Nathaniel's fingers lingered at the hollow of her throat, his touch deceptively light, but Evelyn could feel the storm simmering beneath it. His grip was not tight—not yet—but it was enough to remind her of the space he controlled.
Of the power he wielded.
"You were quite… talkative this evening," he mused, his voice a quiet blade against the dim corridor.
Evelyn kept her expression composed. "Was I?"
Nathaniel exhaled through his nose, a sound that was neither amusement nor anger—just something far more dangerous.
"Lord Montgomery. Viscount Hastings. Even Lord Sinclair," he listed them off lazily, as though reciting an offense, his thumb grazing the pulse at her throat. "I counted them all."
Evelyn swallowed, though she despised herself for it. Nathaniel's eyes flickered downward—he had noticed.
His lips curved—not into a smirk, but something darker, something possessive.
"Tell me, wife," he continued, his fingers skimming down the side of her neck, the fabric of her gown doing little to shield her from the heat of his touch. "Do you enjoy entertaining them?"
Evelyn did not shrink from him. She could not. Not now.
"It would have been impolite to ignore them," she replied, her voice smooth, measured. "A duchess must engage with those who hold influence."
Nathaniel hummed, as if considering her words. Then, without warning, his hand tightened.
Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her heart pound, enough to remind her that there was a line she was dangerously close to crossing.
"A duchess must also know her place," he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek. "And yours, Eleanor, is beside me. Not at another man's table. Not under another man's gaze."
Evelyn forced herself to remain steady. "You misunderstand—"
Nathaniel's grip tightened for a fraction of a second, just enough to silence her.
His voice dropped lower. "Do I?"
The quiet fury in his tone sent ice down her spine.
"You laughed at Hastings' remarks," he continued, his other hand pressing flat against the stone beside her head. "You leaned in when Lord Sinclair whispered something in your ear. And Lord Montgomery—" Nathaniel let out a slow, dark exhale. "He touched your arm."
Evelyn remained silent.
His fingers trailed downward, slow, deliberate, a ghost of a caress that barely skimmed the fabric of her gown before stopping at her hip.
"You are my wife." The words were low, possessive, edged with something dangerous. "And yet, you let them look at you as if you were theirs to have."
Evelyn finally met his gaze, her breath steady despite the hammering of her pulse. "And if they did, my lord?" she asked, a quiet challenge threading her voice. "Would you punish them for it?"
Nathaniel's smirk was cold.
"No." His thumb brushed her lower lip, an intimate mockery of tenderness. "I would punish you."
Evelyn's breath caught.
It was not a threat. It was a promise.
He was too close now, his presence suffocating. She could feel the heat of him, the quiet violence restrained beneath silk and polished control.
"Nathaniel," she began, carefully.
His fingers curled around her jaw, tilting her chin upward. "Do not test me, wife." His voice was a whisper, but it held the weight of steel. "You belong to me. Every glance, every smile, every word that falls from your lips—I own them."
His lips hovered just above hers, but he did not kiss her. He did not need to.
He wanted her to understand.
To submit.
Evelyn held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away.
Then, as quickly as he had caged her, he stepped back.
His gaze flickered over her—satisfied, perhaps, or merely savoring the moment.
"You should rest," he said, voice eerily calm. "Lest I decide to remind you exactly who you belong to."
And with that, he turned, disappearing into the darkness, leaving Evelyn breathless and shaken in the silence.
Nathaniel was not just watching her now.
He was claiming her.
Evelyn's thoughts raced, her pulse still thrumming from Nathaniel's suffocating presence. The weight of her predicament settled deeper into her bones.
What have I gotten myself into?
She had known the risks when she agreed to this marriage—knew the kind of man Nathaniel was. Ruthless. Controlling. A man who did not share what was his. But she had done it for Theodore. Her brother's life, his freedom, hung in the balance, and she had gambled her own to secure it.
Now, standing alone in the dim corridor, the cold stone at her back, she wondered if she had miscalculated.
Should I just back out now?
The thought was tempting. She could flee. Disappear into the night, find some way to free Theodore without Nathaniel's influence. But she knew better. Nathaniel's reach was long, his vengeance swift. If she ran, he would hunt her. And worse—he would harm Theodore.
Her fingers trembled at her sides before she clenched them into fists.
No. There was no retreating now.
Nathaniel had made his terms clear. She was his—his possession, his pawn, his wife in every sense he demanded. And if defiance came at the cost of Theodore's safety, then defiance was a luxury she could not afford.
But that didn't mean she was powerless.
