Chapter 179: Bound To Her
Leroy turned his face, pressing his lips together as a familiar memory from that night crept back to haunt him.
"What are you going to do with your father?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from that topic, to any topic, really.
Lorraine chuckled, poking his cheek with mischievous intent. "Oh, are you changing the subject now?"
He grunted, grabbed the very finger she used to prod him, and without a hint of hesitation... bit down. Hard.
"Ouch!" Lorraine yanked her hand back, pouting exaggeratedly. "Are you a dog?"
"I am a dog," he declared, wrapping his arms possessively around her waist, burying his face in her chest with exaggerated devotion. He inhaled deeply, like a hound savoring its prize. "Ahh... you smell so good."
Lorraine rolled her eyes as he started to nibble on them. She pressed his forehead, shoving him away just enough. This man loved her breasts a little too much for her taste. He didn’t try further and looked at her with a silly grin on his face.
"If you thought I was planning something... wanting something... expecting something from you," she said with theatrical flair, "you’re utterly mistaken. It was Emma’s doing. I didn’t even realize what I was wearing until I saw the way you looked at me~"
"Ohhh, so that little erotic dance move you did wasn’t you?" Leroy teased, eyes focused on her, lips curling into a sly grin.
"Ero~" Lorraine gasped, clutching her chest in an overly dramatic gesture. "Dance move? Your Highness, is there no limit to your delusions?"
"Delusions?" Leroy arched an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mock innocence. He struck a pose: one knee raised, one hand folded behind his head, chest puffed up, and with the other hand, he pretended to lift his imaginary skirt just so.
Lorraine blinked, completely baffled by his shamelessness. She knew exactly she hadn’t done that particular pose as her own move had been far more subtle... and far less ridiculous.
"And the way you looked at me..." he continued, his voice thick with feigned seduction, "inviting me in..." He even batted his eyelashes like a child playing grown-up.
Lorraine covered her ears like a child warding off bad words. "Liar! Lying Prince! You should be ashamed of yourself!" she shouted, half-laughing, half-annoyed, desperate to block out the absurdity.
But Leroy wasn’t letting go. Still holding that ridiculous pose, he thrust his hips in mock sensuality, making the whole thing even more ridiculous.
Lorraine couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing.
This man... truly was shameless.
"I know what I saw," Leroy insisted, doubling down on his lie with absolute conviction. "You might just remember it wrongly."
He pressed a firm hand over her mouth before she could argue back.
"That’s enough discussion," he declared, as if putting an end to all reason. "Just sleep for now."
Without another word, Leroy scooped Lorraine into his arms, carrying her toward his bed. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, shadows flickering gently across the walls, as if bearing silent witness to the intimacy unfolding between them.
His lips curved into a subtle smile, one that held warmth, tenderness, and a trace of amusement at their playful nonsense. But underneath it, there was an unspoken certainty: none of her words, his teasing, their laughter, would be forgotten by morning.
Just as he was about to lay her down, Lorraine slipped from his grasp and moved with quiet purpose to his desk. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took up a piece of parchment and wrote a single sentence, precise and deliberate:
"Twist the eagle’s head."
Leroy watched her with a soft intensity, his brow lifting in quiet curiosity.
"What is this?" His voice was calm but edged with the weight of knowing.
Lorraine smirked, folding the parchment with care, as though sealing a secret meant only for destiny’s hands.
"You asked me what I planned to do with Hadrian, didn’t you?" Her voice was measured, but there was fire beneath it. "You’ll see."
She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she walked out, the motion fluid and certain, offering the folded note to Sylvia.
Sylvia accepted the parchment with a respectful nod, her face serene but eyes gleaming with understanding.
"I’ll be there before dawn," Lorraine said, her voice steady, carrying a quiet resolve.
Sylvia bowed her head once more and departed without another word, leaving the air heavy with unspoken purpose.
Leroy remained still for a long moment, watching the door close behind her.
When she said she had planned for years to bring Hadrian down, she had meant it. A single sentence, simple in appearance, was now a key that would unlock a chain of consequences.
He moved back to the bed, drawing Lorraine into his arms as she lay down beside him. The softness of her skin against his, the faint pulse of her heartbeat beneath his palm, spoke more than words ever could.
He traced gentle circles on her back, his touch slow, deliberate, as if memorizing the contours of her, storing them deep within himself.
She looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, serene, touched by a quiet satisfaction only he could understand.
"It would have been better if we slept in my room," she said softly, her voice heavy with unspoken thought. "It’s not tradition."
Leroy pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, the motion almost reverent.
"A man and wife should have only one bedchamber between them," he murmured, his voice steady, full of conviction. "It’s wrong on so many levels... not because of what’s expected, but because it should be us—always us."
Lorraine let out a soft hum in reply, her eyes never leaving his.
"But we all need our space," she said quietly, "a place untouched... even by your spouse."
"That’s exactly why," Leroy said, his tone low, full of certainty, "there shouldn’t be any secrets between us."
She looked at him then, fully awake now, her gaze unwavering.
"To have a space doesn’t necessarily mean to have secrets," she said, her voice gentle but firm, like a vow.
He pressed his lips to hers again, a kiss slow and deliberate, full of tenderness and understanding, as if sealing a promise that neither time nor circumstance could undo. It looked like his wife didn’t share his opinion.
"There should at least be a door between our bedchambers," Leroy said, half in jest but entirely earnest.
"I agree," she whispered, her voice soft like a sigh, "but it’s not tradition..." Her words drifted into a yawn, fragile and sincere.
"Then tradition is exactly what we’ll create," Leroy answered, his voice steady, like the promise of dawn after the longest night.
Suddenly, Lorraine’s eyes flew open, wide and sharp in the soft flicker of the lone candle burning in the room. Leroy watched as clarity and resolve settled in her gaze.
"Did you read the letter your mother sent you?" she asked, her voice gentle, tinged with concern.