The certainty settled in her bones like a cold, creeping tide.
Nathaniel would not leave matters as they were. He had drawn too close, lingered too long in the moment between revelation and restraint. His words had been a promise—I shall come visit you soon, Eleanor.
A warning. A reminder.
Slowly, Evelyn exhaled, steadying herself before slipping into her chambers. She locked the door behind her, though she knew it would not keep him out should he truly wish to enter. A mere formality, a small act of defiance in a game where she held no true power.
The room was cast in the dim glow of the hearth, the fire burned low, its embers pulsing like the last breath of a dying star. She crossed the room with careful steps, unfastening the delicate clasp at her throat, the weight of her gown slipping from her shoulders in a slow cascade of fabric.
Yet her mind did not ease, even as she draped a robe about herself and moved to the vanity.
The mirror reflected a composed woman, her expression betraying nothing. But beneath the surface, beneath the careful mask, her heart beat an unsteady rhythm.
Would he press further tonight?
Would he force her to speak what she dared not?
Her fingers hovered over the silver brush atop the vanity before she withdrew them, curling her hands into fists instead. No.
She could not allow herself to waver.
The candle's flame flickered suddenly, as if disturbed by an unseen force. Evelyn's breath hitched.
And then—
A quiet knock.
Not a demand. Not a question.
A summons.
Her pulse leapt to her throat. For a fleeting moment, she considered ignoring it. Pretending sleep, feigning indifference. But she knew better. Nathaniel was not a man who indulged defiance lightly.
Slowly, carefully, she rose. Crossed the room.
Paused before the door.
Then, with measured composure, she unlatched it and pulled it open.
Nathaniel stood just beyond the threshold, his expression unreadable, shadowed in the dim light. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a moment too long.
"You were expecting me," he murmured.
Evelyn inclined her head—graceful, unhurried. "It was not difficult to discern."
Nathaniel said nothing at first, merely studying her, as if weighing some unseen thought. Then, at last—
"May I come in?"
A test. Another step in the game.
Evelyn met his gaze, feeling the shift in the air between them. Whatever line remained was now hers to draw.
And so she smiled, slow and careful.
"As you wish, my lord."
Then she stepped aside and let the wolf in.
He walked in, his gaze sweeping over the room with quiet deliberation. For a moment, he seemed to take in every detail—the low-burning hearth, the neatly arranged vanity, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air.
Then, without a word, he strode past her and made his way to the bed.
Evelyn remained still, watching as Nathaniel sat at the edge before reclining against the pillows with an ease that unsettled her. He exhaled, one arm resting behind his head as if he had every right to make himself comfortable in her space.
And perhaps, in his mind, he did.
His gaze found her, unreadable in the dim light.
"What is this?" he mused, his voice low, almost lazy. Then, with quiet command—
"Come lay with me."
Evelyn did not move at first. She merely stood there, watching him with carefully veiled eyes, her hands clasped together in front of her as if to steady herself.
Nathaniel's patience was vast, but not without limit. He tilted his head, studying her in the flickering candlelight. "Do not make me ask twice."
There was no heat in his words, no overt threat, and yet they left little room for defiance.
Evelyn inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening briefly before she forced them to relax. She stepped forward, measured and deliberate, until she reached the edge of the bed. For a moment, she hesitated—then, with a quiet exhale, she sat beside him.
Nathaniel shifted, turning onto his side so that he could face her more fully. The weight of his gaze pressed against her, heavy with something she could not name. He reached out, fingers brushing over the loose sleeve of her nightgown, a touch so light it could have been imagined.
"You are tense." His voice was softer now, almost amused. "Have I truly unsettled you so?"
Evelyn met his eyes then, searching for something in them—answers, perhaps, or a sign of what game he meant to play. But Nathaniel had always been a master of masks. He revealed only what he wished her to see.
"I am merely tired," she replied, her voice smooth, betraying nothing.
His lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.
---
Evelyn's pulse thrummed like a harp string drawn too tight as Nathaniel's fingers drifted lower, tracing idle patterns along the curve of her waist. His touch moved like a whisper in candlelight—possessive, yet patient, as though committing her to memory rather than claiming her. He watched her with the hunger of a man before a forbidden vineyard, savoring the way her breath stilled, the way her body quivered beneath his hand.
"With what we are about to do," he murmured, his lips brushing the delicate curve of her ear, "your bones will beg for rest."
Her breath caught, heat blooming low within her like wine poured into a goblet too full. "What... do you mean?"
