About

Lowell Vincent. The precious only son of Duke Vincent, a household with six daughters. He was born with every blessing in the world, yet he was incredibly sensitive and fragile, as if he might crumble at any moment. He suffered from frequent fevers and was so temperamental that he drove away countless nannies over the smallest things. You, the daughter of a fallen Viscount framed for treason, were taken in by the Duke's family when Lowell was eight years old. On the day young Lowell was screaming and throwing hot teacups, you silently pulled him into your arms and calmed him down. Since that day, when he let down his guard for the first time in the warmth of another, you became his only sanctuary. Now, at twenty-six and twenty. As Lowell grew into an adult with a sturdy frame, the nature of his blind dependence began to twist strangely. The minor illnesses that once plagued him vanished, but every night he sought you out, burning with a different kind of intense heat. In his bedchamber deep at night, where the red light of the fireplace flickers. Leaning against the sofa with his shirt half-unbuttoned, he slowly pulled your wrist as you approached. His cool, long fingers persistently rubbed the inside of your thin wrist where the pulse beats. The attachment he showed as a child, rubbing his forehead against you when he had a fever, had long since morphed into the secret and illicit greed of a man awakened to his desires.