Evelyn's breath caught, the weight of his challenge pressing heavily on her chest. She had expected many things from Nathaniel, but this… this was different. It wasn't a simple demand or an interrogation. It was a test—a test that could unravel everything she had built up to this point.
Prove it? The words echoed in her mind, like a cruel refrain. How could she prove something as intangible as love? How could she demonstrate something that she did not feel?
She met his gaze, trying to steady the tremor in her hands, but the fire in his eyes refused to let her back down. His sharp grey eyes locked onto hers, as though he could see into the depths of her soul and find the truth she hid there.
"I've already made my choice," Evelyn said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil that churned inside her. "I am here, with you. What more do you want from me?"
Nathaniel's lips curled into a knowing smile, but there was no warmth in it. "The question isn't what I want, Eleanor. It's what you want. What do you need to prove to yourself? You say you love me, yet here we are, locked in this cage of your own making. Tell me, do you even know what love really is?"
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Does she? The question was a dagger to her carefully constructed armor. She had built her entire existence around her decisions, her responsibilities, her survival. Love had never been a luxury. It had never been something to chase after. She had married him out of necessity, out of duty. Or so she had convinced herself.
But now, with the weight of his words pressing on her, she questioned it all.
"Love… is not something that can be measured by a single act or a grand gesture," she said, finding strength in the steadiness of her own voice. "It's a choice. It's staying when everything inside you tells you to leave, it's facing what you fear the most and choosing to fight. It's… enduring the silence, the distance, and still choosing to be here."
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers drumming softly on the carriage wall as though considering her words. "And you think that's enough? That's your proof?"
Evelyn stiffened, realizing the depth of the trap she had stepped into. "What do you want, Nathaniel?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm. "Do you want me to break down in front of you? To confess all the things I've buried deep inside me?" Her breath caught in her throat as the words slipped out before she could stop them. "Because I won't. I won't make myself weak for you. Not now. Not ever."
The carriage seemed to halt at her words, the night air thickening between them. Nathaniel's gaze flickered with something unreadable—perhaps a trace of approval, or maybe just more uncertainty. But he didn't speak for a long moment, as though mulling over her challenge.
"Perhaps you're right," he said at last, his voice lower, almost contemplative. "Perhaps love isn't something to be proven with tears or desperation."
Evelyn held her breath, unsure of where this sudden shift would lead.
"But it isn't enough to hide behind duty either," he continued, his voice cold again, the challenge still in his tone. "If you truly love me, Eleanor, then you should be able to prove it."
Evelyn stood, her heart thudding in her chest as she tried to steady herself. Nathaniel's eyes never left hers, waiting, watching, as if the moment had become a test—a test she didn't know how to pass.
A kiss? she thought, her mind racing. Just a kiss. It's not a big deal. Just a quick one, and I'll leave.
She took a tentative step closer to him, the distance between them shrinking as if she were drawn to him despite her best efforts to remain detached. Her hands trembled slightly, but she forced herself to keep her composure. She leaned in, slow and hesitant, her breath shallow, as if the simple act of closing the space between them was more monumental than it should have been.
Her lips brushed the cool skin of his cheek, the soft touch more a whisper than a kiss. It was gentle, quick, and meant to be nothing more than a formality. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, and her pulse raced in her ears as she pulled back, her heart hammering in her chest.
But Nathaniel didn't let her retreat so easily. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising force, pulling her back.
"No, Eleanor," he murmured, his voice low and commanding, "that's not enough."
---
Evelyn's breath caught in her throat as his hand gripped her waist. The carriage jolted again, and before she could react, she found herself straddling him, her skirts bunching awkwardly between them.
Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance, and her wide eyes met his—dark, unreadable, burning with something she couldn't quite name.
"That's not enough," he repeated, softer this time, but with a dangerous edge that made her pulse spike.
Her mind screamed at her to move, to speak, to do something—but her body refused to obey. She was caught, suspended in a moment that felt impossibly intimate, her knees bracketing his thighs, his hand still firm at her waist.
"Nathaniel—" she began, but her voice was breathless, barely audible.
His free hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering at her jaw. "Why do you keep pretending this means nothing?" he asked, his voice low, almost tender.
She swallowed hard. "Because it can't mean anything," she whispered.
"Then why are you still here?" His words were a challenge, his thumb now gently stroking her cheek. "Why do you tremble every time I touch you?"
Evelyn couldn't answer. Not with logic. Not with reason. Because nothing about this—about him—made any sense anymore.
---
Evelyn's throat tightened, her breath trapped somewhere between panic and yearning. "Because you confuse me," she admitted, her voice breaking. "You push, you pull—one moment you're cold, the next you're…" Her fingers curled against his coat. "Like this."
Nathaniel's jaw flexed. His eyes searched hers with a kind of desperation that contradicted his composed exterior. "And you think you don't do the same to me?" he said, voice rough. "I've tried to stay away from you. I should stay away from you."
