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 pounded in her ears as Nathaniel's fingers trailed lower, tracing idle patterns along the curve of her waist, his touch possessive yet unhurried. He studied her, waiting, savoring the way she trembled beneath his fingertips.
"With what we are about to do," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, "you will be even more tired."
Her breath caught, a warmth coiling low in her belly. "Huh?"
Nathaniel chuckled, low and dark, before pulling her against him, his hands pressing into the small of her back. His touch was intoxicating, the heat of his body bleeding into hers through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
"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 expression remained unreadable, his fingers sliding up her spine, sending shivers down her arms. "Do you remember," he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw, "how I touched you?"
A sharp inhale escaped her as his hands traced upward, cupping the weight of her breasts through her nightgown. His thumbs brushed over the hardened peaks, slow and deliberate, coaxing a traitorous gasp from her lips.
"So sensitive," he mused, his voice a sinful whisper. "Just as I remember."
Evelyn clenched her teeth, willing herself to remain composed, but then he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, and pressed a kiss to the delicate hollow of her throat. His lips were hot, lingering, his tongue flicking against her pulse before traveling lower.
She bit back a whimper as he pushed the fabric of her nightgown down, baring the soft swell of her breasts to the cool night air.
Nathaniel made a sound of approval before capturing one peak between his lips, his tongue teasing, flicking, his teeth grazing just enough to make her arch against him. He kneaded her other breast in his palm, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, tugging in a way that sent sharp jolts of pleasure straight to her core.
Evelyn's breath hitched, her body betraying her as heat pooled low in her stomach, thighs pressing together in search of relief.
Nathaniel noticed.
With a smirk, he let his hand drift lower, skimming over her waist, teasing the edge of her nightgown before slipping beneath. His fingers brushed against her inner thigh, the barest of touches, but it was enough to make her tremble.
"Does this not feel familiar?" he murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss just above her navel as his fingers inched higher.
Evelyn's breath came ragged now, her heart hammering. Damn him.
He was playing with her, drawing her to the edge and pulling back just when she teetered too close.
She wanted to push him away, to regain the upper hand, but then his fingers brushed against the damp heat between her thighs, and whatever protest she might have voiced melted into a sharp gasp.
Nathaniel chuckled, pleased. "Just as I remember," he murmured, his fingers teasing, exploring, his touch maddeningly slow. "You always responded so beautifully."
Evelyn's hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the thick fabric of his robe as Nathaniel's fingers moved with excruciating precision. He stroked her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, teasing the slick heat between her thighs, circling the most sensitive part of her with maddening restraint.
Her breath hitched, her body tensing, desperate for more friction, more pressure—but Nathaniel was in no hurry. He watched her intently, his expression one of dark amusement, as if he were savoring every shudder, every gasp that escaped her lips.
"Still so responsive," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers dipped lower, parting her, testing her wetness, and he exhaled a quiet chuckle against her skin. "Just as I remember."
Evelyn bit her lip hard, determined to hold back any sound that might betray just how much he was unraveling her, but her body was a traitor. When he pressed a finger inside her, slow and unyielding, her hips bucked instinctively, seeking more.
Nathaniel hummed approvingly, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, his tongue flicking over her racing pulse. "That's it," he coaxed, his voice almost tender, but there was a cruel edge to it—a promise that he would not give her what she so desperately craved, not yet.
He withdrew almost entirely before sliding back in, his pace unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to draw out her torment. His thumb never ceased its slow, torturous circles, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her, yet never enough to send her over the edge.
Evelyn's breath came in shallow gasps, her thighs trembling. She tried to grind against his hand, to chase the release he so expertly withheld, but he caught her waist in his free hand, holding her still.
"Impatient," he mused against her collarbone, his breath fanning across her fevered skin. "I could do this all night."
Evelyn's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, an unspoken plea. Nathaniel only smirked before withdrawing his fingers entirely, leaving her aching, empty.
She let out a strangled sound, frustration and longing coiling unbearably within her, but he only leaned back, his expression smug as he licked his fingers, tasting the evidence of her arousal.
Evelyn's body tensed as he pulled away, leaving her gasping, aching.
Nathaniel smirked as he settled back against the pillows, adjusting his robe as though nothing had transpired.
"You should rest, my dear," he said, his voice smooth, maddeningly composed.
Evelyn could only stare, her body still pulsing with unfulfilled need, her breaths uneven.
Nathaniel closed his eyes with a smirk. "Goodnight, Eleanor."
And just like that, he left her wanting.