Evelyn exhaled slowly, forcing the fear from her lungs. Nathaniel thought he owned her. Thought he could bend her to his will with threats and dominance.
He didn't yet realize she had her own game to play.
Her lips curved, just slightly.
Let him claim me. Let him think he's won.
Because Evelyn had learned long ago that the most dangerous players were the ones who knew how to wait.
And she was very, very patient.
---
The gathering had come to an end. The carriage rolled smoothly through the night, the rhythmic sound of the wheels over cobblestone roads filling the heavy silence between Evelyn and Nathaniel. The night air, though cool, did little to ease the heat that still clung to her skin from their earlier encounter. Evelyn sat across from him, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She could feel his gaze on her, even though he hadn't spoken a word since they left the gathering.
Nathaniel was a man of few words in these moments, when his thoughts were unreadable, his expression unreadable. But Evelyn knew better than to assume silence meant peace.
Her pulse quickened, but she held her composure, focusing on the gentle sway of the carriage rather than the man across from her. She had learned the art of patience, of silence, long before she met him.
Nathaniel had a way of making her feel as though he were always a breath away from striking. His grey eyes, sharp and calculating, studied her with unnerving precision. It was as though he were waiting for her to crack.
She couldn't afford to let him see that. Not now. Not ever.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Nathaniel spoke, his voice low and steady, like the calm before a storm.
"Tell me, Eleanor," he began, the use of her name laced with something unfamiliar. It wasn't a question born from curiosity. It was more like a command wrapped in inquiry. "Do you regret it?"
Evelyn met his gaze, her face betraying nothing, not even the flicker of emotion that threatened to show itself. "Regret what, my lord?" she replied, her tone evenly neutral.
He watched her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Regret your choice. The life you've chosen. This marriage." His fingers drummed lightly against the side of the carriage, a subtle rhythm that spoke volumes of his unrest.
Evelyn's breath was steady, but her mind raced. Did he know? Did he suspect the true reason she had agreed to this marriage in the first place?
"I don't regret my decisions," she answered, keeping her voice calm, controlled. "I married you because I love you, my lord."
The mention of her brother caused a flicker of disdain to pass over Nathaniel's face. He leaned back against the carriage seat, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Love?" he scoffed, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. "How quaint." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing, as if he were inspecting her soul. "You think love has anything to do with why you're here? That's adorable, Eleanor." His use of her name again felt like an unspoken rebuke, something to remind her of her place.
Evelyn's heart clenched, but she refused to let it show. She didn't flinch under his scrutiny, despite the way his words twisted like a knife.
"You misunderstand me, my lord," she said, her voice even, though she felt the weight of his words pressing against her chest. "Love was never my primary reason for this marriage. But it is what it is now." Her eyes locked with his, daring him to challenge her. "It is a choice, one I've made willingly."
Nathaniel's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile, his expression cold and unreadable. "Willingly?" he repeated, almost as though testing the word, savoring its irony. "Is that what you tell yourself, Eleanor? That you chose me out of some misguided sense of love?" He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly.
Evelyn swallowed, a bead of sweat forming on her brow. Did Eleanor truly love Lord Nathaniel? The thought gnawed at her, the doubt creeping in even as she desperately tried to hold on to her resolve.
Nathaniel's gaze softened, but not in a way that made her feel comforted. Instead, it was cold, knowing, as if he had already seen through her defenses.
"Prove it," he said, his voice suddenly a whisper, full of challenge. "Prove that you love me."
Evelyn held his gaze, her breath shallow , her stomach twisting. "What else do you want from me?" The words were sharp, a challenge as much to herself as to him. "I've made my choice. I've committed myself to this marriage, to you. What more is there to prove?"
Nathaniel leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, filled with an icy certainty that sent a shiver down her spine. "Love isn't a choice you make out of obligation, Eleanor. It's a fire that burns, a hunger that cannot be ignored. You can't just stay here and call it love. I"
Evelyn's mind swirled in confusion, the walls of her composure cracking under the weight of his words. She had never been asked to love before. She had never been asked to feel something so raw, so consuming, not by anyone.
How do I prove something I don't feel?
But there was no turning back now. Nathaniel was right in one thing: she couldn't hide behind duty any longer. If she was going to live this life, to be a part of this marriage, she would have to find a way to make it real—somehow. The question was whether she could find that fire within herself. Could she truly love him, or was she simply playing a role in a game she didn't understand?
She swallowed, her throat dry, but her voice firm. "Then what do you suggest, Nathaniel? What would satisfy you?"
His eyes glittered with something dark, almost predatory, as he leaned closer. "Prove it by kissing me."