighting to keep control. He wanted this moment for you, not himself.
"Let go for me, darling… I got you." His fingers tightened on your hips just enough to make sure there was no room left in this world but him now: "Let me feel you."
It only took a few more hard thrusts to help you reach your pinnacle, your scream had him seeing white. The second he felt you clench around his cock, his hips stuttered wildly before he lost himself in you, burying his dick to the hilt spilling it all inside you as your name ripped from his throat. His hands clamped down on you as pleasure wracked through every inch of his body, leaving him panting and shaking above you when it finally passed. For a long moment neither of you moved, Yoongi remained above you, breathing unevenly, as though the reality of what had just happened had not quite settled yet.
“Yoongi—”
He was completely wrecked. Breathing heavy, covered in a thin layer of sweat, hands still shaking, he lowered his forehead to yours, voice coming out in a soft whisper. "Are you okay?" He ran his hand through your hair, eyes still searching yours almost like he was trying to make sure you were real, that this wasn't just some fever dream.
You smiled softly, catching your breath and brushing your fingers along his cheek. “Yes, it was perfect.”
He thought you had no right looking so sweet, not after you had just wrecked him so badly. He exhaled unevenly as he covered your hand with his, keeping your palm pressed against his face, your touch anchored him to earth when he felt like he was completely unravelling. He murmured softly "You're not real."
That made you chuckle and it had him melting. He was so gone for you, for the soft sound of your voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, still cradling your hand against his face, like he never wanted to let go. When he finally found your eyes again, he saw you held all the stars in his universe. He spoke again, voice quiet and almost vulnerable "I do not think angels are real… but who am I to question it when I married one."
Your expression softened, you looked at him with something so tender in your eyes—like he was worth all of this. It made his chest ache. He exhaled shakily, moving to press a slow kiss on your palm—one that was softer than anything before it had been tonight.
"Do not look at me like that unless you want me to fall for you even harder."
You laughed quietly, your fingers tracing slow circles against his chest as he drew you closer, an arm wrapped around your waist with no intention of letting go. “That sounds dangerously close to a confession, Your Grace.”
Yoongi smiled lazily. “It is, and you should brace yourself.”
“Why?”
He pressed a slow kiss to your temple.
“Because I suspect I will spend the rest of my life proving it.”
Outside, the lake shimmered beneath the quiet moonlight. And for the first time in a very long while, the future felt perfectly certain.
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fin
Beautiful people ✨: @yoongiiuu93 @kalamity-cherry-blossom @ktownshizzle @themwordsblog
A/N: I think this is the end! I am so sorry it took me forever to finish this but being an adult sucks :s. I really hope it was worth the wait for you guys, although I am thinking of a short epilogue to see a glimpse of their domestic life… perhaps an heir on the way? Or two? :o
summary: As the weekend away in The Duke’s estate rolls on, those carefully curated masks are starting to slip, and the tension in the halls is becoming impossible to ignore.
note: This is part 4 of a series, I highly recommend reading part 1, 2 and 3 first to understand the story. Okay, I skipped the warnings because I kinda want it to be a surprise but just know that there’s some mature content, nothing too crazy because we want to wait, trust me haha. It was a bit hard to write that part though since it’s the first time I do anything like this so I hope it’s good enough to meet your expectations :s Anyway, I think the story is close to an end but Taglist is still open and if you have any suggestions, feedback or questions drop it on my asks or comments. Happy reading!!
word count: 5.1k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
—
Unlike the airy, white stone estates of the majority of the ton, this estate was built from obsidian-grey limestone that appeared almost charcoal when it rained. It was a fortress of quiet sophistication, a place where gossip dies at the gates and the architecture itself feels like a deep, resonant bass note, perhaps that’s why it earned the nickname of Shadow-Wood Manor.
Your carriage drove along, the winding driveway flanked by ancient, gnarled oaks that created a natural tunnel of shade. The strict neo-classical lines with no unnecessary golden filigree or floral carvings giving a feeling of exclusivity and, perhaps, one could even say intimidation. The estate featured a massive, mirror-like lake where it is rumored he spends his mornings, not hunting, but reflecting in a black-lacquered rowing boat. It was all just perfect, mathematical symmetry that reflected the Duke's sharp, calculating mind.
Lavender, Camellias and Larch roses adorned along manicured gardens welcoming the arriving guests for the weekend, and The Duke as the ever polite host made sure to welcome every single one. When trunks were unpacked and chambers assigned, it all promised to be a weekend to remember.
The ton was used to aggressive pall mall, refreshments and idle gossip, but here, the energy was different. Tucked away from the prying eyes of the mamas, Yoongi set up a tent featuring the finest malts which became the unofficial headquarters for the gentlemen and the "bold" ladies to discuss philosophy and other matters rather than marriage prospects, by the Lake, there was an archery set up, a quiet, focused sport where the Duke himself was spotted, correcting a debutante’s grip with a terrifyingly calm precision that would set the scandal sheets aflutter. And for those who find the sun too bright, his library—vast, floor-to-ceiling dark oak— was the perfect place for refuge, and of course, he set it all only for you, including his maids serving you your favorite tea and cake.
The midday light was unforgiving. It streamed through tall French windows, illuminating dust in the air and the faint tremor in your fingers as you adjusted the porcelain teacup in its saucer. Outside, the ton enjoyed as though nothing cruel could possibly occur beneath such a clear sky.
Ashford stood near the hearth, immaculate in dark blue morning coat, gloves removed but folded neatly in one hand. He did not sit.
“I trust you are well,” he began.
“I am,” you replied evenly. “Though I suspect you are not here out of concern.”
A faint smile on his lips. “Direct. I admire that.”
You remained on your seat paying no heed to him as you skimmed through the pages of a book, not letting him unsettle you in comfort.
“I believe you might be interested in this, for… clarity, as we established before.”
He withdrew a folded document from inside his coat and placed it deliberately over the pages. The paper was aged, not theatrically so, but just enough to insinuate “authenticity”.
“A timeline,” he said calmly. “Correspondence and ledgers dated shortly before your mother’s unfortunate… disgrace.”
You did not reach for it, but your eyes met his as he continued.
“A notation indicating prior relations and some settlements done in secret.”
You finally picked it up, eyes scanning it quickly, intending incrimination and hinting at improper behavior, a fragment detached from context with a single line referencing a “transfer expected before public notice.”
You face him and scoff. “You insult my intelligence if you believe this damning.”
Ashford stepped closer, voice lowering. “I do not require damning. I require doubt.”
You held his gaze with intensity, refusing to let him threaten you.
“The ton thrives on reinterpretation, particularly when scandal has aged just enough to be interesting again, I can only imagine what it would do to her when Lady Whistledown publishes the story.”
“She would never publish anything with so little evidence”
He studied you carefully, eyes narrowing as he smiled, giving you chills.
“You are brave when it concerns her, I see.” His tone cooled. “I wonder if you are equally brave when it concerns him.”
You falter, a small frown on your face now as a second document appeared. He did not set this one down casually, he placed it carefully as if it carried weight.
Contracts, early acquisition agreements, debt settlements… all with Yoongi’s signature. The language was sharp and efficient, but it was ruthless in tone when isolated. You felt it physically now, the sensation creeping under your ribs making your heart rate quicken.
“He built what he has with honesty,” you said. “Nothing here is unlawful.”
“I have never accused him of unlawfulness.” Ashford’s gaze narrowed and his tone was almost mocking. “But tell me, Miss — how do you think the ton will respond to aggression dressed as ambition?” “Your Duke has invited a public audit,” he continued smoothly. “Transparency is admirable, but I would hate for that process to become… complicated.”
“You are bluffing.”
His expression did not change. “Am I?”
The room felt smaller as he stepped closer, not touching, but invading your space. “I do not need to prove corruption, I need only to raise questions. Release selective contracts and suggest predatory timing, that will encourage a few investors to hesitate.”
Your voice wavered despite your effort, head held high. “He would withstand it.”
“Yes,” Ashford agreed. “Eventually, but not without cost.”
Silence stretched as doubt started to creep in.
“And if,” he added softly, “those questions coincide with the announcement of an engagement…oh, how unfortunate the timing would seem, don’t you think?.”
Your heart dropped completely.
“You do all of this to secure an engagement… well let me tell you, I will not accept you! Ever!”
“You will.”
“You presume too much.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I understand you.”The arrogance in his words and demeanor burned you from the inside. “I shall announce our engagement tonight at the ball.”
Your chest tightened as your eyes started to glisten against your will. “You cannot.”
“I can.”
“And if I refuse?”
His voice dropped, facial expression hardened. “Then these documents circulate before midnight, and your Duke’s audit becomes a spectacle.”
You felt the trap closing, the tunnel was becoming darker and darker. You fought him, you really did. Argued, accused him of cowardice and desperation; and he let you, because he had all of this planned. He knew you would have no choice. He calmly looked at how you were slowly crumbling, until finally, when your voice broke slightly, he stepped closer and said the one thing he had been waiting to say.
“You love him.”
A final blow. You did not answer but your silence was enough.
“You would endure my name,” he continued softly, “if it preserved his, that is your weakness.”
The words felt like a dagger to your heart, because it was true. He straightened to pristine composure once more.
“Prepare yourself for this evening.” And with that, he left you standing in a room too bright for the darkness settling inside you.
——
The air at the ball, unlike the frivolous Mayfair gatherings, was thick with the scent of aged cedar and the quiet anticipation of secrets unveiled. The ton found themselves enveloped not in opulence, but in a profound, almost reverent elegance.
