Chapter 47: I Expect Nothing

Nathaniel's study glowed with the soft amber light of the hearth and a flickering candelabra on the desk. The air was still, quiet and only the crackle of the fire and the faint scratch of Nathaniel's pen across parchment filled the room.

He sat behind his desk, back straight, shirt loose at the collar. His wound though still healing was dressed and hidden beneath layers of dark wool. But there was a tightness in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes that hadn't eased since his return. He was reviewing correspondence, though his eyes had gone still on the same sentence for several minutes now.

There was a knock gentle, hesitant.

He didn't respond. The door opened anyway.

Evelyn stepped inside.

Evelyn entered quietly, unsure if she was welcome but driven by something more than protocol.

Nathaniel looked up.

She wore a simple blue gown, her hair unadorned, with a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders. The flickering firelight painted her face in warm golds and shadows.

Her steps were slow but sure, her chin held with quiet strength. Nathaniel lifted his eyes, unreadable as always.

She stopped a few feet from the desk, hesitant. "I came to ask how your wound is healing."

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. "Tolerable."

"I'm glad."

The silence stretched. The only sound was the low crackle of the fire.

"You shouldn't enter without being summoned," he said finally, his voice cool as steel but not unkind.

"I know," she replied, meeting his gaze. "But I wasn't going to wait until morning."

His eyes flicked to her hand.

"You're injured."

She blinked, surprised. "I... what?"

He stood and stepped around the desk. He reached out and took her hand, lifting her palm gently into view.

The skin across the center was red and faintly swollen. He touched it with his thumb, slow and deliberate.

"You hit him," Nathaniel said quietly. "And yet it's you who bears the mark."

Evelyn looked away. "It doesn't matter. It was worth it."

"Why?" His voice lowered. "He wasn't your equal. You didn't need to involve yourself."

Her throat tightened. "Because I couldn't stand by and let someone I care about be hurt. I won't live that way not even here. If that makes me reckless, then so be it."

She drew a breath, steadying herself. "I'll protect those I love with everything I have even if I have to bear the pain myself."

Her words drifted in the firelit silence between them.

Her voice didn't waver. There was steel in her words, not loud or aggressive, but quiet and unwavering. The firelight shimmered over her face, catching the fierce loyalty burning in her eyes.

Nathaniel's breath caught. The pulse in his jaw twitched. She didn't shrink under his stare; had never, truly. And now, after what she'd done, after how she'd stood before the whole household without fear, he saw her with sharper clarity. Not as the polite bride he'd married. Not as the duty-bound duchess. But as something else entirely.

A woman with fire in her chest and thunder in her heart.

"You're not what I expected," he said finally.

"I never tried to be."

Nathaniel didn't move for a moment. Then something flickered in his eyes, restraint giving way to something else. A darker, deeper current he usually buried beneath that icy composure

He reached for her waist without a word and gently guided her down.

Startled, Evelyn gasped softly as he pulled her into his lap.

Her hands landed on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt. Her breath caught as their eyes met; his gaze no longer cold, but burning with something unreadable.

"I don't understand you," he murmured, his hand splayed along her back, his other still gently holding her hand.

"Good," she said softly. "I don't understand you either."

His fingers slid to the base of her spine, the curve of her hip. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm. Slow. Controlled. But strong.

Evelyn's voice dropped, her lips brushing close to his ear. "You don't always have to keep people away."

His jaw tightened. "People expect things."

"I expect nothing," she whispered.

His hand moved to cup her cheek, thumb grazing her lower lip as though testing a line he wasn't sure he was allowed to cross.

Then his voice dropped, a mere breath against her skin.

"You should leave. Now."

But he didn't move to release her.

Evelyn didn't move either.

The silence hung like a thread stretched taut between them, fraying at the edges.

And still… neither of them let go.

The silence between them was heavy now, like storm clouds pressing low over the sea. Evelyn could feel the weight of his stare, could sense the conflict coiled tight beneath his rigid frame. Nathaniel Wycliffe was a man carved from restraint, but in this moment, cracks had begun to show.

She shifted slightly on his lap, breath catching as his hand tightened at her waist. Her palm remained on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath he took. The fire crackled softly behind them.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

"I told you to leave," he murmured again, but this time the words trembled at the edge of control.

"And yet you haven't let me go," she whispered.

That broke something.

Nathaniel leaned forward and captured her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. There was no gentleness in it not at first. It was deep, consuming, like he'd been holding this desire back for far too long. Evelyn gasped against his mouth, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

His hands roamed her back, her sides, his touch firm and possessive. He kissed her again, more hungrily this time, his restraint unspooling thread by thread. His hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her closer, as if he could draw her into him and never let her go.

Evelyn, breathless, responded in kind. Her fingers slipped under his collar, feeling the heated skin of his neck. The world shrank to the two of them, to the firelight and the way his mouth moved against hers, to the tension that had been simmering since the day they'd married finally boiling over.

Her hips shifted on his lap instinctively and he groaned, low and guttural. That sound alone made heat rush through her.

Nathaniel pulled away just enough to press his forehead to hers. His breathing was uneven, his voice rough.

"I should stop this."

She nodded, barely able to speak. "Then why don't you?"

His lips brushed the corner of her mouth. "Because I don't want to."

Their kisses grew rougher again, his hands sliding beneath the folds of her dress to find the curve of her thigh. She gasped, pressing into him, her body aching for more.

But then a sharp knock at the study door.

They froze.

The knock came again, firmer.

Nathaniel's jaw clenched, and slowly, reluctantly he lifted her from his lap, setting her gently on her feet.

"Wait in your chambers," he said, voice low, his composure only half-returned. "I'll come to you when I'm done."

Evelyn, flushed and breathless, touched her fingers to her lips and nodded.

Their eyes met one last time before she turned and quietly slipped from the room.

He didn't watch her go he couldn't. If he did, he might not stop himself from following.

Instead, he called out in his cold, measured tone.

"What is it?"

The door opened. A servant stepped in, head bowed. "General Hawthorne is here to see you."

Nathaniel exhaled slow, burning.

He would deal with it.