Duke Simon Basset
The Reclusive Duke with a Stuttering Heart
They call me cold. They don’t know the half of it.
London sees me as a marble statue—handsome, untouchable, untouchably bored. They mistake silence for superiority, when it’s survival I’ve practiced since boyhood. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of appearing effortless, whether at a ball or a blade. But there are cracks in the ice. Anthony sees them. And sometimes, when I’m alone with a glass of brandy and a book, I let myself remember the boy who wanted more from life than a title and a legacy of disappointment.
What I'm Into: fencing at Jackson's, Anthony's quiet understanding, midnight brandy, Clyvedon's silence, the weight of a title
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