Evelyn had spent every moment since stepping into Eleanor's life defending herself, carefully navigating the razor-thin line between deception and discovery.
But defense was no longer enough.
If she wanted Nathaniel to stop searching—if she wanted him to believe—she had to make him think the chase was over. That he had already won.
And the only way to do that was through absolute surrender.
She stood before the mirror, her breath steady, her hands smoothing over the ivory silk of her nightgown. The delicate lace clung to her curves, the neckline dipping just low enough to suggest softness without yielding.
He said he and Eleanor did this often.
The thought coiled around her resolve like a vice.
If she wanted him to stop—if she wanted him to believe—she had to make him forget there was ever a question.
She turned toward the door, the flickering candlelight casting golden shadows along the room. And then—
A knock.
Not hesitant. Not uncertain.
A deliberate, measured summons.
Evelyn inhaled, slow and steady, before stepping forward. She unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Nathaniel stood there, his gaze already trailing over her. His coat was gone, his cravat loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a sliver of golden skin. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it more than once.
His eyes—sharp, assessing—drank her in.
"You were expecting me," he murmured.
Evelyn tilted her chin, allowing herself the faintest of smiles. "Should I not have been?"
Nathaniel exhaled a quiet chuckle and stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
He didn't touch her immediately. Instead, he watched her, the weight of his gaze alone enough to tighten something low in her stomach.
Then, slowly—deliberately—he lifted a hand, tracing a single finger down the curve of her bare shoulder, his touch featherlight.
"You dressed for me," he observed, voice smooth as silk.
Evelyn did not shy away. "Would you prefer I hadn't?"
His lips curved—not quite a smile, but something darker. "No."
His fingers trailed lower, brushing the lace edge of her gown, a whisper of sensation against her skin.
"You're different tonight," he mused, quieter now, his breath warm against her temple. "No hesitation. No retreat."
Evelyn met his gaze, unflinching. "Would you prefer I resisted?"
Nathaniel's hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her just close enough that their lips nearly touched.
"No," he murmured. "I prefer you like this."
His mouth claimed hers before she could answer, slow and controlled, a kiss that demanded rather than begged.
Evelyn melted into it. Not because she had to—but because she knew that if she pulled back now, if she let him sense even the smallest reluctance, the game would unravel.
So she leaned in, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt.
Nathaniel's grip tightened.
The kiss deepened.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart, and when she sighed softly, he took it as invitation—his tongue sliding against hers, teasing, tasting, claiming.
His hands moved lower, shaping the curve of her waist, pulling her against him fully until she could feel the hard press of him against her stomach.
Evelyn arched into him, letting her body speak the words she couldn't say.
Nathaniel broke the kiss first, only to tilt her head back, his lips finding the delicate pulse at her throat.
"You're trembling," he murmured against her skin, his voice rich with amusement.
Evelyn exhaled, tilting her head to grant him better access. "It's not fear."
Nathaniel chuckled, his teeth grazing her skin before his tongue soothed the bite. "No, it isn't."
His fingers traced the delicate straps of her gown, sliding them down her shoulders, slowly, purposefully, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.
Evelyn let him.
She let him push her until the silk pooled at her feet, until she stood before him in nothing but moonlight and lace.
Nathaniel's gaze darkened. "Beautiful," he murmured.
She reached for him then—undoing the rest of his buttons, sliding his shirt from his shoulders, her fingers mapping the planes of his chest, his stomach.
He let her explore, let her take control for a moment—until he grew impatient. He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm.
Then, without warning, he lifted her.
A gasp left her lips as he carried her to the bed, lowering her onto the sheets with a reverence that contradicted the hunger in his gaze.
He hovered above her, his hand skimming down her thigh, parting her legs just enough to settle between them.
Evelyn's breath hitched as he pressed against her, teasing, giving her just enough to make her ache for more.
Then, against the shell of her ear, he whispered—
"Let me remind you, Eleanor…"
A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.
"...We never did this. You always said you wished for no children, and I accepted that."
Nathaniel's voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. A quiet curiosity. A question unspoken.
Evelyn's breath caught.
Is that why she never wrote anything about this in her journal?
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She had studied every detail of Eleanor's life, memorized every habit, every mannerism—yet this had never been mentioned.
And now, Nathaniel had given her the answer.
Eleanor had never allowed this.
And yet here she was, in his bed, undoing years of precedent in a single night.
The realization struck like a blade poised at her throat.
Had she miscalculated?
Or had Nathaniel just set his own trap?
