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tarjapearce · 1 month

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The Immorality Of Love (Pt. 2)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

WARNINGS: Power abuse, class divisions, slur use, assault, forced medical procedures, no proofread, Victorian Era customs, Angst, slow burn, No use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired with Miguel.

Summary: Although a deal is born, the aftermath is something you'd never forget.

A/N: There was a time when venereal diseases were an actual problem and prostitutes were to blame. As a countermeasure, authorities started to do checkups to the courtesans, however even regular work women were involved. Sometimes authorities forced checkups to women that allegedly were sick and they strapped them down. This was seen as dehumanizing by some people. If the woman was sick, she was treated until supposedly cured. If she wasn't, she was let go.

If one thing Peter had always present in his thoughts was Miguel's stubbornness. Sometimes it proved to be successful other times annoying.

Successful cause of it, he had his empire of machinery sprawled through the city. Companies bought from the richmen that refused to properly treat their employees and the complains flooding his mail had been way too great to ignore or postpone any further .

But this time, his mulishness proved to be everything but good.

Peter was tired, slightly perturbed by the many gruesome things he had to witness in the search of this Violet woman, and he was definitely giving his friend a piece of mind once the search had concluded. If that ever came to happen.

For someone to escape Lyla's radar, meant whoever this woman was, didn't want to be found, or the name was just a ruse to confuse anyone curious enough to dig up about her. Scurrying away from one of the best investigators in the city wasn't an easy feat, he had to give the mysterious woman that.

He had seen the ugly side of the city, a place he often kept in his prayers and helped whenever his job and fortune allowed it.

For the umpteenth time, Peter sighed and rubbed his face, awash with tiredness. Lyla could only chuckle at the parade of emotions wafting through Peter's countenance.

"We'll find her." The short haired woman spoke as she walked through the stony and neverending streets, that blasted their senses with an array of smells their brain could barely name and classify. Peter tailed after her, looking through the mass of people he swum against, watching for his pockets from the invading kid's gangs.

"From all the people he chooses to go with, he picks one that doesn't want to be found. How do we even know if she's real?"

"Cause she's a different kind of worker."

Lyla mumbled as she turned deeper into an alley to finally reach for Tevinter's district. The middle class world.

Both had forgotten that specific clue Miguel had given them, that had them ransacking through the city for almost a week. Finally, all those trying and tiresome days paid off. They had gone through a couple of Violets in the upper district, the name wasn't that common as they originally thought.

But that just added even more difficulty to the guessing game Miguel had bestowed upon them. Were they looking for a noblewoman? A shop owner? A famous seamstress or singer?

None of that.

It took a moment for Peter to finally understand the kind of woman they were looking for. And it became even clearer as they approached Brasswood Avenue. The preferred street for people that always were up to something, people that lived their lives in the many joyful and licentious ways available. Courtesans included.

Be it the view and the shops around, made Brasswood's streets a centric and well made place for living, during the day. But in the night, it was as dangerous as any other poor district. Safety was a luxury even middle class struggled to get sometimes.

Lyla and Peter asked around. Some outright ignored them, others acted like they didn't know anything at all, courtesans specially. Ladies of the night that refused to disclose information about the mysterious woman and dodged the questions effortlessly.

Peter noticed the protectiveness the women had on eachother, with Violet however the secretiveness was tenfold.

Except for a couple of whistle-blowers that thrived on gossips and watching the world burn for the hell of it.

They gave him your address, just to tip the balance in their favor. But Peter's nature simply thanked them with a polite smile and returned at once with Lyla.

As soon as the investigator and his friend crossed his office doors, Miguel's stilted position relaxed slightly with a deep sigh.

"Any news?" The Duke mumbled expecting yet another dead end.

His job and the noblesse oblige often nicked his patience away, and whenever Lyla or Peter returned empty handed, his stress shot heavenwards.