Lord Min, a rare vision in the center of his own ballroom, eschewed the customary vibrant silks as usual. He wore a perfectly tailored dark tailcoat that seemed to absorb the candlelight, its lapels a subtle, deep velvet. Beneath it, a crisp black waistcoat with a delicate silver chain peeking from the pocket, and a pristine white cravat, tied with an almost aggressive precision. His only concession to adornment was a single, dark sapphire pinned to his lapel, catching the light like a star in a winter sky. He moved through his guests with the unhurried grace of a predator, his gaze missing nothing, yet lingering on no one—until his eyes found you.
You were a vision against the darker hues of the ballroom, your gown of champagne silk that seemed to weep with silver embroidery, the patterns spilling down the skirt like falling water. But it was the black velvet sash that caught his eye, a mourning-dark stripe that bisected the pale finery. It matched the choker on your throat and the ribbon in your hair, tying the entire look together with a sense of gravity.
He watched you for a moment, a barely perceptible shift in his stoic facade. You were speaking animatedly to Lady Danbury, a faint smile playing on your lips, your eyes bright and beautiful, yet, as he drew closer, moving through the throng with a singular purpose, he saw it. A tremor in your hand as you gestured, the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes, which, for a fleeting second, held a depth of sadness that belied your cheerful words.
You looked up as he approached, your smile instantly widening, a practiced, luminous mask, but Yoongi, with his uncanny ability to see beyond the surface, especially yours, knew. He offered his hand, his voice a low murmur above the din.
"Miss —, May I have this dance?"
"My lord," you replied with a steady voice, though he felt a faint chill when your fingers brushed. "It would be my pleasure."
As you moved to the dance floor, the melancholic strains of a waltz began, and he felt the subtle tension in your posture, a rigidity beneath the graceful sway. He held your gaze, trying to penetrate the carefully constructed facade.
The music swelled, a haunting violin melody that Yoongi himself had polished only nights before in the solitude of his study. As they spun, the world of the ton, the gossiping dowagers and the clinking lemonade glasses, all blurred into a smear of candlelight. Yoongi tightened his grip on your hand just a fraction, his thumb grazing the silk of your glove.
"The steps of a waltz are meant to be light, Miss," he said, his voice dropping to a low, grounding rasp. "Yet you are dancing as if the floor might give way beneath you. What has happened?"
You didn't miss a beat, your head tilting back with a grace that would have fooled any other man in the room. "The floor is sturdier than any in London, My Lord. Your estate is... formidable. This weekend is assured to be quite the triumph for you. Even Lady Danbury struggled to find a single flaw in the arrangement."
"I am not asking for a report from the committee of taste," Yoongi countered, his dark eyes narrowing as he steered you toward a shadowed corner of the dance floor. "I am asking why your smile looks like a porcelain mask that might shatter if I speak too loudly."
You let out a soft, airy laugh—a sound that usually brought him peace, but now felt like a needle to the heart. "You are far too observant for your own good. Perhaps it is simply the weight of the gratitude I owe you. You have been... a steadfast anchor for me this season. More than I had any right to ask for."
"Gratitude is a cold companion," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "I did not open my home to you for your gratitude."
You paused for a heartbeat, the rhythm of your feet stuttering just once before you regained composure. You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a second, the mask slipped. Your eyes were bright with a sheen you couldn't quite blink away.
"Then take it as a parting gift," you whispered, the words barely audible over the music. "Everything you have done—the library, the quiet mornings, the way you listen when I have nothing of importance to say—it has meant the world. I wanted this ball to be perfect. I wanted this dance to be the memory I carry with me."
Yoongi stopped moving entirely, heedless of the other couples swirling around you. "Carry with you? Where?"
"To the life that has been decided for me," you said, voice trembling as you finally withdrew your hand from his. You offered a small, heartbreakingly beautiful curtsy. "Thank you for the music, Yoongi. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard… but the song is ending."
Hearing you say his name for the first time made something in his chest tighten. He wanted you to say it again and again, he wanted it to be the first and last thing he heard every day, for as long as you would allow it, but those last words, your eyes, it was you saying: all is lost.
——
Ashford positioned himself near the center of the ballroom as couples started to dissipate in order to take a small pause, it was the perfect moment to finish this once and for all.
You stood at the edge of the room, heart pounding and breathing ragged, knowing what he intended, you turned to the wall to hide the small tear that fell on your cheek.
He lifted his glass. “Ladies and Gentleman, I have a small announcement to make.” He turns to you with a vicious grin. “It gives me great pleasure—”
At that precise moment, the doors opened and servants began ushering guests outside as Yoongi spoke in a loud and commanding voice.
“Excuse me, Viscount, but I have prepared something for you all, as a thank you for enduring such long journey to my lands, a small spectacle to start the weekend”
Hundreds of paper lanterns to be released across the lake, a gesture of elegance and distraction of beauty.
“There are lanterns!” someone exclaimed excitedly.
Lady Danbury herself declared, “We must not miss the view — His Grace has outdone himself.” Then she turned to look at you with a soft expression and offered you her arm to help her escort her outside.
The crowd shifted in eager excitement leaving Ashford hesitant and stunned in the middle of the dance floor; Yoongi did not move with the others either, he remained watching. One by one, the room emptied until they were the only ones left, the music faded behind them. Outside, applause erupted as the first lanterns lifted into the night sky, but inside? silence was deafening.
“You orchestrated this,” Ashford said coolly. “You knew”
“Yes.” Yoongi stepped forward slowly “You will not announce an engagement that does not exist.”
Ashford’s jaw tightened. “You presume—”
“I know.” Yoongi’s voice was low and dangerous now.
“I know about the documents.”
Ashford’s expression faltered barely. “You mistake strategy for threat.”
“No,” Yoongi replied. “I recognize desperation.”
Outside, golden light reflected against the tall windows.
“You wish to ruin her name and raise questions about my beginnings,” Yoongi continued calmly. “Shall we raise questions about yours?”
Ashford visibly stiffened.
“The funds that restored your estate,” Yoongi said softly. “Rerouted, all concealed and conveniently timed with the scandal that crippled her family.”
The accusation hung heavy. “You would not dare.”
“I would.” Yoongi stepped closer towering over him, his gaze unwavering. “Attempt to bind her name to yours, and I ensure every drawing room in London learns precisely how your house survived.”
The air was thick and tense. Ashford held his stare.
“You want her that much, she’s not even—”
“Do not dare finish that sentence.” His tone would frighten anyone now. “And yes, I want her, all of her… I have fallen for her.” No hesitation.
“And you believe that makes you invincible?” Ashford said finally, almost mocking.
“No.” Yoongi’s voice was quieter now. “It makes me dangerous for anyone who dares harm her.”
Ashford looked outside the window, far above the lake, the sky filled with floating lights and bright stars as he realized he had made a miscalculation in his plan.
“This is not concluded.”
“It is,” Yoongi replied sternly. “If you are wise.”
Ashford threw the glass at the wall, making a loud sound startling the staff but yoongi did not even flinch, then, the Viscount was seen finally leaving the estate, alone.
——
The manor had finally settled into a bruised, heavy silence. The frantic whispers of the ton had retreated behind closed doors, leaving the corridors to the flickering shadows of dying candles. You should have been in bed, but the air in your chambers felt thin, suffocating under the weight of what had nearly transpired.
Your maid’s voice still echoed in your mind—the frantic retelling of the confrontation in the grand salon, the way the Viscount had finally retreated, defeated and humiliated. Relief had washed over you, followed quickly by a sickening realization: you had been seconds away from a lifelong martyrdom. You had been ready to sign your life away to a monster just to keep Lord Min’s name untarnished, and you had almost done it without ever telling him why.
You found the study door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm, amber light spilling onto the dark polished wood of the hallway.
Inside, the scent of expensive tobacco and old parchment hung heavy. Yoongi was a silhouette against the hearth, his sleeves were rolled up his forearms, revealing the tension in his muscles, he was still wearing his vest but his cravat hung loose and undone around his neck. A crystal glass of amber liquid sat untouched on the edge of his desk, the ice long since melted. He didn't turn when the floorboard creaked under your step, he didn't have to.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pull at the very air in the room.
“So should you,” you countered softly, your voice trembling as you stepped into the circle of light.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful; it was a living thing, stretching between you until it became unbearable. The confession burned in your throat until it finally shattered the quietness of the room.
“I was going to accept him.”
Yoongi’s shoulders tensed for a moment, then slowly turned to look at you. His face was a mask of pale stone, but his eyes narrowed with a dark, sharp pain behind them.
“You would have married him,” he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, which was far more terrifying than a shout.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You took a step forward, your resolve fraying at the edges. “Because he would have hurt you and my mother. He had the letters. He had the power to dismantle everything you’ve built, every bit of respect you’ve earned from a society that already looks for reasons to doubt you. I could not allow that”
In three predatory strides, he crossed the room and didn't stop until he was looming over you, the heat radiating from his body clashing with the chill in your bones. He didn't raise his voice, but his control was fracturing into something far more volatile—an intensity that made any remaining breath catch in your lungs. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around your wrist. It wasn't a squeeze to hurt, but a firm, anchoring grip, as if he were afraid you might vanish into the shadows if he let go.
“You think I require protection?” his jaw tight.
“I think you would have destroyed him,” you whispered, looking up into the dark depths of his gaze. “And you would have destroyed yourself in the process. I could not let you become the villain of a story I caused.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. The grip on your wrist shifted, his thumb stroking your soft skin causing you shivers on your arm.
“You would have endured that man’s touch... you would have carried his name,” he said with a tone of disgust, his voice dropping to a rough rasp, “for my sake?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, the word breaking as your composure finally gave way. “In a heartbeat.”
That was the moment the mask didn't just crack—it disintegrated. His grip shifted from restraint to a sudden, desperate pull, hauling you flush against his chest. The embrace sending a jolt through your entire frame.
