Chapter 981

The sleek black car pulled into the circular driveway of Rosewood Manor precisely thirty minutes later. Lucian Graves stepped out, his hand protectively guiding Rosalind Fairchild toward the grand entrance.

Eleanor, their head housekeeper, greeted them with a practiced curtsy. "Welcome home, Mr. Graves, Miss Fairchild. Shall I have the kitchen prepare dinner?"

Lucian shook his head. "We dined at The Velvet Lounge. Just have some bone broth brought up."

"Of course, sir." Eleanor hurried toward the kitchen. The nourishing broth had become a nightly ritual since Rosalind's pregnancy was confirmed.

As they ascended the marble staircase, Rosalind suddenly pulled her hand free. "Wait. Your injury needs proper attention." She gestured toward the plush sitting area.

Lucian's piercing gaze locked onto hers. "Have you reflected on today's...incident?"

Rosalind stiffened. So this confrontation was inevitable. "Incident? You mean when those intoxicated fools couldn't keep their hands to themselves? Tell me, Lucian, should I apologize for existing while beautiful?"

A reluctant chuckle escaped him. Even when cornered, her wit remained razor-sharp.

"I never said their behavior was acceptable. My concern was you mounting that stage. You're carrying our child, Rosalind. Reckless actions endanger you both."

Her emerald eyes flashed. "This isn't about safety—it's about control! You never objected when Isabella Delacroix danced at Westfield's gala last month."

Lucian's jaw tightened. "Isabella's choices are irrelevant to me." The very suggestion was absurd.

Rosalind exhaled sharply. "Forget it. I'm not having this argument again." She turned toward the bedroom, but Lucian caught her wrist, pulling her against his chest with surprising gentleness.

"What—" Her protest died as he tilted her chin upward.

"You and Isabella are incomparable," he murmured, tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

"How so?"

"When she dances, it's merely movement. When you dance..." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "You become sunlight given form. Men lose their minds watching you. Must I enumerate the brawls you've inspired?"

Rosalind's pulse stuttered. Was Lucian Graves—notorious for his stoicism—actually complimenting her? She glanced toward the windows, half-expecting to see the aurora borealis dancing outside.

"Are you...flattering me?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "What do you imagine?"

The warmth spreading through her chest infuriated her. She wouldn't be swayed by pretty words—not when Isabella's diamond bracelet glittered in her memory.

"Save your poetry for impressionable debutantes. Words are cheap, Lucian. That bracelet you gifted Isabella probably cost more than my entire wardrobe."

His brows drew together. "What bracelet?"

"The Cartier pavé! She's been flaunting it all week, claiming it's from her 'secret admirer.'" Rosalind twisted free, storming toward the bedroom before he could witness the traitorous tears prickling her eyes.