The getaway with nobility approached ominously within each day, and the letters from Prince Harry made sure to keep the vexing vacation in the front core of his brain. Disrupting his train of thoughts often. It didn't help the woman he had set his eyes on, the perfect subject, refused to be found.

The possibilities of you deceiving him, were undeniable. If it took this long it meant the name you gave him was fake. His mind recalled the way you had left oh so hastily out of his manor and the remembrance alone reinforced that thought.

But Lyla's words made his mind to have a bit of peace.

"We've found her."

But Peter's skepticism placed his jumbled mind in the juggler again, "It's a lead. We didn't see her per say."

"Pete, don't be a wet blanket on this, please. I say we've found her. Didn't you notice the way those women clammed up as soon as we mentioned Violet's name?"

"Of course I did, but still, they gave me her address, remember? She lives in an apartment in Brasswood Avenue."

"Now that's a lead, not an address! They didn't specify where! There's a shit ton of apartments in Brasswood, you dumb bread." Lyla quipped with a roll of her eyes.

"Ya, basta." Miguel grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Brasswood you said?"

Peter nodded and Miguel picked up his things after downing his cold and forsaken morning coffee in a go.

"Let's go, then."

"Wait! You're going right now? What about the evening meetings?"

"The last thing I want is to be assigned one of Harry's companions." Explained the Duke as he approached the door, "You're coming or what?"

Peter had no idea what to expect, but he followed anyway. His street smarts could come in handy.

The perfume was not only heavenly, but sure attracted looks from men and women alike. Curiosity and outrage from the women, to see such thing as a working class woman coming out of the perfume parlor with a package in hand.

Some women stared too long and you were brave and bold enough to face their derogatory looks with a careless smirk.

How dare you?

They'd say. Even worst when you had just purchased a popular item and flaunted them right in their noses way before they could get it. Poking at their rich and better-than-thou ego. Their companions were forced to look away.

The layout slowly changed into a less fancy and dainty milieu, but a less produced copy cat version of Manhattan's district. Pretty but bustling with merchants, families, vendors and a bit of working class rust around the edges.

You had taken a carriage and dropped you off a few blocks away from your apartment. The city noise was something it always woke you up in your evening naps. And hopefully this time you'd get a much longer sleep with a new purchase. Ear lids for the noise.

The comfy and self indulgent thoughts were sapped away as soon as your eyes took in a very familiar carriage, parked a street down your apartment.

Swallowing a thick lump, forming in your throat, you entered the threshold of your home and went up the stairs. Ears perked up at the known voice. Rich, foreign and beautiful, yet annoyingly lordly.

To your surprise none other than the Duke and his companion were there.

What is this?

Your mind swirled with so many different questions and emotions.

Would the Duke want revenge? No certainly not, but it was too late to hide as he had spotted you.

Beautiful brown eyes stared your way, finally acknowledging your presence with a surprised blink. As if convincing himself that following his instincts had paid off.

"Violet." He called and his companion immediately set his eyes on you. Scrutinizing and taking in each of your features. Peter blinked a couple of times before removing his hat in sign of respect to a lady.

"What is this?" Alarmed you looked around, and to your little luck, a couple of neighbors were peeping in your apartment's wooden corridor.

Shit.

With a haste you grabbed your keys and opened the locked door nervously, urging both men inside, away from prying and nosy stares.

"What is this? Why are you here?" Suspicion beyond obvious in your voice.

Peter chuckled nervously and cleared his throat at your bewilderment and harsh words.

"The Duke was looking for you, Miss... Violet."

"Why?" your brows puckered in a frown as your arms crossed against your chest, defensively. Peter faked a brief cough as Miguel gave him the silent order to leave. He put on his hat again and headed for the entrance.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." Miguel on the other hand, removed his hightop hat and sighed.

"You're quite difficult to reach."

"What are you doing here?! Never mind. You'll get me in trouble, you must leave."