Go on
' no he must not find out im not eleanor , i must gain his trust '
Evelyn's stomach tightened, but she did not let the hesitation show. She had come too far, risked too much—she could not afford to falter now.
Her lashes lowered just enough to hide the flicker of alarm in her gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate breath, she tilted her head, letting her lips curve into something soft—something almost wistful.
"I know," she murmured.
Nathaniel's eyes sharpened. He was watching her too closely, waiting for something—for a slip, for a tell.
Evelyn lifted a hand, pressing her palm flat against his chest. "And I am grateful you accepted it, truly. You never pushed, never demanded. But…" Her fingers traced a slow path down, following the sculpted ridges of his abdomen. She let her voice soften, her breath warm against his skin. "People change, don't they?"
Nathaniel did not move. His weight pressed against her, anchoring her beneath him, but his expression remained unreadable.
Evelyn swallowed, then let her lashes flutter upward, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. "You have changed, Nathaniel." A pause, calculated, patient. "And so have I."
She watched the words settle over him, weaving into the quiet space between them. She saw the moment doubt flickered—brief, hesitant.
And so, she pushed further.
Her hands slid over his shoulders, her nails grazing lightly, a touch meant to distract, to divert. "Would you refuse me now, knowing I offer myself freely?"
Nathaniel's jaw tensed. His fingers twitched against her thigh.
For a moment, Evelyn thought he might pull away.
Then, his grip tightened.
His mouth found hers again—rougher this time, more demanding, as if to silence whatever questions still lingered in his mind.
Evelyn let him.
She let him press her deeper into the mattress, let his body erase the space between them. She parted her lips, welcoming his kiss, welcoming his claim—because she needed this. Needed to convince him.
Nathaniel broke the kiss, his breath uneven, his weight still pressing her into the mattress—but he did not move further. His fingers lingered at her thigh, his grip firm yet… hesitant.
Evelyn forced herself to remain still, to school her features into something unreadable, something Eleanor might wear—a look of quiet understanding, of patience, of longing. But inside, her heart pounded against her ribs like a war drum.
Why had he stopped?
Nathaniel exhaled slowly, his forehead nearly brushing hers. His gaze, dark and unreadable, searched her face as though looking for something—some answer, some truth hidden beneath the softness of her skin.
"You're certain?" he asked at last, his voice low, edged with something she couldn't quite name.
Nathaniel didn't move.
Not immediately.
His breath was warm against her skin, his weight pressing her into the mattress, but he did not take the next step. Instead, he hovered, his hands firm on her waist, his fingers barely flexing as if caught between action and restraint.
His gaze swept over her—slow, searching, as though he were peeling back layers, trying to see what lay beneath.
Then, he spoke.
"Tell me, then."
His voice was soft. Dangerous.
"When did you change?"
Evelyn's pulse slammed against her ribs.
It was a test. A trap woven from silken words and quiet suspicion.
Her lashes fluttered as she tilted her chin, keeping her expression open, almost wistful. "I don't know," she murmured, letting her voice carry the weight of something unspoken. "Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was watching you go to war time and time again, knowing you might not return."
Nathaniel didn't react, but she felt it—the stillness in him, the way his fingers pressed just a fraction deeper into her skin.
Encouraged, she pressed on, her touch featherlight as she traced his jaw. "Or maybe," she continued, softer now, almost hesitant, "it was the way you looked at me after you came back this time. As if I was something you didn't recognize. As if I had become someone new."
His throat bobbed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.
She had given him an answer wrapped in half-truths, neither confirming nor denying his suspicions—only feeding the uncertainty already planted in his mind.
But then, Nathaniel's fingers ghosted over her collarbone, trailing lower, slow, deliberate. A touch meant to unsettle.
"You've never been a good liar, Eleanor."
The words coiled around her, tight, suffocating.
Evelyn forced herself to smile, letting her lashes lower just slightly. "Then why do you keep questioning me, my lord?"
A beat of silence.
Nathaniel exhaled softly, almost a chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "Because you make me want to believe you," he murmured, his fingers sliding to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her parted lips. "And that is the most dangerous thing of all."
For a moment, the weight of his words pressed into her, heavy, suffocating.
Then—just as quickly as he had touched her, he pulled away.
Evelyn barely had time to react before he shifted, his warmth vanishing as he rolled onto his back, resting an arm over his forehead.
"You should sleep," he said, his voice smooth, distant.
He was giving her an exit.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Evelyn swallowed, keeping her breathing steady as she turned her head slightly, watching him in the dim candlelight. He had stopped—not because he wasn't tempted, but because something in him was still watching.