My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 55: The Extent of His Scars

Chapter 55: The Extent of His Scars

On the way to Burien the day before, Gideon explained to Desmond the expectations of a duke’s wedding night. Even if they didn’t sleep with one another, they needed to at least pretend. The legitimacy of their marriage would be doubted if they didn’t seal their union with the physical aspect.

Leonor’s responses to him throughout the day made Desmond certain he would never pursue that side of things with her. She didn’t love him. She loved who he was when he was younger.

Change was inevitable but it seemed she was almost the same.

However, scars weren’t the only way he had changed. His mind wasn’t the same either. The once positive teenager he had been was chased away by monsters the first time he was stabbed on the battlefield.

At one point in his life, he was overflowing with desire for her. He had late nights thinking of only Leonor.

After the war, there were too many other priorities in his life to bother with seeking out carnal pleasures. Even a prostitute would likely find an issue in his appearance.

The Duke pushed through the double doors separating their rooms and went to the main door before Leonor could be roused from her sleep. It was still early enough that he wanted her to sleep for as long as possible before they would leave.

As he walked, he pulled his hood more tightly over his face so he would be shielded in case she woke up.

"Your grace," Gideon greeted the duke. "Will you and her grace require breakfast soon?"

Perhaps it was Gideon’s morbid curiosity, but he wanted to see the outcome of the previous night. He pictured them reconnecting once he told the lady who he was.

Seeing Duke Desmond without his bandages, Gideon’s hope grew until his master spoke then the hope was dashed.

"She fell asleep early and is still sleeping because this entire ordeal has exhausted her," Desmond whispered. "We’ll eat something in a short while."

"In the meantime, I’ll have maids prepare clothing and a bath for you," Gideon said.

"Please," Desmond responded.

He returned to his side of the room and waited patiently.

There was a little bit of noise in the bathroom. When it went quiet, Desmond was certain the maids had left and he felt comfortable to go inside and disrobe.

He was sure to lock the door and triple-check that it was working before he rid himself of all clothing.

An environment full of mirrors was a nightmare for him. He didn’t want to have to look at himself more than necessary.

However, it was unavoidable as he walked forward to one of the large mirrors. A razor blade had been placed on the counter with herbal cream to help him shave.

Before he could reach the marble countertop, he observed himself from head to toe.

He was met with a green eye that wasn’t his. It was changed by King Stephano’s magic to preserve his identity from Count Mikael. It would make it more believable that he was from Castille if he looked like others. Occasionally he even put on a dark wig to further help people forget about Valerio.

His eye traveled to his nude body.

The right side of his body was what sustained the most damage. Over half his head had a reddish-purple scar. It went down his neck and abdomen. Most of his leg was scarred, but it only went down to below his knee since the dragon attacked from above.

There wasn’t a bit of his right arm that wasn’t scarred. It used to be his dominant hand but his fingers tired easily whether it be while holding a sword or simply writing.

He had once laughed at the ridiculousness that his manhood would remain intact through everything. Someone with an appearance like his would be happier as a eunuch.

His critical eye continued traveling around his body. For months he had started to accept himself. His people accepted him. Yet seeing Leonor so timid around him felt miserable.

Realizing he was teetering into self-loathing, he knew he needed to cease his thoughts or he wouldn’t be able to go forward. Simply accepting one’s flawed self was the hardest thing to do when the one person he wanted to be the best in front of was petrified of him.

The man spread the shaving cream over his head and half of his face still capable of producing a beard. He was meticulous as he ran the blade over his skin and didn’t cut himself a single time. Sometimes, even the scarred part of his scalp attempted to grow pathetic strands of hair. He always cut them away quickly so he wouldn’t have to think too much about his past.

The way Leonor spotted him first when his hat came undone. How she ran her fingers through his hair when they first kissed. Whenever they visited one another in the storage room of the stables...

Desmond dropped the razor on the counter.

He placed one of his large hands on the countertop and the other went over his forehead. His face felt hot.

What a fool he had been to try and convince himself he didn’t have a desire inside of him because he had changed. With the woman of his dreams sleeping on the other side of the door, his mind wanted to grasp reality but his body didn’t.

Ignoring his thoughts, he left the counter and went to the bath prepared for him in a metal basin with claw feet.

When he was submerged in the water up to his waist, he was engulfed in a medicinal scent. He hadn’t gotten used to the strong salve they put in his bath each time. It was supposed to have healing properties but at what point would they give up? He was going to look like that for the rest of his life.

Desmond was efficient in cleaning himself up from head to toe. There wasn’t much to wash when he didn’t have a full head of hair to look after.

When he was first appointed as Duke, he didn’t realize maids expected to clean him. It was a surprise the first time they encroached on his bath and he had to ask them to leave. They gave him looks of surprise as they walked in to witness his scarred body.

From that point onward, it was clear he valued his privacy.

After the Duke dried off, wrapped his head in bandages, and got dressed, he hesitated at the door. He hoped Leonor was awake so he could see her, yet he dreaded her response to him at the same time.