Miguel took in the insides of your home for a brief second. Both were in the little reception. Wooden boards that creaked under the weight, from the sparse view he peeked inside, he could tell there wasn't many furnishings inside. Just enough to make it hospitable. The delicious smell of vanilla wafted through his lungs, inhaling the scent of fresh bread. After all, you lived above a known bakery.

Your fingers put the package away in one of the nearby tables and sighed, exasperated when he didn't obey your request.

"I'd like you to spend a week with me." Said Miguel with the most casuals of tones as he sat in one of the many seats available. His analytical gaze pinned you on the spot, ignoring your initial protests.

Your brows furrowed impossibly deeper and your eyes widened. Horrified at the petition alone.

Has he gone mad?

If your mind could slap itself, you'd be beating it for breaking your own rules. This was precisely why you didn't overstay the night in a client's house, unless it was absolutely necessary or way too late to go home on your own.

Growing attached wasn't in your repertoire. Much less when royalty or noble folk were involved. It was a world that although gave you enough to live unbothered by a couple of months, you always procured to keep it at arms length. As it all screamed danger.

"I beg your pardon, but... what did you just say?"

"A week, with me."

You had to take a couple of breaths and think of a polite way to dismiss his request, after all, you never knew with men. Your mind was already formulating the right way to deject his advances or any sort of possibility before it was able to ground it's roots, but Miguel's next words put an abrupt halt to those thoughts.

"I'll pay you, of course."

Oh.

Relief washed over your countenance, and you exhaled. He had almost gotten you for a second. Mind drifted off into working mode.

"It doesn't work like that. First, Why do you want such thing? Second, how did you find me? And third, what makes you think I'd accept a job like that so easily?"

Miguel contemplated your words for a second and put his hands up in defense.

"I've got a little holiday celebration with some... people, and as much as I'd love to skip it and tell them no, my invitation has already arrived. And I need a companion for that." His fingers tweaked the ribbon around the neck, "And let's say I have contacts around, it wasn't an easy feat, but here we are."

Your brow quirked and he stood.

"And out of all the courtesans and ladies you could chose, why me?"

"I need a professional. What do you say?"

"How much are we talking about?"

He smirked softly and shrugged, hands crossing against his well dressed chest.

"Name the price." His hand gestured.

Since he took the first bait, you still wanted to test how much he could give away before getting nitpicky.

"Eight thousand crowns."

"Six" He rebutted and you frowned.

"Six and a half."

He smirked and shook his head, "Wouldn't it be five thousand crowns enough?."

Your eyes rolled at his continuous lowering rebuttal.

"I need money to leave Nueva York, your grace, the more for me, the better. Make it six and we've got a deal."

He stretched his hands towards you and enveloped one around yours without much contemplation, "Deal."

He smirked with a nod and your eyes rolled.

"The funny thing is, I would've stayed for five thousand."

He chuckled and slicked his hair back, "And it's even funnier, because I would've paid you eight." His words like butter. And that did the trick to shut you up, with a pout.

"Now, you've got to prepare, Prince Harry and his court-"

"Wait, what? The prince invited you?"

"He's the one sponsoring the vacation as usual. Yes. Why?" it was his brow's turn to quirk.

"No... No. I cant." your head shook firmly, "I can't do this."

One thing was private getaways, but this was something completely different. Mingling with royalty, sure was in your plans, but not like this. Nor this soon.

"You already said yes. Can't go back now." He deadpanned.

"Your grace," You breathed, "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the least appropriate of person to be mingling with people like you."

"I swear, if you keep saying absurdity like that-"

"What? It's nothing but the truth. I know my place. Some royalty like their peasants to know where they belong."

This made his anger and patience to slowly crumble. But the Duke was running out of options and time.

"You want to leave, right?"

And he wasn't afraid to use everything in his disposition for you to accept such endeavor.

"Oh, lord. You're really trying to get me in it."

