A fire in the dark

The servants had long since retired, and the grand halls of Windsor Manor were cloaked in shadows, lit only by the faint flicker of wall sconces. Victoria Windsor paced her private sitting room, her bare feet soundless against the plush rug. Her emerald silk dressing gown clung to her figure, its deep neckline daring even in the privacy of her chambers. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender and the faint trace of wine from dinner earlier that evening.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

She froze, her heart quickening. It was past midnight-no one should be visiting her at this hour. Crossing the room, she hesitated before opening the door just wide enough to see who had disturbed her solitude.

James Parker stood on the other side, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his gray eyes calm but unreadable. He was still dressed in his simple servant's attire, though his cravat was loosened, giving him an air of quiet defiance.

"Mr. Parker," she said, her voice steady despite the sudden thrum of her pulse. "It's late."

"It is," he replied, his voice low and quiet. "But I needed to speak with you."

Victoria hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the hallway was empty before opening the door fully and stepping aside. He entered, his movements deliberate, and she closed the door behind him.

"This is highly improper," she said, turning to face him.

"Most things worth doing are," James replied, his gaze unwavering.

She crossed her arms, though the silk of her gown slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing more skin than she intended. "You're bold, Mr. Parker. But I'm afraid I don't have time for games."

"I'm not playing games, Your Grace," he said, his tone soft but firm. "I saw the way the Duke looked at you tonight. The way Lord Alexander couldn't keep his distance. And yet..." He took a step closer, his voice dropping. "You came back to that balcony last night."

Her breath caught. "You presume too much."

"Do I?" His gray eyes held hers, searching. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll leave this room."

Victoria's fingers tightened around the edges of her gown. "What do you want from me, James?"

His expression softened, though there was still a fire in his gaze. "I want to understand why someone like you, with all the power and grace in the world, keeps looking at me as if I'm something more than a servant."

"You misunderstand," she said, though her voice faltered.

"I don't think I do."

He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. The faint scent of leather and the outdoors clung to him, intoxicating and raw. Victoria's breathing quickened, and her composure began to slip, the walls she'd carefully built starting to crumble.

"You should leave," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you want me to?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn't come. His hand lifted slowly, hovering near her face as though seeking permission. When she didn't pull away, his fingers brushed against her cheek, warm and rough against her smooth skin.

"This is madness," she murmured, though she didn't step back.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice low and filled with something she couldn't name. "But I think you're tired of pretending."

Her resolve shattered.

She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a desperate, fiery kiss. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the silk of her gown slid further from her shoulders. The world outside her chambers ceased to exist; there was only the heat of his touch, the taste of him, and the wild thrum of her heart.

James broke the kiss first, his forehead resting against hers as they both caught their breath. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he said, his voice rough but sincere.

Victoria shook her head, her hands clutching the front of his shirt. "Don't stop."

His lips found hers again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the chaise near the fireplace as the flames cast dancing shadows across the room.

Victoria's fingers tangled in his hair, her breaths coming in soft gasps as he trailed kisses along her neck, his touch igniting a fire she hadn't felt in years. For once, there was no pretense, no duty-only the raw, unfiltered reality of two people drawn to each other like moths to a flame.

The firelight flickered, illuminating the lines of his face as he looked down at her, his expression a mixture of desire and restraint. "You are so much more than they see," he said softly, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"And you," she whispered, her voice trembling, "are far more dangerous than I realized."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but he didn't respond. Instead, he kissed her again, and this time, she surrendered completely.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, but neither of them noticed. Time had no meaning here, in this stolen moment where propriety was forgotten, and desire burned brighter than reason.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows, a reminder of the storm that would inevitably come. But for now, in the darkened room filled with

warmth and shadows, Victoria let herself be consumed by the fire.