The Duke's Masked Wife Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Contract marriage (1)

A daring mother thrust her daughter forward toward Duke Edgar as he strode past, declaring, “Duke Edgar, please spend the night with my daughter, and you’ll discover she’s a superb match for your bride.”

The attention of everyone in the room fixed on the trio, since Duke Edgar dominated the evening’s conversations.

“I had no idea your daughter had taken up work in the red light district. I’m not seeking a spouse from such places,” Duke Edgar remarked, sidestepping to the left to bypass the crestfallen mother and her daughter.

He’d barely been there for under three minutes, yet this marked his second run-in with a mother-daughter pair eager to secure his approval. This trend had started ever since word got out that he was hunting for a wife.

The source of the gossip was the devious king, who had little else to occupy himself besides sabotaging his friend’s existence.

It came as no shock that the ladies had bitten the hook, shoving their daughters forward in hopes of snagging the Duke as a son-in-law.

Duke Edgar Collins stood as his father’s only son and the exclusive inheritor of vast estates. His lifestyle rivaled that of royalty, and owing to his ties to the king, no desire lay beyond Edgar’s reach.

Though labeled a sly and perilous figure, when wealth entered the picture, folks conveniently overlooked his shadowy reputation.

.....

“Duke Collins has arrived,” a young lady murmured to her friend while Edgar entered the baron’s residence.

‘This evening’s bound to be a real headache,’ Edgar groaned inwardly, foreseeing how it would conclude. Endless proposals from fresh-faced women, freshly taught the arts of managing a home, threatened to overwhelm him.

The intense fervor of their rush to wed turned the room stifling and oppressive. He craved a chilled beverage to escape the sweltering atmosphere.

Edgar couldn’t recall why he’d consented to join the Baron’s gathering. The Baron, Desmond Barrett, who presided over a crumbling estate, was someone Edgar held no regard for. He puzzled over why a fellow teetering on financial ruin would host such an extravagant affair.

Was he eager to hasten his eviction from his own dwelling?

“Duke Collins,” the Baron himself materialized. Desmond neared Edgar, his hair secured in his customary ponytail. He donned a black and white attire that Edgar thought echoed the man’s locks—dark with scattered white strands.

Edgar caught the Baron proclaiming his name in a manner reminiscent of a debutante descending the staircase at her first ball. “Baron,” he responded to the man.

“Your presence at my home for this party is truly gracious,” Desmond expressed, genuinely taken aback by the duke’s attendance. He’d been a bundle of nerves from the barrage of inquiries by attendees who showed up solely to glimpse the duke.

Desmond had taken pains to circulate the announcement that the duke would grace his event.

“Spare me the pleasantries, Baron. You’re aware of my purpose here. Unlike the king, I remain skeptical that you possess the details I seek.” Edgar hunted for any clue regarding the vanishing young ladies.

Desmond had dispatched a message asserting he held vital intelligence and desired a private chat with the Duke at this venue. Yet Edgar saw right through the scheme.

“Naturally, I grasp your reason for coming, but it would be impolite not to proffer a beverage first, Edgar. Pardon me, but you appear to be perspiring heavily,” Desmond scanned the area, pondering if more windows ought to be flung open in his abode.

“I didn’t come here for a damn drink. Allow me to clarify,” Edgar seized the Baron’s throat, heedless of the onlookers tracking his actions. “Though I might have ample free time lately, I despise having it squandered. Should you have summoned me merely as a spectacle for your visitors, I’ll ensure you face the gallows come dawn.”

“I-I apologize,” Desmond whimpered while his toes lifted from the floor. He’d heard tales of the duke’s monstrous nature but dismissed them as mere jests.

Desmond attempted to swallow, but Edgar’s clasp proved too firm around his throat to permit it.

“Apologize?” Edgar squeezed harder on Desmond’s neck. “That suggests you’re admitting you lack any useful information for me. Snapping the neck of a frail elderly man like you would be swift. Is this spectacle sufficient for your crowd?” He murmured into the Baron’s ear.