"I need someone that people don't recognize." His hand explained, "Someone that's a complete stranger and has no background in the scene."

"I'm pretty sure some of your friends could recognize me. And wouldn't that attract more attention towards me? Your lot is quite nosy."

His eyes narrowed slightly at the implications behind, "Enough. Look. It's a week. You get money, I keep annoying people at bay. After that, we part ways."

"I... I can't."

But God, you were stubborn as a mule.

"Jesus. Why the hell not?!"

"Cause I don't have what you like to call respectable clothes, nor the etiquette for such things!." You admitted.

Sure you knew how to read and write and your clients always made sure to be updated in politics and the like, a knowledge that had gained your well earned reputation as a wonderful courtesan. But that didn't mean you were well versed in etiquette and whatever codes royalty were ruled by.

"Haberlo dicho antes. I'll buy them for you, and will give you some lessons." (Should've said that sooner.)

And still, the Duke himself didn't cease to amaze you.

"Why?"

"Why what?" His lip twitched in a mild scowl. Tired of so many questions.

"Why are you going to these extents of doing this just to keep people at bay? Like... You are the Duke! A royal. You can do whatever you want! Literally, There's a shit ton of women that would die to have a-"

"You really think I'd spend my time talking about the latest trend of fashions or how improper the wife of a Baron was after a long day, hearing and reading people complains in my office?" Miguel rolled his eyes, irked. "Dios mio. Look, I just need a yes or no."

"It's not about clothes or fancy things..."

"Then what is it now? I swear if you say something regarding your status again-"

"How can I know I'll be safe?"

"Safe?" That question wasn't something he was expecting.

"Yeah, I mean, imagine the scandal if people knew-"

"Funny you think I care of what people think of me." He mumbled with a flat tinge of voice.

"You must do, to an extent, your grace."

"Your point is?"

"If it happens that I get discovered-"

"You won't." He promised.

"I wouldn't underestimate people in the royalty, specially those around you. What I'm trying to say is that, If I get discovered, someone might attempt something against me, your kind of people love to show off power, or they might try to find out about me."

"You'll be with me at all times if that's what you're worried about." He explained. Trying to get this over with.

"It's not you I worry. It's the people around you that I worry. You have no idea on what I've seen... wives sending to kill their husband's mistresses for less than that. And I certainly don't wanna end up in a ditch cause someone hasn't gotten over you."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips,"And that's why I rather be single."

"Oh?" Another little surprise from him, "I thought you were a married man?"

"I've got no time for that. Let's just stop turning this around too much. Are you in or not?"

"Okay" you nodded, "Okay. Fine. I'm in."

"Great. Good. Will pick you up tomorrow at 9 am so we can start the etiquette lessons."

"No, no. No. If I agree will be with one condition."

"Bendito, dame paciencia. ¿Ahora qué?" (Good lord, give me patience. Now what?)

"Don't ever come here again." He frowns, struck by your words, "At least not dressed like that. Or ever actually. I don't wanna get myself killed."

"Why would someone do that?" His brows pucker, confused, "Are you... on drugs? I can't do this if you're hooked-"

"Now you're offending me. Do I look like a junkie to you?" you huffed while your hands placed themselves on your hips, to anchor down a very upset self, however the importance of appearances in royalty were something you couldn't ignore, as they were everything for the kin.

"I say so, because if you keep coming people will start thinking I have money, I'll start getting the wrong sort of attention and I could get assaulted, or worse. It's for my safety. Things are turning sour for... street workers."

"Ok. Then let's meet in a place-"

"No. I'll go to you, not backwards."

He stared, amused and equally irked at your stubbornness with a chuckle, but he had no other choice but to to nod, your throat clears, "So, in summary, I'll be your personal scort for a week, I tend to your needs, treat you good and no strings attached."

"Basically. Do we have a deal?"

Your lips pursed, triumphant, "Deal."