“You do not offer yourself as leverage,” he murmured against your temple, his breath hot and ragged. “You are not a piece on a board to be traded. You are not a sacrifice, do you hear me?”
Your hands pressed against the fine linen of his shirt, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. It was a mirror to your own.
“I was terrified,” he admitted, the confession sounding like it had been ripped from his lungs. “The thought of you in a house... with him... I would have burned this entire country to the ground to get you back.”
The raw honesty of it undid you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to the only man who had ever truly seen you.
“You are my only weakness,” you whispered into the hollow of his neck. “Ever since that masquerade ball… it has always been you.”
Something in him snapped completely. His lips found yours—not with the polite caution of the ballroom, but with a demanding, starved ferocity. Weeks of unspoken longing, of uncertainty, and of suppressed passion poured into that single kiss. His hand slid down to the small of your back, crushing you against him until there was no space left between you, while his other hand tangled deep into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.
It was consuming. It tasted of whiskey and smoke, it was a desperate and beautiful relief for both.
He backed you up and scooted you higher up on the wall, his body pressing against yours in a possessive, almost forceful way—like he was trying to merge you into a single being.
“We should not be doing this” he muttered gruffly against your lips with a painful frown. “Tell me to stop if you do not wish this”
“Do not— do not dare stop now"
Your half-lidded eyes combined with your desperate answer was enough to make him shudder, his breath came out in rough, almost guttural gasps as he tried to control himself. He let out a small breath, his hands gripped your hips so tightly you might have a few bruises to cover up tomorrow.
"Damn it…" he mumbles gruffly. He pinned you gently but firmly against the wall, then carried you to his desk, his breath uneven and eyes dangerously dark as he looked at your pink parted lips. He pulled back just enough to commit your expression to memory, his thumb caressing your jaw.
“You undo me in ways I did not know I could be undone…” His voice roughens. “And you would have given yourself to him as though I would survive that.”
“I would endure being undone a thousand times… but I will not endure losing you. I am done pretending I wish to be whole without you.”
His last words hit you like a vow before he pressed a kiss against your jawline, working his way up to your mouth. His fingers trailed up from your waist toying with the neckline of your nightgown—dragging down the material just enough to allow him a good view of your skin. He was impatient, but he held it together. Barely.
“Yoongi,” you whisper, tilting your head to give him more room to taste. That breathless way you said his name had his entire body going still for a second— He says nothing, because you have left him speechless once again, and he knows that it will take him a lifetime to control himself whenever you say his name. His fingers tightened slightly around you, and you moaned at the way you can see their veins shift under the candle light. He used his thumb to brush along your jaw before sliding his palm down to squeeze one of your breasts, a whimper slipped out of your mouth as your back arched forward, and you said his name even softer while his lips left sparks all along your neck.
His lips found yours again in a brutal kiss, your hands clinging to his shirt when you felt his hand drop lower to your thighs, grabbing and gripping the soft fabric as he pushed your legs further apart, suddenly very aware that they were already starting to tremble; when he looks at you, silently asking for permission, you simply nod as words failed you.
He smirked playing at his lips as he took in the way you are already breathless underneath him. He loved it all—the way you looked, the little noises you made, the scent of your skin as he nuzzled into your neck again. Lavender and raspberries. He would never get enough of you.
“Yoongi”
His grip tightened on your hips as he let out a rough exhale, and the words he said next are not ones you expected, but they completely undo you.
“Do not ever attempt to protect me by leaving me. Ever” he muttered hoarsely.
Then his fingers slid under the fabric of your nightgown —slow and teasing at first— his eyes on yours as he carefully caressed your thighs higher and higher, but he stopped for a moment, only caressing your skin as he asked once more for permission. When you nod, he kissed you gently while his hand reached higher until he pressed your soaked center. Your hands immediately went to his shoulders to steady yourself. His fingers moved with just enough pressure to make you squirm before finally pushing inside making you gasp. He groaned softly against your neck—lips brushing feather-light kisses against the soft sensitive skin there as his fingers moved inside you, rougher now as if he couldn't get deep enough.
“Do you know what it cost me not to touch you?” He asked ragged between kisses. “To stand beside you. To court you. To pretend I did not want you like this.” He took a deep breath against your skin. “It will never be enough.”
You arched your back in pleasure, knees trembling, he groaned in response to your little sounds —teeth grazed over your collarbone before his mouth traced a slow kiss down to a spot he knew you'd be weak for. His free hand slid up to take your throat, forcing you to look down at him as he watched your every expression.
“That’s it, don’t look away from me” he whispered against your throat as his fingers moved faster, his breath uneven as he kissed and bit his way up to your ear.
"So beautiful like this, so perfect."
He pressed a kiss on your cheek reverently, his touch grew more insistent, he loved to hear how wrecked you already sounded. He was all but panting against your neck now, his body hot and hard against yours—like every last bit of his restraint was hanging on by the thinnest thread.
“You are mine to protect.”
He pressed you down harder into the desk as he curled his fingers just right—deep and slow, dragging them against that spot inside you until your entire body trembled, his thumb caressing your bundle of nerves making you whine. His free hand came up to grip yours—pinning it to his chest as he kissed down toward your chest while his pace lost its patience and turned merciless.
He was past coherent words now, his lips moving hungrily against your skin, leaving marks everywhere he could, always careful to avoid areas that would be visible with your dress on tomorrow. His rhythm sharpened, his hand still tangled in yours, his body so taut above you that he felt like all reason and the little restraint he still had, were ready to snap. The noises he made were deep and rough, his fingers slowed just enough to tease you, dragging them on your wet slit before inserting them again and speeding up. His teeth grazed over the soft curve of your breast as he sucked a bruise right onto the swell, tongue flicking over your nipple as you squirmed for him, his lips closed around it again before he sucked it hard into his mouth.
He finally freed your hand, sliding down to your core, dragging slow circles with his thumb, his other hand moving at a steady pace making you plead, desperate to see you release. He let out a low growl at your expression, your soft moans and whimpers were his demise —the sound vibrated against your skin as he finally pressed his tongue to you, his fingers were relentless, rough and demanding as they curled hitting that perfect spot.
"Do it," he ordered hoarsely, "Let me see that beautiful face as you peak"
His teeth grazed over your nipple again—sharp enough to make you gasp—before his mouth sealed around it in a punishing suck. He cursed as he felt you clench around his fingers, your body shuddering under his. He didn't let up for a second, dragging it out as long as possible with slow, teasing circles of his thumb just to hear those sounds from you.
"Christ" he muttered against your neck, "You're so perfect like this."
He finally withdrew his fingers, watching your expression as he lifted them up to his mouth to suck them clean with a low, satisfied hum— never breaking eye contact. He let his eyes drag up your flushed skin and heaving chest, then, he lowered his face again to press soft, tender kisses up your neck to your cheek, finally resting his forehead against yours as he fought for breath. His legendary restraint had vanished tonight, leaving only the man who would move heaven and earth to keep you by his side.
——
The fire had burned low, its embers shifting with a soft crack that echoed too loudly in the silence. Your breathing had begun to steady, though your pulse still fluttered wildly beneath his touch. He had not moved far and he did not release you entirely. One arm remained firm around your waist, as though the world itself might attempt to take you if he loosened his hold.
His hand rose slowly, as if the motion required more restraint than anything he had done tonight. His fingers curved around your jaw, thumb brushing your pink cheeks while his gaze held yours. There was no frenzy left behind them now, this time it was something steadier.
“I nearly lost you tonight.”
The words were quiet, a statement of fact. You felt the shift before he moved — the air tightening, the weight of something irrevocable settling between you.
“I would not survive watching you walk toward another man.” His thumb traced once along the line right beneath your eye, his touch reverent.
“And I will not pretend that I can.”
He took a deep breath. The fire cracked behind him, a single ember collapsing inward, the moonlight once again illuminated the two of you; he took your hand and lifted it to his lips. His voice came out steady enough to anchor your world.
“Marry me.”
tbc :)
Beautiful people ✨: @yoongiiuu93 @kalamity-cherry-blossom @ktownshizzle @themwordsblog
A little snippet of what’s coming. Like I said, I have not forgotten 😭 unfortunately I’ve been crazy busy and recently got sick so I haven’t felt inspired, and it sucks, because I don’t want you to get tired of waiting :( but I am working on it, I promise.
Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful week and stay safe 🫶🏻
summary: As the weekend away in The Duke’s estate rolls on, those carefully curated masks are starting to slip, and the tension in the halls is becoming impossible to ignore.
note: This is part 4 of a series, I highly recommend reading part 1, 2 and 3 first to understand the story. Okay, I skipped the warnings because I kinda want it to be a surprise but just know that there’s some mature content, nothing too crazy because we want to wait, trust me haha. It was a bit hard to write that part though since it’s the first time I do anything like this so I hope it’s good enough to meet your expectations :s Anyway, I think the story is close to an end but Taglist is still open and if you have any suggestions, feedback or questions drop it on my asks or comments. Happy reading!!
word count: 5.1k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
—
Unlike the airy, white stone estates of the majority of the ton, this estate was built from obsidian-grey limestone that appeared almost charcoal when it rained. It was a fortress of quiet sophistication, a place where gossip dies at the gates and the architecture itself feels like a deep, resonant bass note, perhaps that’s why it earned the nickname of Shadow-Wood Manor.
Your carriage drove along, the winding driveway flanked by ancient, gnarled oaks that created a natural tunnel of shade. The strict neo-classical lines with no unnecessary golden filigree or floral carvings giving a feeling of exclusivity and, perhaps, one could even say intimidation. The estate featured a massive, mirror-like lake where it is rumored he spends his mornings, not hunting, but reflecting in a black-lacquered rowing boat. It was all just perfect, mathematical symmetry that reflected the Duke's sharp, calculating mind.
