Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.
"Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope." – Aristotle.
Dashingly attired, impeccably behaved, surprisingly charming, utterly irresistible. I was just a girl completely unprepared to resist a rogue thoroughly schooled on the arts of seduction. Even then, on some remote part of my mind, warning bells were signalling the perils of allowing the Duke to ensnare me on his web. After years of silence, to be the center of his undivided attentions was devastating to my senses.
He was the Prince Charming to my inner princess and for the second time his smile devastated my defences and my face stretched on a smile so ridiculously infatuated that it was impossible not to see the effect he had on me. He never insulted my intellect by denying that he had scared away the other callers, instead he showed deep regard for my wishes by promising not to enforce the betrothal. His eyes glinted wickedly when he assured me that I would be his wife not because of a signed piece of paper, but out of own volition. Most importantly, he made it clear that he no longer had a mistress.
Putting his arm around me, he kissed my cheek. It was fast and innocent enough, but it left my body tingling with unfamiliar heat. I blushed furiously watching his retreating figure. He still frightened me, for there was something blatantly powerful about him, yet there were delightful promises lingering on his dark eyes. Like a moth to a flame, I knew that his closeness would mean my downfall, yet I had hope. Foolish hopes of surviving his campaign and winning the war for his affection.
For the first time, I allowed myself to contemplate the idea of finding love within his arms, to be forever bestowed with the warmth of his attentions. All his smiles would be mine, his touches upon my body. My entire being ached for that image, however I was still afraid, for there was the very real possibility that I would not be able to engage his affections.
I had never given much thought to my looks, not until Aunt Renée pointed it out to me. However, it was the admiration on the men's eyes that gave me the confidence that my aunt spoke the truth. I was not shallow enough to believe that my beauty would sway his heart, but it certainly was enough to hold his attention, at least for some time. I'd use all the time my looks afforded me to make him fall in love. The price for my hand would be the surrender of his heart, nothing else would convince me to wed the Duke.
But I was too innocent to realize what a dangerous game I was playing, gambling away my heart despite the best warnings of my inner wisdom. The delusions of youth prevented me for seeing what should have been blatantly clear to me; the Duke would win, no matter how much I applied myself to the game. He was older, more experienced and ruthless. Like a Viking he would pillage my heart and destroy whatever part of me he could not possess.
See you tomorrow.