Once again your hands shook in a gentle bur firm embrace. Miguel however pulled a couple of bills to give them to you.

"Get what you need. Something-"

"Classy, I know."

He nodded and put on his hat, with a quick goodbye, he left your place, leaving your spirits confused, yet high.

The idea of leaving Nueva York towards a better future, had been rounding your mind more times than you actually wanted to admit. But now that you had the chance in a silver platter, you'd size every moment of it.

With the money well hidden in your skirt, and a last look in the mirror, you went out the door.

Shopping day had arrived, and the woman within you felt the excitement through every pore of your citrus perfume smelling skin. You didn't overdress, given the amount of packagings you'd carry around that day.

With a goal set, you ventured through the streets of Manhattan, the boutiques you had seen so many times, didn't feel unapproachable and impossible to afford now that you had a sponsor.

The Duke had given you enough money to buy at least a couple of fancy dresses for the week, accessories included. You'd go for earth-toned colors, leaving the exuberant bright shades for special occasions.

Cause in truth, ever since you started on the world's most antique labor, everything was a new opportunity to learn something. And the royals had been your preferred study subject .

The way they spoke and acted was not only ridiculously entertaining, but it gave you a glimpse of their true selves. Being attuned with people's emotions was something you had perfected over the years, thanks to your profession.

Miguel, The Duke, had taken you by surprise with his petition. And his willingness to pay you for company said allt about how much a recluse or a nitpicky man he was, regarding female companionship.

And now that he had given you a glimpse of what laid ahead, you were both thrilled and scared. He might be the exception of royals having some basic human decency, but by all means it meant he was the rule.

With a guarded heart, but an open and willing mind to learn, you arrived at the first store. Sadly this one didn't have what you needed. Last season's dresses remained almost too rigid in the showcase. And may heavens forbid you wearing those scraps, so you moved to the second one.

Marivaldi's. One of the most exclusive and gorgeous boutiques in Manhattan.

The lovely ribbons adorned sumptuously the front display of the latest trends in the colors you wanted. They had exactly what you were looking for.

With an excited beam and a quick fix of your skirt, you entered the place, the tiny and melodic bell announced your presence to those inside.

A couple of eyes stared your way and quickly resumed their activities. Your feet took you directly to the gorgeous silk and tafetta dress you saw before.

Breathtaking.

Not only the confection was done exquisitely, but the materials were top notch. The kid in you ran rampant in this fancy store. And when your fingertips grazed at the fabric, you could feel the buttery and soft finish of the silk, making your heart shimmy.

You were definitely buying it, as soon as your hand ceased to admire it.

"Excuse me Are you looking for something?"

You turned and saw a dainty woman, a bit gaunt around the eyes with a hardened and somewhat hostile aura, dressed up like she could be part of the exposition.

"Oh! you work here? You have exquisite things in here. I'm interested in this dress. How much does it cost?"

Her next words however sapped all that excitement away.

"It won't fit you, ma'am."

Which clearly confused you since the size tag was in plain sight. The woman's tone however made it all clear.

It wasn't in sale for you. with a frown you spoke.

"Right. I didn't ask if it would fit me. I asked how much does it cost?"

And that only made the woman's attitude to sour completely.

"All you have to know, is that this dress is something extremely valuable and exclusive, and I won't allow such thing to decrease by selling it to anyone."

Snappy and impolite as she was, you tried your best to remain calm.

"Right." A deep sigh, "Is there any other dress you're willing to let me purchase?"

"Not in this stablishment I'm afraid. You see, we're a respectable shop, ma'am."

"Respectable?"

How dare she?

"Yes. Our suits are not made for those for a penchant of a night life or licentious attitudes. This is not the shop for you. You may leave this moment."

The other women around stared your way, some weren't that subtle and hushed words to eachother as their eyes remained glued to your form. Was it the little lipstick you were wearing? It definitely left a stain on your lips and the walking around had made your cheeks take a deep shade of red, and the sun high in the sky hadn't helped at all.