Lavender, Camellias and Larch roses adorned along manicured gardens welcoming the arriving guests for the weekend, and The Duke as the ever polite host made sure to welcome every single one. When trunks were unpacked and chambers assigned, it all promised to be a weekend to remember.
The ton was used to aggressive pall mall, refreshments and idle gossip, but here, the energy was different. Tucked away from the prying eyes of the mamas, Yoongi set up a tent featuring the finest malts which became the unofficial headquarters for the gentlemen and the "bold" ladies to discuss philosophy and other matters rather than marriage prospects, by the Lake, there was an archery set up, a quiet, focused sport where the Duke himself was spotted, correcting a debutante’s grip with a terrifyingly calm precision that would set the scandal sheets aflutter. And for those who find the sun too bright, his library—vast, floor-to-ceiling dark oak— was the perfect place for refuge, and of course, he set it all only for you, including his maids serving you your favorite tea and cake.
The midday light was unforgiving. It streamed through tall French windows, illuminating dust in the air and the faint tremor in your fingers as you adjusted the porcelain teacup in its saucer. Outside, the ton enjoyed as though nothing cruel could possibly occur beneath such a clear sky.
Ashford stood near the hearth, immaculate in dark blue morning coat, gloves removed but folded neatly in one hand. He did not sit.
“I trust you are well,” he began.
“I am,” you replied evenly. “Though I suspect you are not here out of concern.”
A faint smile on his lips. “Direct. I admire that.”
You remained on your seat paying no heed to him as you skimmed through the pages of a book, not letting him unsettle you in comfort.
“I believe you might be interested in this, for… clarity, as we established before.”
He withdrew a folded document from inside his coat and placed it deliberately over the pages. The paper was aged, not theatrically so, but just enough to insinuate “authenticity”.
“A timeline,” he said calmly. “Correspondence and ledgers dated shortly before your mother’s unfortunate… disgrace.”
You did not reach for it, but your eyes met his as he continued.
“A notation indicating prior relations and some settlements done in secret.”
You finally picked it up, eyes scanning it quickly, intending incrimination and hinting at improper behavior, a fragment detached from context with a single line referencing a “transfer expected before public notice.”
You face him and scoff. “You insult my intelligence if you believe this damning.”
Ashford stepped closer, voice lowering. “I do not require damning. I require doubt.”
You held his gaze with intensity, refusing to let him threaten you.
“The ton thrives on reinterpretation, particularly when scandal has aged just enough to be interesting again, I can only imagine what it would do to her when Lady Whistledown publishes the story.”
“She would never publish anything with so little evidence”
He studied you carefully, eyes narrowing as he smiled, giving you chills.
“You are brave when it concerns her, I see.” His tone cooled. “I wonder if you are equally brave when it concerns him.”
You falter, a small frown on your face now as a second document appeared. He did not set this one down casually, he placed it carefully as if it carried weight.
Contracts, early acquisition agreements, debt settlements… all with Yoongi’s signature. The language was sharp and efficient, but it was ruthless in tone when isolated. You felt it physically now, the sensation creeping under your ribs making your heart rate quicken.
“He built what he has with honesty,” you said. “Nothing here is unlawful.”
“I have never accused him of unlawfulness.” Ashford’s gaze narrowed and his tone was almost mocking. “But tell me, Miss — how do you think the ton will respond to aggression dressed as ambition?” “Your Duke has invited a public audit,” he continued smoothly. “Transparency is admirable, but I would hate for that process to become… complicated.”
“You are bluffing.”
His expression did not change. “Am I?”
The room felt smaller as he stepped closer, not touching, but invading your space. “I do not need to prove corruption, I need only to raise questions. Release selective contracts and suggest predatory timing, that will encourage a few investors to hesitate.”
Your voice wavered despite your effort, head held high. “He would withstand it.”
“Yes,” Ashford agreed. “Eventually, but not without cost.”
Silence stretched as doubt started to creep in.
“And if,” he added softly, “those questions coincide with the announcement of an engagement…oh, how unfortunate the timing would seem, don’t you think?.”
Your heart dropped completely.
“You do all of this to secure an engagement… well let me tell you, I will not accept you! Ever!”
“You will.”
“You presume too much.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I understand you.”The arrogance in his words and demeanor burned you from the inside. “I shall announce our engagement tonight at the ball.”
Your chest tightened as your eyes started to glisten against your will. “You cannot.”
“I can.”
“And if I refuse?”
His voice dropped, facial expression hardened. “Then these documents circulate before midnight, and your Duke’s audit becomes a spectacle.”
You felt the trap closing, the tunnel was becoming darker and darker. You fought him, you really did. Argued, accused him of cowardice and desperation; and he let you, because he had all of this planned. He knew you would have no choice. He calmly looked at how you were slowly crumbling, until finally, when your voice broke slightly, he stepped closer and said the one thing he had been waiting to say.
“You love him.”
A final blow. You did not answer but your silence was enough.
“You would endure my name,” he continued softly, “if it preserved his, that is your weakness.”
The words felt like a dagger to your heart, because it was true. He straightened to pristine composure once more.
“Prepare yourself for this evening.” And with that, he left you standing in a room too bright for the darkness settling inside you.
——
The air at the ball, unlike the frivolous Mayfair gatherings, was thick with the scent of aged cedar and the quiet anticipation of secrets unveiled. The ton found themselves enveloped not in opulence, but in a profound, almost reverent elegance.
Lord Min, a rare vision in the center of his own ballroom, eschewed the customary vibrant silks as usual. He wore a perfectly tailored dark tailcoat that seemed to absorb the candlelight, its lapels a subtle, deep velvet. Beneath it, a crisp black waistcoat with a delicate silver chain peeking from the pocket, and a pristine white cravat, tied with an almost aggressive precision. His only concession to adornment was a single, dark sapphire pinned to his lapel, catching the light like a star in a winter sky. He moved through his guests with the unhurried grace of a predator, his gaze missing nothing, yet lingering on no one—until his eyes found you.
You were a vision against the darker hues of the ballroom, your gown of champagne silk that seemed to weep with silver embroidery, the patterns spilling down the skirt like falling water. But it was the black velvet sash that caught his eye, a mourning-dark stripe that bisected the pale finery. It matched the choker on your throat and the ribbon in your hair, tying the entire look together with a sense of gravity.
He watched you for a moment, a barely perceptible shift in his stoic facade. You were speaking animatedly to Lady Danbury, a faint smile playing on your lips, your eyes bright and beautiful, yet, as he drew closer, moving through the throng with a singular purpose, he saw it. A tremor in your hand as you gestured, the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes, which, for a fleeting second, held a depth of sadness that belied your cheerful words.
You looked up as he approached, your smile instantly widening, a practiced, luminous mask, but Yoongi, with his uncanny ability to see beyond the surface, especially yours, knew. He offered his hand, his voice a low murmur above the din.
"Miss —, May I have this dance?"
"My lord," you replied with a steady voice, though he felt a faint chill when your fingers brushed. "It would be my pleasure."
As you moved to the dance floor, the melancholic strains of a waltz began, and he felt the subtle tension in your posture, a rigidity beneath the graceful sway. He held your gaze, trying to penetrate the carefully constructed facade.
The music swelled, a haunting violin melody that Yoongi himself had polished only nights before in the solitude of his study. As they spun, the world of the ton, the gossiping dowagers and the clinking lemonade glasses, all blurred into a smear of candlelight. Yoongi tightened his grip on your hand just a fraction, his thumb grazing the silk of your glove.
"The steps of a waltz are meant to be light, Miss," he said, his voice dropping to a low, grounding rasp. "Yet you are dancing as if the floor might give way beneath you. What has happened?"
You didn't miss a beat, your head tilting back with a grace that would have fooled any other man in the room. "The floor is sturdier than any in London, My Lord. Your estate is... formidable. This weekend is assured to be quite the triumph for you. Even Lady Danbury struggled to find a single flaw in the arrangement."
"I am not asking for a report from the committee of taste," Yoongi countered, his dark eyes narrowing as he steered you toward a shadowed corner of the dance floor. "I am asking why your smile looks like a porcelain mask that might shatter if I speak too loudly."
You let out a soft, airy laugh—a sound that usually brought him peace, but now felt like a needle to the heart. "You are far too observant for your own good. Perhaps it is simply the weight of the gratitude I owe you. You have been... a steadfast anchor for me this season. More than I had any right to ask for."
"Gratitude is a cold companion," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "I did not open my home to you for your gratitude."
You paused for a heartbeat, the rhythm of your feet stuttering just once before you regained composure. You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a second, the mask slipped. Your eyes were bright with a sheen you couldn't quite blink away.
"Then take it as a parting gift," you whispered, the words barely audible over the music. "Everything you have done—the library, the quiet mornings, the way you listen when I have nothing of importance to say—it has meant the world. I wanted this ball to be perfect. I wanted this dance to be the memory I carry with me."
Yoongi stopped moving entirely, heedless of the other couples swirling around you. "Carry with you? Where?"
"To the life that has been decided for me," you said, voice trembling as you finally withdrew your hand from his. You offered a small, heartbreakingly beautiful curtsy. "Thank you for the music, Yoongi. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard… but the song is ending."
Hearing you say his name for the first time made something in his chest tighten. He wanted you to say it again and again, he wanted it to be the first and last thing he heard every day, for as long as you would allow it, but those last words, your eyes, it was you saying: all is lost.
——
Ashford positioned himself near the center of the ballroom as couples started to dissipate in order to take a small pause, it was the perfect moment to finish this once and for all.