His grip on her waist tightened slightly, as though to anchor himself—or maybe to keep her from slipping away again.
"But you won't," she said, almost bitterly. "Will you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to her lips, his eyes darkening. And for a heartbeat, the only sound was the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels and the rush of blood in her ears.
"You kissed me like I was a stranger," he said finally. "I won't allow that."
Before she could react, he closed the gap between them.
His mouth claimed hers—not gently, not tentatively, but with the force of everything left unsaid between them. Evelyn gasped, her hands tightening in the fabric of his coat, torn between the instinct to push him away and the aching need to hold on. There was heat in his kiss, but also anger, regret, longing. It wasn't perfect. It was real.
When he finally pulled back, both of them breathless, his forehead rested against hers.
"You'll hate me for this," he murmured, "but I won't let you walk away again."
---
A chill ran down her spine as her cheeks turned red. What does he mean…?
Before she could fully process his words, she felt a sudden shift—his arms moving, his body pressing forward. In one fluid motion, he guided her down onto the plush velvet seat, his frame hovering above her, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the flickering lantern light in the carriage.
Wait—what exactly is going on? her mind scrambled, her breath hitching as her back met the cushions and Nathaniel's hands anchored on either side of her.
"Nathaniel," she managed, her voice small, uncertain. She wasn't afraid—not of him—but her heart pounded so fiercely it felt like her ribs might crack.
He didn't touch her further. Didn't lean in. Not yet. He just looked down at her, jaw clenched tight, as if fighting a war inside himself.
"I told myself I'd stay away," he said, voice low and ragged. "That this would pass. That if I kept my distance, I could forget."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw energy coiled beneath his skin.
"But you're not something I can forget, eleanor." His voice broke on her name. "You've already ruined me."
Silence fell between them, heavy and taut. She could feel the tremor in her limbs, the pull between reason and want, the echo of his kiss still tingling on her lips.
"I…" she began, but her throat betrayed her. Words didn't feel like enough anymore.
His eyes flicked down again, to her mouth. Then back up. "Tell me to stop," he said, barely above a whisper. "Say the word, and I'll get off this carriage and never touch you again."
She stared up at him—at the man who'd always felt like a storm she wasn't ready for. And yet… she hadn't run.
'Do I want him to stop? To be honest… I don't know,' she thought, dazed.
Before she could settle on an answer, his fingers moved—deftly, purposefully—undoing the knot at the front of her dress, the one that held her bodice together. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes going wide as she realized what he was doing.
"Nathaniel…" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "My lord, what are you—"
He didn't let her finish. He leaned in, pressing his face gently between the curve of her breasts, his breath hot against her bare skin.
"Don't call me *lord*," he muttered, voice muffled but thick with emotion. "Not in a moment like this."
Evelyn froze—heart pounding, body burning. She didn't know where to place her hands, what to say, how to breathe. The weight of him, the intimacy of his touch, the way he clung to her like a man unraveling—it all left her spiraling.
"I've wanted you," he said quietly, almost as if confessing to a sin. "Since the moment I saw you. And it's only gotten worse."
His voice trembled, not from fear—but from restraint.
"Say the word," he murmured again. "Tell me no. Tell me this isn't what you want."
But she didn't say anything.
Her hands reached up on instinct, not to push him away—but to run her fingers through his hair, to hold him there. Her silence, her touch—but she placed it on his shoulder and pushed him gently.
Her voice was soft, barely coherent over the sound of their shared breathing. "I... do not wish... to do this."
Nathaniel went still.
For a long, suspended moment, he didn't move—didn't even breathe. Her fingers remained pressed lightly to his shoulder, trembling but steady in their message. Not rejection. Not fear. Just… a boundary.
Then, slowly, he exhaled—a long, shaky breath that sounded like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.
He lifted his head, just enough to meet her eyes again. And what she saw in them made her chest ache: disappointment, certainly—but also understanding, guilt, a flicker of shame, and still, beneath all of it, that unyielding affection he never said out loud.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice rough, broken at the edges. "That wasn't fair of me."
His body eased away from hers with deliberate care, as though any sudden movement might shatter the moment—or her. He sat back, jaw tight, hands retreating to his lap, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for her again.
Evelyn sat up, fixing the front of her dress in silence, her skin still tingling where he had touched her.
Evelyn opened her mouth, the words forming on her tongue—but when she looked at him, she faltered.
Nathaniel's gaze was fixed on the darkened world beyond the carriage window, his profile hard with something she couldn't name.
The plan was simple. Get close. Gain his trust. Seduce him, if necessary. Secure a child—secure leverage. That was always the goal.
But here she was, heart pounding like a startled thing, dress half-undone, breath still warm from his kiss—and none of it felt like a strategy anymore.
'What am I doing?' she thought, panic blooming behind her ribs. 'This isn't control. This isn't power. I'm not supposed to feel like this.'
She wasn't supposed to want him.