"I do have the money for-"

"Didn't you hear? Leave! And don't you dare touch anything with those filthy hands, you whore. Lord knows where they have been." The other woman on charge spoke intentionally loudly.

All eyes were set on you, your throat bobbed and swallowed angrily.

"Maybe ask your husband about it." With nothing else to say your feet turned around and headed for the entrance. Your words had left a couple of women aghast, but nothing had you prepared for what would unfold next.

"She's sick! Stop her!"

The offended and petty woman shouted, then her helper. None of the other femmes glanced your way, neither stepped in. But why would they? You were a peasant out of place.

You left the store before trouble could actually happen, but it was too late to stop the madness.

"Help! That woman is sick!" you heard behind you, and your heart was now beating so fast it could only match a rabbit's.

"That's not true!" You glared as you looked through your hidden compartments but the woman kept insisting and taking everything out of context.

"She's itching! She's sick!"

People around you started to gather to see what the ruckus was about. Some sneered with disgusted faces, others murmured to eachother as they raked their eyes on your body. Others, still had the audacity to smirk your way.

Your body drained in color when a couple of police officers approached.

"Stop her! She's spreading diseases!"

Liar

Your breathings turned labored, erratic at the sudden fear rising up in your spine.

"That's not true! I was only asking for a dress!"

"Liar!" the women accused and soon the murmurs and voices of people rose, demanding you to get detained.

One officer grabbed you by the arm, but you shook him away, earning the other officer to quickly apprehend you.

"No! Let me go! I'm clean!"

The men roughly pulled you away as you shrieked and tried with all your might to free yourself. Fear rose the closer you got to a nearby station, a doctor was called.

"Stop! I am not sick!"

"That's what they all say" the officer didn't budge and only dragged you in, your screams and pleas echoed through the walls, calling the attention of everyone inside. For them was just another regular day.

But for you, a nightmare came true. One of the reasons why you always carried your medical card with you at all times. A card that definitely fell off somewhere in the push and pull with the guards.

The man dragged you to a makeshift medical facility, but your reluctance only earned you his manhandling as he pinned you down to the bed.

"No! No! Stop!" you cried and even went so far as to scratch his hands away, "I'm not sick!" You begged with tears in your eyes.

But the man only secured your hands as your feet kicked and tossed. The officer went past your skirt, taunting fingers hooked in the hem of your undergarments, not surprised to find few layers and a missing decency skirt.

"A harlot in the daylight? You lot are turning bolder with your ways."

Although your eyes blurred with the fat tears that drowned them, you could feel the man's fingertips taking in as much skin as possible to then pull down the remaining clothing layers down.

"No!" You cried bitterly. And when the doctor showed up with gloved hands your legs were held back.

"Pretty sure you're used to it. Relax."

How dared he? How dared they to treat you like this over the petty comments of a resented woman? How messed up they have to be to believe blindly without a real proof?

Rich being rich.

Your mouth hissed and hiccuped as soon as you felt the doctor's hands exploring superficially your skin, like a routine check. Your jaw clenched, and your hands tightened in fists with such pressure your knuckles turned white.

The officer's leering look, only added a few solid weights to your already heavy luggage of shame and the resentment towards the rich to increase tenfold.

With a sigh the doctor stopped prodding and examining, "Let her go. She's clean."

The officer undid the strains around your wrist, and sighed.

You couldn't help but slap him as he blew a kiss your way.

"You bitch!" He returned the slap. A burning sensation spreaded through your left cheek. The past's echos rang through your brain.

"Enough! Bring in the other one!." the doctor yelled at the agitated man. Before leaving, the police officer threw your clothes at your face and left.

The doctor soon followed him, leaving you a shameful and nervous wreck. Tears rolled down your reddened face. Anger and distress came in hand as you dressed up again and left the place in a haste.