You stood at the edge of the room, heart pounding and breathing ragged, knowing what he intended, you turned to the wall to hide the small tear that fell on your cheek.
He lifted his glass. “Ladies and Gentleman, I have a small announcement to make.” He turns to you with a vicious grin. “It gives me great pleasure—”
At that precise moment, the doors opened and servants began ushering guests outside as Yoongi spoke in a loud and commanding voice.
“Excuse me, Viscount, but I have prepared something for you all, as a thank you for enduring such long journey to my lands, a small spectacle to start the weekend”
Hundreds of paper lanterns to be released across the lake, a gesture of elegance and distraction of beauty.
“There are lanterns!” someone exclaimed excitedly.
Lady Danbury herself declared, “We must not miss the view — His Grace has outdone himself.” Then she turned to look at you with a soft expression and offered you her arm to help her escort her outside.
The crowd shifted in eager excitement leaving Ashford hesitant and stunned in the middle of the dance floor; Yoongi did not move with the others either, he remained watching. One by one, the room emptied until they were the only ones left, the music faded behind them. Outside, applause erupted as the first lanterns lifted into the night sky, but inside? silence was deafening.
“You orchestrated this,” Ashford said coolly. “You knew”
“Yes.” Yoongi stepped forward slowly “You will not announce an engagement that does not exist.”
Ashford’s jaw tightened. “You presume—”
“I know.” Yoongi’s voice was low and dangerous now.
“I know about the documents.”
Ashford’s expression faltered barely. “You mistake strategy for threat.”
“No,” Yoongi replied. “I recognize desperation.”
Outside, golden light reflected against the tall windows.
“You wish to ruin her name and raise questions about my beginnings,” Yoongi continued calmly. “Shall we raise questions about yours?”
Ashford visibly stiffened.
“The funds that restored your estate,” Yoongi said softly. “Rerouted, all concealed and conveniently timed with the scandal that crippled her family.”
The accusation hung heavy. “You would not dare.”
“I would.” Yoongi stepped closer towering over him, his gaze unwavering. “Attempt to bind her name to yours, and I ensure every drawing room in London learns precisely how your house survived.”
The air was thick and tense. Ashford held his stare.
“You want her that much, she’s not even—”
“Do not dare finish that sentence.” His tone would frighten anyone now. “And yes, I want her, all of her… I have fallen for her.” No hesitation.
“And you believe that makes you invincible?” Ashford said finally, almost mocking.
“No.” Yoongi’s voice was quieter now. “It makes me dangerous for anyone who dares harm her.”
Ashford looked outside the window, far above the lake, the sky filled with floating lights and bright stars as he realized he had made a miscalculation in his plan.
“This is not concluded.”
“It is,” Yoongi replied sternly. “If you are wise.”
Ashford threw the glass at the wall, making a loud sound startling the staff but yoongi did not even flinch, then, the Viscount was seen finally leaving the estate, alone.
——
The manor had finally settled into a bruised, heavy silence. The frantic whispers of the ton had retreated behind closed doors, leaving the corridors to the flickering shadows of dying candles. You should have been in bed, but the air in your chambers felt thin, suffocating under the weight of what had nearly transpired.
Your maid’s voice still echoed in your mind—the frantic retelling of the confrontation in the grand salon, the way the Viscount had finally retreated, defeated and humiliated. Relief had washed over you, followed quickly by a sickening realization: you had been seconds away from a lifelong martyrdom. You had been ready to sign your life away to a monster just to keep Lord Min’s name untarnished, and you had almost done it without ever telling him why.
You found the study door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm, amber light spilling onto the dark polished wood of the hallway.
Inside, the scent of expensive tobacco and old parchment hung heavy. Yoongi was a silhouette against the hearth, his sleeves were rolled up his forearms, revealing the tension in his muscles, he was still wearing his vest but his cravat hung loose and undone around his neck. A crystal glass of amber liquid sat untouched on the edge of his desk, the ice long since melted. He didn't turn when the floorboard creaked under your step, he didn't have to.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pull at the very air in the room.
“So should you,” you countered softly, your voice trembling as you stepped into the circle of light.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful; it was a living thing, stretching between you until it became unbearable. The confession burned in your throat until it finally shattered the quietness of the room.
“I was going to accept him.”
Yoongi’s shoulders tensed for a moment, then slowly turned to look at you. His face was a mask of pale stone, but his eyes narrowed with a dark, sharp pain behind them.
“You would have married him,” he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, which was far more terrifying than a shout.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You took a step forward, your resolve fraying at the edges. “Because he would have hurt you and my mother. He had the letters. He had the power to dismantle everything you’ve built, every bit of respect you’ve earned from a society that already looks for reasons to doubt you. I could not allow that”
In three predatory strides, he crossed the room and didn't stop until he was looming over you, the heat radiating from his body clashing with the chill in your bones. He didn't raise his voice, but his control was fracturing into something far more volatile—an intensity that made any remaining breath catch in your lungs. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around your wrist. It wasn't a squeeze to hurt, but a firm, anchoring grip, as if he were afraid you might vanish into the shadows if he let go.
“You think I require protection?” his jaw tight.
“I think you would have destroyed him,” you whispered, looking up into the dark depths of his gaze. “And you would have destroyed yourself in the process. I could not let you become the villain of a story I caused.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. The grip on your wrist shifted, his thumb stroking your soft skin causing you shivers on your arm.
“You would have endured that man’s touch... you would have carried his name,” he said with a tone of disgust, his voice dropping to a rough rasp, “for my sake?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, the word breaking as your composure finally gave way. “In a heartbeat.”
That was the moment the mask didn't just crack—it disintegrated. His grip shifted from restraint to a sudden, desperate pull, hauling you flush against his chest. The embrace sending a jolt through your entire frame.
“You do not offer yourself as leverage,” he murmured against your temple, his breath hot and ragged. “You are not a piece on a board to be traded. You are not a sacrifice, do you hear me?”
Your hands pressed against the fine linen of his shirt, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. It was a mirror to your own.
“I was terrified,” he admitted, the confession sounding like it had been ripped from his lungs. “The thought of you in a house... with him... I would have burned this entire country to the ground to get you back.”
The raw honesty of it undid you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to the only man who had ever truly seen you.
“You are my only weakness,” you whispered into the hollow of his neck. “Ever since that masquerade ball… it has always been you.”
Something in him snapped completely. His lips found yours—not with the polite caution of the ballroom, but with a demanding, starved ferocity. Weeks of unspoken longing, of uncertainty, and of suppressed passion poured into that single kiss. His hand slid down to the small of your back, crushing you against him until there was no space left between you, while his other hand tangled deep into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.
It was consuming. It tasted of whiskey and smoke, it was a desperate and beautiful relief for both.
He backed you up and scooted you higher up on the wall, his body pressing against yours in a possessive, almost forceful way—like he was trying to merge you into a single being.
“We should not be doing this” he muttered gruffly against your lips with a painful frown. “Tell me to stop if you do not wish this”
“Do not— do not dare stop now"
Your half-lidded eyes combined with your desperate answer was enough to make him shudder, his breath came out in rough, almost guttural gasps as he tried to control himself. He let out a small breath, his hands gripped your hips so tightly you might have a few bruises to cover up tomorrow.
"Damn it…" he mumbles gruffly. He pinned you gently but firmly against the wall, then carried you to his desk, his breath uneven and eyes dangerously dark as he looked at your pink parted lips. He pulled back just enough to commit your expression to memory, his thumb caressing your jaw.
“You undo me in ways I did not know I could be undone…” His voice roughens. “And you would have given yourself to him as though I would survive that.”
“I would endure being undone a thousand times… but I will not endure losing you. I am done pretending I wish to be whole without you.”
His last words hit you like a vow before he pressed a kiss against your jawline, working his way up to your mouth. His fingers trailed up from your waist toying with the neckline of your nightgown—dragging down the material just enough to allow him a good view of your skin. He was impatient, but he held it together. Barely.
“Yoongi,” you whisper, tilting your head to give him more room to taste. That breathless way you said his name had his entire body going still for a second— He says nothing, because you have left him speechless once again, and he knows that it will take him a lifetime to control himself whenever you say his name. His fingers tightened slightly around you, and you moaned at the way you can see their veins shift under the candle light. He used his thumb to brush along your jaw before sliding his palm down to squeeze one of your breasts, a whimper slipped out of your mouth as your back arched forward, and you said his name even softer while his lips left sparks all along your neck.
His lips found yours again in a brutal kiss, your hands clinging to his shirt when you felt his hand drop lower to your thighs, grabbing and gripping the soft fabric as he pushed your legs further apart, suddenly very aware that they were already starting to tremble; when he looks at you, silently asking for permission, you simply nod as words failed you.
He smirked playing at his lips as he took in the way you are already breathless underneath him. He loved it all—the way you looked, the little noises you made, the scent of your skin as he nuzzled into your neck again. Lavender and raspberries. He would never get enough of you.
“Yoongi”
His grip tightened on your hips as he let out a rough exhale, and the words he said next are not ones you expected, but they completely undo you.
“Do not ever attempt to protect me by leaving me. Ever” he muttered hoarsely.
Then his fingers slid under the fabric of your nightgown —slow and teasing at first— his eyes on yours as he carefully caressed your thighs higher and higher, but he stopped for a moment, only caressing your skin as he asked once more for permission. When you nod, he kissed you gently while his hand reached higher until he pressed your soaked center. Your hands immediately went to his shoulders to steady yourself. His fingers moved with just enough pressure to make you squirm before finally pushing inside making you gasp. He groaned softly against your neck—lips brushing feather-light kisses against the soft sensitive skin there as his fingers moved inside you, rougher now as if he couldn't get deep enough.