Desmond’s body hairs bristled as Edgar’s icy breath grazed his flesh. “I-I do have information. I promise. I-It’s located upstairs.”

“Well done,” Edgar let the Baron fall. “Why delay revealing that? Were you hoping I’d end you?”

“N-No, Duke. I ought to have fetched it immediately. Pardon me. C-Could you set me down before the guests misconstrue your actions? I’d hate for them to form an unfavorable view of you,” Desmond said, though his true intent was to avoid further humiliation from being choked in his own house.

“Certainly,” Edgar let go of the diminutive fellow. “I require a private spot until your return. Somewhere outdoors where I can light up a smoke.”

“The garden’s been restricted, ensuring solitude, though my daughter hopes for a brief encounter with you. If you’d indulge her with just a short time in the garden, I’d be grateful.”

“Do I resemble a shooting star to you, Baron?” Edgar gazed downward at the shorter man.

“Shooting star? I fail to comprehend, Edgar. In what way could you be a shooting star?” Desmond stared in utter confusion.

“That’s precisely what I’m attempting to decipher from your assumption that I’d fulfill your daughter’s desire. Hurry off and retrieve what you’ve got for me.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Edgar resolved mentally that this marked his final house visit on the king’s command. The Baron amounted to little more than a self-serving schemer, leveraging others’ prestige to draw a throng to his bash.

Before additional souls could advance to parade their daughters before him, Edgar chose a haphazard path, hoping it led to the garden. He’d never set foot in the Baron’s home previously and sincerely desired this to be his final visit.

“Trail after him,” he overheard a voice whisper in his wake.

Edgar extracted a cigar from his coat’s pocket as he hastened outdoors. He anticipated the night demanding a hasty puff. Upon exiting the Baron’s dwelling, the chilly breeze bit at his skin, nearly urging him to retreat inward.

Rather than reentering, Edgar ignited his cigar, preferring the bitter frost outside over the suffocating stares of eager maidens within.

“I ought to have packed two coats.”

As he traversed the stairs where he’d paused, Edgar noticed a young lady scurrying away, clutching a coat to shield herself from the chill.

“That coat seems rather flimsy for protection, doesn’t it?” He announced his arrival.

The woman froze, visibly startled that someone had spotted her sneaking about. “The party’s indoors.”

“I’m fully cognizant of that, Alessandra. Why stiffen as if I shouldn’t recognize your name? Who else would don a mask in the Baron’s house but his infamous accursed daughter?”

After a pause filled with quiet, Alessandra at last responded. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Not at all. Life holds far more terrifying elements, darling. Why fear me over a mere mask?” Edgar exhaled smoke into the night.

“That habit will destroy you if you persist,” Alessandra remarked without turning, the odor already assaulting her senses, which she deemed revolting.

“Excellent, it’ll hasten the end. Are you afraid of me?” He inquired, noting she hadn’t once glanced back to identify her converser.

“I don’t know your identity,” she answered.

“Fair enough. I’m Edgar Collins. Plain Edgar suffices.”

“The Duke?” Alessandra’s eyes grew wide. She hadn’t anticipated encountering such a prominent figure here. She’d believed her father fabricated the tale. “Rumor has it you’re about to wed. Is that your purpose? Seeking my sister?”

“I’d prefer death. No offense intended,” he appended, considering it was her sibling. “Not one of those young ladies inside will become my spouse. They resemble identical dolls from the same collection.”

“And what of me? Should I request your hand in marriage, what would your response be?” Alessandra awaited his reply with bated breath.

“What eludes all of you is this key truth: choosing you would doom you to a marriage devoid of affection. I’ve never sought matrimony, but the gossip spread nonetheless,” Edgar explained.

“What if love from you isn’t my desire?”

Edgar let out a laugh. Many modern unions began without romance, only for sentiments to bloom later. “There’s no assurance you wouldn’t come to crave it eventually.”

“Consider a contract instead?” Alessandra suggested boldly. Desperation drove her, yearning to exploit him as a means to flee her father’s grasp.