You couldn't bear to be retained against your will in a torture place like that, yet there was little you could do. Rich people's word was an absolute law in this side of town. They held all the power and if they wished so, they could send anyone to jail based off a lie.

Your hand held your injured cheek as the other, wiped your tears. Eyes racking over the streets to find what you were looking for, a postal office.

As soon as you entered, your fingers grabbed pen and paper and wrote down simple and pithy words.

I can't do this. I'm truly sorry.

And you folded the bills Miguel had given you, and ran back to his manor to deliver the money personally. This time you wouldn't leave time to replies.

The sooner you delivered everything, the sooner you could go home and take a bath to try and wipe away all those dirty traces that officer had left on your skin. Bitterness spreaded all over your mouth at the sour event just happened.

You grabbed a carriage and went straight to Babylon's Manor. Where to your surprise, Peter was there, giving some orders to people. But it was better since you didn't have to face Miguel alone.

In a few strides, you called him from the door and Peter approached confused, but it quickly turned into an alarmed face as he watched your cheek swollen and red.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Give this to the Duke. Tell him I'm sorry. But, I can't."

Peter gulped as you shoved the envelope with the money into his hands, ignoring his concern.

"Wait! Miss Violet!"

But you were running back to the carriage, and instructed the driver to go off before Peter could reach you.

Disgrace too much to bear on your own.

The servants removed the coat and hat off him, and quickly scrambled away. To his little surprise, Peter was there, working in his fair shares of reports.

The clinking from the whiskey bottles interrupted Peter as he stood. How would he explain that his day was about to get worst?

Miguel downed the glass of whiskey and let a pleased groan at the liqueur's taste.

"Tough day?"

The Duke rolled his eyes at Peter's question. "The world has gone mad, people keep complaining and apparently there was a robbery today on a boutique. The thief was taken away."

"Yeah, I heard about it too. You're trying your best in keeping the city together and sometimes you can only do so much, pal. Sadly I've got bad news."

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose before serving himself a larger potion of whiskey, as if preparing his mind for the upcoming blow.

Instead of words, Peter handed him the envelope and his brown eyes quickly devoured it's contents only to let a growl rumble through his chest.

"Before you explode," Peter tried to reason, "She was scared. And one of her cheeks was swollen. Something must've happened."

"And why didn't you stop her, then?!"

"Cause she left before I could do anything!" Peter yelled back, "She literally came off a carriage, dumped that envelope and left!"

Miguel held his hips, burying his fingers on the clothed flesh of his hips, teeth clenched underneath his pair of plump lips. Screaming at eachother wouldn't help, but it definitely had added a new wave of stress on his mind. But it also left him with the same question. Something had to happen for you to act like that. Scared wasn't something that came to his mind to describe you.

"No puedo más. No sé que voy a hacer con esa mujer tan terca. No sé!" (I don't know what I'll do with that stubborn woman.)

He crumpled the paper eith the bills in it and threw it against the wall, "Tomorrow morning I want her here. In this office. Understood? Take a royal order if needed, in case she refuses."

Peter could only nod, worried of what might happen if he didn't find you, but even more worried about your looks. That cheek was definitely a slap, and by the level of swelling he could deduct it was recent.

Everything revolving around you offered more questions than answers, and Miguel was running out of time.

Ironic as it was, Miguel preferred a stranger's company than his own circle. But now he had seen you and your equally fiery temper, he understood why The Duke was reluctant to let you go so easily. He liked an equal challenge. Something that kept his brain sharp.

He'd look for you first thing in the morning. But first, he'd need to calm his friend's nerves.

"You'll be fine, pal." It was more a self reassurance than anything. Cause poor of him if you didn't show up with him next day.

Taglist:

@miss-canon-event @del-ightfulling @huniedeux @fayeofthenightingale @nediks @rosewrong-blogs

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #the immorality of love ❣️#victorian era AU

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