“Do you know what it cost me not to touch you?” He asked ragged between kisses. “To stand beside you. To court you. To pretend I did not want you like this.” He took a deep breath against your skin. “It will never be enough.”
You arched your back in pleasure, knees trembling, he groaned in response to your little sounds —teeth grazed over your collarbone before his mouth traced a slow kiss down to a spot he knew you'd be weak for. His free hand slid up to take your throat, forcing you to look down at him as he watched your every expression.
“That’s it, don’t look away from me” he whispered against your throat as his fingers moved faster, his breath uneven as he kissed and bit his way up to your ear.
"So beautiful like this, so perfect."
He pressed a kiss on your cheek reverently, his touch grew more insistent, he loved to hear how wrecked you already sounded. He was all but panting against your neck now, his body hot and hard against yours—like every last bit of his restraint was hanging on by the thinnest thread.
“You are mine to protect.”
He pressed you down harder into the desk as he curled his fingers just right—deep and slow, dragging them against that spot inside you until your entire body trembled, his thumb caressing your bundle of nerves making you whine. His free hand came up to grip yours—pinning it to his chest as he kissed down toward your chest while his pace lost its patience and turned merciless.
He was past coherent words now, his lips moving hungrily against your skin, leaving marks everywhere he could, always careful to avoid areas that would be visible with your dress on tomorrow. His rhythm sharpened, his hand still tangled in yours, his body so taut above you that he felt like all reason and the little restraint he still had, were ready to snap. The noises he made were deep and rough, his fingers slowed just enough to tease you, dragging them on your wet slit before inserting them again and speeding up. His teeth grazed over the soft curve of your breast as he sucked a bruise right onto the swell, tongue flicking over your nipple as you squirmed for him, his lips closed around it again before he sucked it hard into his mouth.
He finally freed your hand, sliding down to your core, dragging slow circles with his thumb, his other hand moving at a steady pace making you plead, desperate to see you release. He let out a low growl at your expression, your soft moans and whimpers were his demise —the sound vibrated against your skin as he finally pressed his tongue to you, his fingers were relentless, rough and demanding as they curled hitting that perfect spot.
"Do it," he ordered hoarsely, "Let me see that beautiful face as you peak"
His teeth grazed over your nipple again—sharp enough to make you gasp—before his mouth sealed around it in a punishing suck. He cursed as he felt you clench around his fingers, your body shuddering under his. He didn't let up for a second, dragging it out as long as possible with slow, teasing circles of his thumb just to hear those sounds from you.
"Christ" he muttered against your neck, "You're so perfect like this."
He finally withdrew his fingers, watching your expression as he lifted them up to his mouth to suck them clean with a low, satisfied hum— never breaking eye contact. He let his eyes drag up your flushed skin and heaving chest, then, he lowered his face again to press soft, tender kisses up your neck to your cheek, finally resting his forehead against yours as he fought for breath. His legendary restraint had vanished tonight, leaving only the man who would move heaven and earth to keep you by his side.
——
The fire had burned low, its embers shifting with a soft crack that echoed too loudly in the silence. Your breathing had begun to steady, though your pulse still fluttered wildly beneath his touch. He had not moved far and he did not release you entirely. One arm remained firm around your waist, as though the world itself might attempt to take you if he loosened his hold.
His hand rose slowly, as if the motion required more restraint than anything he had done tonight. His fingers curved around your jaw, thumb brushing your pink cheeks while his gaze held yours. There was no frenzy left behind them now, this time it was something steadier.
“I nearly lost you tonight.”
The words were quiet, a statement of fact. You felt the shift before he moved — the air tightening, the weight of something irrevocable settling between you.
“I would not survive watching you walk toward another man.” His thumb traced once along the line right beneath your eye, his touch reverent.
“And I will not pretend that I can.”
He took a deep breath. The fire cracked behind him, a single ember collapsing inward, the moonlight once again illuminated the two of you; he took your hand and lifted it to his lips. His voice came out steady enough to anchor your world.
“Marry me.”
tbc :)
Beautiful people ✨: @yoongiiuu93 @kalamity-cherry-blossom @ktownshizzle @themwordsblog
summary: As the weekend away in The Duke’s estate rolls on, those carefully curated masks are starting to slip, and the tension in the halls is becoming impossible to ignore.
note: This is part 4 of a series, I highly recommend reading part 1, 2 and 3 first to understand the story. Okay, I skipped the warnings because I kinda want it to be a surprise but just know that there’s some mature content, nothing too crazy because we want to wait, trust me haha. It was a bit hard to write that part though since it’s the first time I do anything like this so I hope it’s good enough to meet your expectations :s Anyway, I think the story is close to an end but Taglist is still open and if you have any suggestions, feedback or questions drop it on my asks or comments. Happy reading!!
word count: 5.1k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Epilogue
—
Unlike the airy, white stone estates of the majority of the ton, this estate was built from obsidian-grey limestone that appeared almost charcoal when it rained. It was a fortress of quiet sophistication, a place where gossip dies at the gates and the architecture itself feels like a deep, resonant bass note, perhaps that’s why it earned the nickname of Shadow-Wood Manor.
Your carriage drove along, the winding driveway flanked by ancient, gnarled oaks that created a natural tunnel of shade. The strict neo-classical lines with no unnecessary golden filigree or floral carvings giving a feeling of exclusivity and, perhaps, one could even say intimidation. The estate featured a massive, mirror-like lake where it is rumored he spends his mornings, not hunting, but reflecting in a black-lacquered rowing boat. It was all just perfect, mathematical symmetry that reflected the Duke's sharp, calculating mind.
Lavender, Camellias and Larch roses adorned along manicured gardens welcoming the arriving guests for the weekend, and The Duke as the ever polite host made sure to welcome every single one. When trunks were unpacked and chambers assigned, it all promised to be a weekend to remember.
The ton was used to aggressive pall mall, refreshments and idle gossip, but here, the energy was different. Tucked away from the prying eyes of the mamas, Yoongi set up a tent featuring the finest malts which became the unofficial headquarters for the gentlemen and the "bold" ladies to discuss philosophy and other matters rather than marriage prospects, by the Lake, there was an archery set up, a quiet, focused sport where the Duke himself was spotted, correcting a debutante’s grip with a terrifyingly calm precision that would set the scandal sheets aflutter. And for those who find the sun too bright, his library—vast, floor-to-ceiling dark oak— was the perfect place for refuge, and of course, he set it all only for you, including his maids serving you your favorite tea and cake.
The midday light was unforgiving. It streamed through tall French windows, illuminating dust in the air and the faint tremor in your fingers as you adjusted the porcelain teacup in its saucer. Outside, the ton enjoyed as though nothing cruel could possibly occur beneath such a clear sky.
Ashford stood near the hearth, immaculate in dark blue morning coat, gloves removed but folded neatly in one hand. He did not sit.
“I trust you are well,” he began.
“I am,” you replied evenly. “Though I suspect you are not here out of concern.”
A faint smile on his lips. “Direct. I admire that.”
You remained on your seat paying no heed to him as you skimmed through the pages of a book, not letting him unsettle you in comfort.
“I believe you might be interested in this, for… clarity, as we established before.”
He withdrew a folded document from inside his coat and placed it deliberately over the pages. The paper was aged, not theatrically so, but just enough to insinuate “authenticity”.
“A timeline,” he said calmly. “Correspondence and ledgers dated shortly before your mother’s unfortunate… disgrace.”
You did not reach for it, but your eyes met his as he continued.
“A notation indicating prior relations and some settlements done in secret.”
You finally picked it up, eyes scanning it quickly, intending incrimination and hinting at improper behavior, a fragment detached from context with a single line referencing a “transfer expected before public notice.”
You face him and scoff. “You insult my intelligence if you believe this damning.”
Ashford stepped closer, voice lowering. “I do not require damning. I require doubt.”
You held his gaze with intensity, refusing to let him threaten you.
“The ton thrives on reinterpretation, particularly when scandal has aged just enough to be interesting again, I can only imagine what it would do to her when Lady Whistledown publishes the story.”
“She would never publish anything with so little evidence”
He studied you carefully, eyes narrowing as he smiled, giving you chills.
“You are brave when it concerns her, I see.” His tone cooled. “I wonder if you are equally brave when it concerns him.”
You falter, a small frown on your face now as a second document appeared. He did not set this one down casually, he placed it carefully as if it carried weight.
Contracts, early acquisition agreements, debt settlements… all with Yoongi’s signature. The language was sharp and efficient, but it was ruthless in tone when isolated. You felt it physically now, the sensation creeping under your ribs making your heart rate quicken.
“He built what he has with honesty,” you said. “Nothing here is unlawful.”
“I have never accused him of unlawfulness.” Ashford’s gaze narrowed and his tone was almost mocking. “But tell me, Miss — how do you think the ton will respond to aggression dressed as ambition?” “Your Duke has invited a public audit,” he continued smoothly. “Transparency is admirable, but I would hate for that process to become… complicated.”
“You are bluffing.”
His expression did not change. “Am I?”
The room felt smaller as he stepped closer, not touching, but invading your space. “I do not need to prove corruption, I need only to raise questions. Release selective contracts and suggest predatory timing, that will encourage a few investors to hesitate.”
Your voice wavered despite your effort, head held high. “He would withstand it.”
“Yes,” Ashford agreed. “Eventually, but not without cost.”
Silence stretched as doubt started to creep in.
“And if,” he added softly, “those questions coincide with the announcement of an engagement…oh, how unfortunate the timing would seem, don’t you think?.”
Your heart dropped completely.
“You do all of this to secure an engagement… well let me tell you, I will not accept you! Ever!”
