Chapter 30: Forbidden Passion in the Garden

In the grand hallway, Evelyn stood quietly as a small group of maids gathered in a straight line. Morning light filtered through the high windows, casting soft gold across the polished floors.

Mrs. Carroway, stiff as ever in her black uniform, stood beside her, hands clasped.

"Your Grace," she said with a curt nod, "as requested, the Duke has approved the transfer of Miss Cora from the Ashcombe household. She arrived last night and has been formally added to the household register."

Evelyn's eyes lit with warmth as she spotted the familiar figure at the end of the line—Cora, eyes brimming with emotion, her hands wringing nervously in her apron. She looked out of place among the reserved staff, her joy barely contained.

Evelyn stepped forward. "Cora."

"My lady," Cora whispered, tears already clinging to her lashes. She curtsied, then rushed into a gentle embrace, forgetting for a moment the formalities expected of staff.

Mrs. Carroway's sharp eyes flicked but did not comment.

Mrs. Carroway cleared her throat, drawing the moment to a dignified close.

"If it pleases Your Grace, Miss Cora will henceforth serve as your personal maid. I trust she understands the expectations of discretion and discipline within this house."

"She's the most loyal soul I know," Evelyn said, her tone clipped just enough to silence any doubt.

Mrs. Carroway gave a small bow. "Then I will leave her to help you settle into your day."

She dismissed the rest of the staff with a flick of her hand, and they filed out silently.

Back in Evelyn's chambers, Cora moved with her usual bright energy, though her hands still trembled from excitement. She brought out a new gown laid in deep sapphire silk, and helped Evelyn out of her morning robe.

"I must say, this house is... grand.," Cora said, voice low. "But the staffs especially the housekeeper is as stern as old stone."

Evelyn laughed softly. "You've only just arrived. Give it time."

Cora looked up. "Do you like it here, truly?"

Evelyn hesitated. "It's... strange. Beautiful, yes. But I feel like a guest in a play where everyone else knows their lines. Even the furniture seems to watch you."

Elsewhere, at the manor's rear stables, JulianaJuliana strolled along the gravel path in her riding trousers and an open black jacket, dismounted her mare with ease and handed the reins to Thomas without a word. She lingered longer than necessary, brushing dirt from her gloves, while the stableboy kept his head bowed.

"Did you enjoy the ride, my lady?" he asked, voice neutral.

She looked at him, eyes amused.

"I always do. But it's the company that makes it memorable."

Thomas's jaw tensed, but he didn't answer.

She stepped closer.

"My brother has gone to London. That means, for a little while, Wycliffe is ours."

"My lady…"

She lifted a finger to his lips.

"You've been quiet all day, Thomas," she said sweetly. "Am I boring you already?"

Thomas's eyes flicked up from the flowers to her, cautious and restrained. "Never, my lady."

"Then why do you look like you're trying so hard not to be near me?"

"I'm only doing what's proper." Thomas replied. After the conversation with his father Julio, he had tried to keep his distant from her.

Juliana stepped closer, her voice dipped lower. "Oh? And if we abandoned what's proper for a little while… what would you do then?"

He froze. She could see the pulse in his neck tighten.

"My lady," he said carefully, "we shouldn't be having this conversation."

"And yet here you are," she murmured, stepping so close she could smell the faint trace of horse and smoke on his shirt. Her eyes danced with mischief. "Unless you want to be here."

Thomas swallowed. "You know I do."

There it was. That slip. That soft crack in his armor.

Juliana tilted her head, smile widening. "Say it again."

He looked away, jaw clenched. "You're playing a dangerous game."

She reached for his hand and slid her fingers around his wrist. "So play it with me."

When he didn't pull away, she stepped up until their chests nearly touched. She could feel the heat radiating off him.

"I dreamt of you," she whispered. "You had my hand pressed to your chest. And you begged me not to go."

Thomas's breath caught.

"Lady Juliana..."

"Say it," she breathed, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. "Say you want me."

He snapped.

His mouth found hers in an instant with no more hesitation, no more pretending. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was all heat and hunger and weeks of unspoken tension. Thomas grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against him. Juliana gasped into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair.

The kiss deepened, wet and desperate. Her tongue teased his, her hips rolling forward as he backed her into the trellis wall, vines shuddering with the impact. His hands roamed down her back to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist, skirts bunching between them.

She moaned into his mouth, biting his lip.

"God, Juliana," he groaned, dragging his mouth along her jaw, to her neck.

She arched for him, clutching at his shirt. "Tell me I'm not imagining this."

"You're not," he rasped. "I've wanted you since the first day."

She held his face, her voice trembling with exhilaration. "Then show me."

He kissed her again, deep, claiming, like he was afraid it might be the only chance he ever got. Their bodies pressed tightly together, hands roaming, hips aligned in a pulsing, reckless rhythm.

The garden around them stood still. Only the thrum of blood and breath remained.

But in the distance, a bell rang faintly from the servants' wing.

Thomas pulled away, panting. Juliana stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

"Later," she said, her voice hoarse. "Don't you dare pretend this didn't happen."

"I won't," he promised, thumb brushing her lip. "Not for anything."

She straightened her jacket, a wicked smile returning to her face. "Good. Because next time, I won't let you stop."