His laughter was soft and smoky, curling through the shadows like incense. He drew her close, anchoring her with hands pressed to the small of her back, firm and reverent. The warmth of him bled into her through the sheer veil of her nightgown, and for a moment, it felt as if his heartbeat was hers—steady, consuming.
"Eleanor," he murmured, his voice thick with something unreadable. "Do you remember the times we slept together?"
Evelyn stiffened. Slept together? The words sent a jolt through her. Eleanor had never written about such things in her journal. If this had happened, she had erased it from the pages Evelyn had studied so carefully.
But she could not falter.
Evelyn swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Of course," she said smoothly, though the words tasted foreign on her tongue.
Nathaniel's hand slid up the curve of her spine, slow as moonlight rising over still waters. Evelyn shivered beneath his touch, her breath catching when his lips grazed her jaw.
"Do you remember," he murmured, his voice a low hush against her skin, "how I cherished you?"
His fingers moved with deliberate reverence, cupping her through the thin barrier of her nightgown. She stilled, body drawn taut like the strings of a harp, every nerve humming with anticipation.
"You bloom at the gentlest touch," he whispered, his voice laced with knowing. "Just as you did before."
She clenched her teeth, but her body betrayed her. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat—a lingering warmth that made her pulse leap. His lips wandered lower, tracing the tender places only he had ever known.
When he bared her to the night, he did so not with haste, but as though unveiling something sacred. His mouth found her again, reverent, slow, sending waves through her as though her soul, not just her body, was being stirred.
Evelyn's breath faltered, the ache within her deepening, pulling at her from the inside out. She curled into the sensation, thighs tightening in silent confession.
He noticed.
With a gaze that held both fire and memory, Nathaniel let his hand drift downward, fingers grazing her side like a breeze through silk. He paused, then slid beneath the hem of her nightgown, tracing the soft skin of her thigh with maddening care.
"Tell me," he whispered, pressing a kiss just above her navel, "do you not remember how your body knew me?"
Her answer was a breath, a trembling gasp, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
He moved slowly, circling her like a man returning to a long-lost garden, reacquainting himself with every petal, every path. She was trembling now—pulled to the edge by a touch that felt more like worship than desire.
Nathaniel smiled against her skin. "You always did respond like this," he murmured, his fingers gentle but unrelenting. "As if your soul recognized mine before you even spoke my name."
---
Evelyn's hands clutched at his shoulders, her fingers curling into the heavy folds of his robe as though anchoring herself in a storm. Nathaniel's touch was maddening in its precision—each stroke a prayer uttered in silence, each caress a verse sung over sacred ground.
He moved with infuriating slowness, his fingers coaxing her open like the petals of a flower kissed by the dawn, circling her most tender place with reverent restraint. Her breath faltered, chest rising and falling as if each exhale carried a piece of her unraveling soul.
Still, he lingered.
"Your body sings just as sweetly," he murmured, voice low as velvet and thick with memory. His fingers dipped lower, testing the warmth he had drawn from her, and he exhaled with dark delight. "You remember me."
She bit her lip, a whimper caught in her throat. She was a flame beneath his touch, flaring with every pass of his fingers, but he gave no quarter. When he pressed into her, slow as roots deepening in earth, her hips surged upward, seeking the rest of him—more of him—but he held her fast.
"You rise to meet me still," he whispered into her neck, kissing along the line of her pulse, tasting her desperation with a cruel kind of grace. "But we are not done."
He pulled back only to return again, a rhythm that was neither rushed nor kind. His thumb traced gentle circles, never enough, always just shy of what she needed. He watched her fall apart with a gaze like a man savoring the first fruit of a long winter—hungry, unhurried, devout.
Evelyn trembled, caught between aching need and the agony of restraint. She moved against him, trying to summon the release he refused to grant, but he stilled her with one hand to her waist—commanding, possessive.
"Eager," he chided softly, the corner of his mouth brushing her skin. "But I have not yet tasted enough."
Her hands tangled in his hair, fingers tightening in silent supplication. Nathaniel only chuckled against her collarbone, then withdrew fully, his hand slipping away and leaving her empty, her breath caught in a sob of longing.
She gasped, eyes wide, body trembling with need—but he only lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting her as though sampling nectar from a forbidden bloom.
Then he leaned back, reclined as though satisfied with his mischief, adjusting his robe with maddening composure.
"You should rest now, beloved," he said, voice smooth and cool as shaded water. "The night is long."
She could only stare at him, stunned, pulse still racing, body thrumming with unmet desire.
Nathaniel closed his eyes with a quiet smirk, the final sting in his parting words:
"Goodnight, Eleanor."