“You will.”
“You presume too much.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I understand you.”The arrogance in his words and demeanor burned you from the inside. “I shall announce our engagement tonight at the ball.”
Your chest tightened as your eyes started to glisten against your will. “You cannot.”
“I can.”
“And if I refuse?”
His voice dropped, facial expression hardened. “Then these documents circulate before midnight, and your Duke’s audit becomes a spectacle.”
You felt the trap closing, the tunnel was becoming darker and darker. You fought him, you really did. Argued, accused him of cowardice and desperation; and he let you, because he had all of this planned. He knew you would have no choice. He calmly looked at how you were slowly crumbling, until finally, when your voice broke slightly, he stepped closer and said the one thing he had been waiting to say.
“You love him.”
A final blow. You did not answer but your silence was enough.
“You would endure my name,” he continued softly, “if it preserved his, that is your weakness.”
The words felt like a dagger to your heart, because it was true. He straightened to pristine composure once more.
“Prepare yourself for this evening.” And with that, he left you standing in a room too bright for the darkness settling inside you.
——
The air at the ball, unlike the frivolous Mayfair gatherings, was thick with the scent of aged cedar and the quiet anticipation of secrets unveiled. The ton found themselves enveloped not in opulence, but in a profound, almost reverent elegance.
Lord Min, a rare vision in the center of his own ballroom, eschewed the customary vibrant silks as usual. He wore a perfectly tailored dark tailcoat that seemed to absorb the candlelight, its lapels a subtle, deep velvet. Beneath it, a crisp black waistcoat with a delicate silver chain peeking from the pocket, and a pristine white cravat, tied with an almost aggressive precision. His only concession to adornment was a single, dark sapphire pinned to his lapel, catching the light like a star in a winter sky. He moved through his guests with the unhurried grace of a predator, his gaze missing nothing, yet lingering on no one—until his eyes found you.
You were a vision against the darker hues of the ballroom, your gown of champagne silk that seemed to weep with silver embroidery, the patterns spilling down the skirt like falling water. But it was the black velvet sash that caught his eye, a mourning-dark stripe that bisected the pale finery. It matched the choker on your throat and the ribbon in your hair, tying the entire look together with a sense of gravity.
He watched you for a moment, a barely perceptible shift in his stoic facade. You were speaking animatedly to Lady Danbury, a faint smile playing on your lips, your eyes bright and beautiful, yet, as he drew closer, moving through the throng with a singular purpose, he saw it. A tremor in your hand as you gestured, the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes, which, for a fleeting second, held a depth of sadness that belied your cheerful words.
You looked up as he approached, your smile instantly widening, a practiced, luminous mask, but Yoongi, with his uncanny ability to see beyond the surface, especially yours, knew. He offered his hand, his voice a low murmur above the din.
"Miss —, May I have this dance?"
"My lord," you replied with a steady voice, though he felt a faint chill when your fingers brushed. "It would be my pleasure."
As you moved to the dance floor, the melancholic strains of a waltz began, and he felt the subtle tension in your posture, a rigidity beneath the graceful sway. He held your gaze, trying to penetrate the carefully constructed facade.
The music swelled, a haunting violin melody that Yoongi himself had polished only nights before in the solitude of his study. As they spun, the world of the ton, the gossiping dowagers and the clinking lemonade glasses, all blurred into a smear of candlelight. Yoongi tightened his grip on your hand just a fraction, his thumb grazing the silk of your glove.
"The steps of a waltz are meant to be light, Miss," he said, his voice dropping to a low, grounding rasp. "Yet you are dancing as if the floor might give way beneath you. What has happened?"
You didn't miss a beat, your head tilting back with a grace that would have fooled any other man in the room. "The floor is sturdier than any in London, My Lord. Your estate is... formidable. This weekend is assured to be quite the triumph for you. Even Lady Danbury struggled to find a single flaw in the arrangement."
"I am not asking for a report from the committee of taste," Yoongi countered, his dark eyes narrowing as he steered you toward a shadowed corner of the dance floor. "I am asking why your smile looks like a porcelain mask that might shatter if I speak too loudly."
You let out a soft, airy laugh—a sound that usually brought him peace, but now felt like a needle to the heart. "You are far too observant for your own good. Perhaps it is simply the weight of the gratitude I owe you. You have been... a steadfast anchor for me this season. More than I had any right to ask for."
"Gratitude is a cold companion," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "I did not open my home to you for your gratitude."
You paused for a heartbeat, the rhythm of your feet stuttering just once before you regained composure. You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a second, the mask slipped. Your eyes were bright with a sheen you couldn't quite blink away.
"Then take it as a parting gift," you whispered, the words barely audible over the music. "Everything you have done—the library, the quiet mornings, the way you listen when I have nothing of importance to say—it has meant the world. I wanted this ball to be perfect. I wanted this dance to be the memory I carry with me."
Yoongi stopped moving entirely, heedless of the other couples swirling around you. "Carry with you? Where?"
"To the life that has been decided for me," you said, voice trembling as you finally withdrew your hand from his. You offered a small, heartbreakingly beautiful curtsy. "Thank you for the music, Yoongi. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard… but the song is ending."
Hearing you say his name for the first time made something in his chest tighten. He wanted you to say it again and again, he wanted it to be the first and last thing he heard every day, for as long as you would allow it, but those last words, your eyes, it was you saying: all is lost.
——
Ashford positioned himself near the center of the ballroom as couples started to dissipate in order to take a small pause, it was the perfect moment to finish this once and for all.
You stood at the edge of the room, heart pounding and breathing ragged, knowing what he intended, you turned to the wall to hide the small tear that fell on your cheek.
He lifted his glass. “Ladies and Gentleman, I have a small announcement to make.” He turns to you with a vicious grin. “It gives me great pleasure—”
At that precise moment, the doors opened and servants began ushering guests outside as Yoongi spoke in a loud and commanding voice.
“Excuse me, Viscount, but I have prepared something for you all, as a thank you for enduring such long journey to my lands, a small spectacle to start the weekend”
Hundreds of paper lanterns to be released across the lake, a gesture of elegance and distraction of beauty.
“There are lanterns!” someone exclaimed excitedly.
Lady Danbury herself declared, “We must not miss the view — His Grace has outdone himself.” Then she turned to look at you with a soft expression and offered you her arm to help her escort her outside.
The crowd shifted in eager excitement leaving Ashford hesitant and stunned in the middle of the dance floor; Yoongi did not move with the others either, he remained watching. One by one, the room emptied until they were the only ones left, the music faded behind them. Outside, applause erupted as the first lanterns lifted into the night sky, but inside? silence was deafening.
“You orchestrated this,” Ashford said coolly. “You knew”
“Yes.” Yoongi stepped forward slowly “You will not announce an engagement that does not exist.”
Ashford’s jaw tightened. “You presume—”
“I know.” Yoongi’s voice was low and dangerous now.
“I know about the documents.”
Ashford’s expression faltered barely. “You mistake strategy for threat.”
“No,” Yoongi replied. “I recognize desperation.”
Outside, golden light reflected against the tall windows.
“You wish to ruin her name and raise questions about my beginnings,” Yoongi continued calmly. “Shall we raise questions about yours?”
Ashford visibly stiffened.
“The funds that restored your estate,” Yoongi said softly. “Rerouted, all concealed and conveniently timed with the scandal that crippled her family.”
The accusation hung heavy. “You would not dare.”
“I would.” Yoongi stepped closer towering over him, his gaze unwavering. “Attempt to bind her name to yours, and I ensure every drawing room in London learns precisely how your house survived.”
The air was thick and tense. Ashford held his stare.
“You want her that much, she’s not even—”
“Do not dare finish that sentence.” His tone would frighten anyone now. “And yes, I want her, all of her… I have fallen for her.” No hesitation.
“And you believe that makes you invincible?” Ashford said finally, almost mocking.
“No.” Yoongi’s voice was quieter now. “It makes me dangerous for anyone who dares harm her.”
Ashford looked outside the window, far above the lake, the sky filled with floating lights and bright stars as he realized he had made a miscalculation in his plan.
“This is not concluded.”
“It is,” Yoongi replied sternly. “If you are wise.”
Ashford threw the glass at the wall, making a loud sound startling the staff but yoongi did not even flinch, then, the Viscount was seen finally leaving the estate, alone.
——
The manor had finally settled into a bruised, heavy silence. The frantic whispers of the ton had retreated behind closed doors, leaving the corridors to the flickering shadows of dying candles. You should have been in bed, but the air in your chambers felt thin, suffocating under the weight of what had nearly transpired.
Your maid’s voice still echoed in your mind—the frantic retelling of the confrontation in the grand salon, the way the Viscount had finally retreated, defeated and humiliated. Relief had washed over you, followed quickly by a sickening realization: you had been seconds away from a lifelong martyrdom. You had been ready to sign your life away to a monster just to keep Lord Min’s name untarnished, and you had almost done it without ever telling him why.
You found the study door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm, amber light spilling onto the dark polished wood of the hallway.
Inside, the scent of expensive tobacco and old parchment hung heavy. Yoongi was a silhouette against the hearth, his sleeves were rolled up his forearms, revealing the tension in his muscles, he was still wearing his vest but his cravat hung loose and undone around his neck. A crystal glass of amber liquid sat untouched on the edge of his desk, the ice long since melted. He didn't turn when the floorboard creaked under your step, he didn't have to.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pull at the very air in the room.
“So should you,” you countered softly, your voice trembling as you stepped into the circle of light.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful; it was a living thing, stretching between you until it became unbearable. The confession burned in your throat until it finally shattered the quietness of the room.
“I was going to accept him.”
Yoongi’s shoulders tensed for a moment, then slowly turned to look at you. His face was a mask of pale stone, but his eyes narrowed with a dark, sharp pain behind them.
“You would have married him,” he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, which was far more terrifying than a shout.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You took a step forward, your resolve fraying at the edges. “Because he would have hurt you and my mother. He had the letters. He had the power to dismantle everything you’ve built, every bit of respect you’ve earned from a society that already looks for reasons to doubt you. I could not allow that”
In three predatory strides, he crossed the room and didn't stop until he was looming over you, the heat radiating from his body clashing with the chill in your bones. He didn't raise his voice, but his control was fracturing into something far more volatile—an intensity that made any remaining breath catch in your lungs. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around your wrist. It wasn't a squeeze to hurt, but a firm, anchoring grip, as if he were afraid you might vanish into the shadows if he let go.
“You think I require protection?” his jaw tight.
“I think you would have destroyed him,” you whispered, looking up into the dark depths of his gaze. “And you would have destroyed yourself in the process. I could not let you become the villain of a story I caused.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. The grip on your wrist shifted, his thumb stroking your soft skin causing you shivers on your arm.
“You would have endured that man’s touch... you would have carried his name,” he said with a tone of disgust, his voice dropping to a rough rasp, “for my sake?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, the word breaking as your composure finally gave way. “In a heartbeat.”
That was the moment the mask didn't just crack—it disintegrated. His grip shifted from restraint to a sudden, desperate pull, hauling you flush against his chest. The embrace sending a jolt through your entire frame.
“You do not offer yourself as leverage,” he murmured against your temple, his breath hot and ragged. “You are not a piece on a board to be traded. You are not a sacrifice, do you hear me?”
Your hands pressed against the fine linen of his shirt, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. It was a mirror to your own.
“I was terrified,” he admitted, the confession sounding like it had been ripped from his lungs. “The thought of you in a house... with him... I would have burned this entire country to the ground to get you back.”
The raw honesty of it undid you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to the only man who had ever truly seen you.
“You are my only weakness,” you whispered into the hollow of his neck. “Ever since that masquerade ball… it has always been you.”
Something in him snapped completely. His lips found yours—not with the polite caution of the ballroom, but with a demanding, starved ferocity. Weeks of unspoken longing, of uncertainty, and of suppressed passion poured into that single kiss. His hand slid down to the small of your back, crushing you against him until there was no space left between you, while his other hand tangled deep into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.
It was consuming. It tasted of whiskey and smoke, it was a desperate and beautiful relief for both.
He backed you up and scooted you higher up on the wall, his body pressing against yours in a possessive, almost forceful way—like he was trying to merge you into a single being.
“We should not be doing this” he muttered gruffly against your lips with a painful frown. “Tell me to stop if you do not wish this”
“Do not— do not dare stop now"
Your half-lidded eyes combined with your desperate answer was enough to make him shudder, his breath came out in rough, almost guttural gasps as he tried to control himself. He let out a small breath, his hands gripped your hips so tightly you might have a few bruises to cover up tomorrow.
"Damn it…" he mumbles gruffly. He pinned you gently but firmly against the wall, then carried you to his desk, his breath uneven and eyes dangerously dark as he looked at your pink parted lips. He pulled back just enough to commit your expression to memory, his thumb caressing your jaw.
“You undo me in ways I did not know I could be undone…” His voice roughens. “And you would have given yourself to him as though I would survive that.”
“I would endure being undone a thousand times… but I will not endure losing you. I am done pretending I wish to be whole without you.”
His last words hit you like a vow before he pressed a kiss against your jawline, working his way up to your mouth. His fingers trailed up from your waist toying with the neckline of your nightgown—dragging down the material just enough to allow him a good view of your skin. He was impatient, but he held it together. Barely.
“Yoongi,” you whisper, tilting your head to give him more room to taste. That breathless way you said his name had his entire body going still for a second— He says nothing, because you have left him speechless once again, and he knows that it will take him a lifetime to control himself whenever you say his name. His fingers tightened slightly around you, and you moaned at the way you can see their veins shift under the candle light. He used his thumb to brush along your jaw before sliding his palm down to squeeze one of your breasts, a whimper slipped out of your mouth as your back arched forward, and you said his name even softer while his lips left sparks all along your neck.
His lips found yours again in a brutal kiss, your hands clinging to his shirt when you felt his hand drop lower to your thighs, grabbing and gripping the soft fabric as he pushed your legs further apart, suddenly very aware that they were already starting to tremble; when he looks at you, silently asking for permission, you simply nod as words failed you.
He smirked playing at his lips as he took in the way you are already breathless underneath him. He loved it all—the way you looked, the little noises you made, the scent of your skin as he nuzzled into your neck again. Lavender and raspberries. He would never get enough of you.
“Yoongi”
His grip tightened on your hips as he let out a rough exhale, and the words he said next are not ones you expected, but they completely undo you.
“Do not ever attempt to protect me by leaving me. Ever” he muttered hoarsely.
Then his fingers slid under the fabric of your nightgown —slow and teasing at first— his eyes on yours as he carefully caressed your thighs higher and higher, but he stopped for a moment, only caressing your skin as he asked once more for permission. When you nod, he kissed you gently while his hand reached higher until he pressed your soaked center. Your hands immediately went to his shoulders to steady yourself. His fingers moved with just enough pressure to make you squirm before finally pushing inside making you gasp. He groaned softly against your neck—lips brushing feather-light kisses against the soft sensitive skin there as his fingers moved inside you, rougher now as if he couldn't get deep enough.
“Do you know what it cost me not to touch you?” He asked ragged between kisses. “To stand beside you. To court you. To pretend I did not want you like this.” He took a deep breath against your skin. “It will never be enough.”
You arched your back in pleasure, knees trembling, he groaned in response to your little sounds —teeth grazed over your collarbone before his mouth traced a slow kiss down to a spot he knew you'd be weak for. His free hand slid up to take your throat, forcing you to look down at him as he watched your every expression.
“That’s it, don’t look away from me” he whispered against your throat as his fingers moved faster, his breath uneven as he kissed and bit his way up to your ear.
"So beautiful like this, so perfect."
He pressed a kiss on your cheek reverently, his touch grew more insistent, he loved to hear how wrecked you already sounded. He was all but panting against your neck now, his body hot and hard against yours—like every last bit of his restraint was hanging on by the thinnest thread.
“You are mine to protect.”
He pressed you down harder into the desk as he curled his fingers just right—deep and slow, dragging them against that spot inside you until your entire body trembled, his thumb caressing your bundle of nerves making you whine. His free hand came up to grip yours—pinning it to his chest as he kissed down toward your chest while his pace lost its patience and turned merciless.
He was past coherent words now, his lips moving hungrily against your skin, leaving marks everywhere he could, always careful to avoid areas that would be visible with your dress on tomorrow. His rhythm sharpened, his hand still tangled in yours, his body so taut above you that he felt like all reason and the little restraint he still had, were ready to snap. The noises he made were deep and rough, his fingers slowed just enough to tease you, dragging them on your wet slit before inserting them again and speeding up. His teeth grazed over the soft curve of your breast as he sucked a bruise right onto the swell, tongue flicking over your nipple as you squirmed for him, his lips closed around it again before he sucked it hard into his mouth.
He finally freed your hand, sliding down to your core, dragging slow circles with his thumb, his other hand moving at a steady pace making you plead, desperate to see you release. He let out a low growl at your expression, your soft moans and whimpers were his demise —the sound vibrated against your skin as he finally pressed his tongue to you, his fingers were relentless, rough and demanding as they curled hitting that perfect spot.
"Do it," he ordered hoarsely, "Let me see that beautiful face as you peak"
His teeth grazed over your nipple again—sharp enough to make you gasp—before his mouth sealed around it in a punishing suck. He cursed as he felt you clench around his fingers, your body shuddering under his. He didn't let up for a second, dragging it out as long as possible with slow, teasing circles of his thumb just to hear those sounds from you.
"Christ" he muttered against your neck, "You're so perfect like this."
He finally withdrew his fingers, watching your expression as he lifted them up to his mouth to suck them clean with a low, satisfied hum— never breaking eye contact. He let his eyes drag up your flushed skin and heaving chest, then, he lowered his face again to press soft, tender kisses up your neck to your cheek, finally resting his forehead against yours as he fought for breath. His legendary restraint had vanished tonight, leaving only the man who would move heaven and earth to keep you by his side.
——
The fire had burned low, its embers shifting with a soft crack that echoed too loudly in the silence. Your breathing had begun to steady, though your pulse still fluttered wildly beneath his touch. He had not moved far and he did not release you entirely. One arm remained firm around your waist, as though the world itself might attempt to take you if he loosened his hold.
His hand rose slowly, as if the motion required more restraint than anything he had done tonight. His fingers curved around your jaw, thumb brushing your pink cheeks while his gaze held yours. There was no frenzy left behind them now, this time it was something steadier.
“I nearly lost you tonight.”
The words were quiet, a statement of fact. You felt the shift before he moved — the air tightening, the weight of something irrevocable settling between you.
“I would not survive watching you walk toward another man.” His thumb traced once along the line right beneath your eye, his touch reverent.
“And I will not pretend that I can.”
He took a deep breath. The fire cracked behind him, a single ember collapsing inward, the moonlight once again illuminated the two of you; he took your hand and lifted it to his lips. His voice came out steady enough to anchor your world.
“Marry me.”
tbc :)
Beautiful people ✨: @yoongiiuu93 @kalamity-cherry-blossom @ktownshizzle @themwordsblog
Finished part 2 of this season as soon as it came out. What am I supposed to do now 😩 I hate you Netflix for taking so long and giving us just 8 episodes every few years 🥴
