Chapter 15
“Evelyn! I am so sorry,” Asher exclaimed, reaching out to catch her before she could fall against the wall.
Where on earth had she come from?
“It’s fine. It was just as much my fault,” she said, her hands wrapping around his forearms, holding onto him like he was her anchor. “I was just on my way to the kitchen to make some warm milk.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling a rush of relief, although he had no idea why. He supposed, deep down, he feared that she would decide she had no further interest in staying with him and find a way to leave him.
As ruined as that would leave both of them.
He knew it was irrational to think she would sneak away in the middle of the night, but still…
“Come,” he said, reaching out without thinking and taking her hand, leading her along the corridor, toward the stairs leading down. “I’ll make you one.”
“You will?”
“When we were younger, my brother and I would sneak around the house at all hours of the day,” he said with a smile as he remembered the times they shared. “Kitchens included. I can’t tell you how many times the cook would come down the next day to find half her provisions gone. We were hungry.”
“I can imagine,” she said with a laugh as she studied him, likely searching for signs about how comfortable he was speaking about his brother. He understood. He didn’t say much about him, but with Evelyn, it felt different, like he could talk about Daniel without judgment or blame.
The warmth of her hand in his sent a shiver up his arm as he led her down the stairs to the kitchen. The space was dark and quiet, the staff having long since retired for the evening. Only the glow of banked coals in the hearth provided any illumination.
Asher moved through the shadows with confidence, for not much had changed in the kitchens over the years.
Dropping her hand, he found a candle and a tinderbox, lit it, and brought a small pool of light to the prep table. Evelyn stood uncertainly in the doorway, her wrapper pulled tight around her.
This intimate moment between them felt domestic and oddly right, as though they had started as a true love match.
He found a saucepan and placed it on the table between them before he rummaged around for a bottle of milk. His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the bottle, and they both startled at the contact, eyes locking.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," Evelyn said softly, the words rushing out as she looked away from him. "You likely had something to do yourself tonight.”
She swallowed hard, and he wondered what she was thinking, where she assumed he was going.
"No bother," he assured her, though in truth, her presence was wreaking havoc on his composure. Having her here, sleep-tousled and vulnerable, made him ache to pull her into his arms.
She perched on a stool as she put the milk on the table, her lips curving as she watched him pour the milk into the saucepan and place it over the kitchen hearth.
“You know what you’re doing,” she observed.
“I do,” he said, his mouth going dry as the soft light glided over her sleep-mussed hair and the elegant lines of her throat. “It will be just a moment.”
“Were you… in the midst of something, or were you also having trouble sleeping?” she asked, her voice hushed in the silent kitchen.
“Trouble sleeping tonight,” he said, not expanding on why. She didn’t need to share the weight of responsibility he carried, although her eyes were dark and trusting in the low light. “I have nowhere else to be.”
“I understand,” she said. “My mind has difficulty settling some nights. Too many thoughts spinning.”
Her fingertip traced a circle over the countertop before her. “A warm drink is always soothing.”
Asher nodded. He understood restlessness, the battle with one's own racing thoughts. Impulsively, he reached out and covered her hand with his, stilling its motion. Her skin was sleep-warm, impossibly soft. "I know the feeling well."
Evelyn looked at their hands, then up at him through her lashes. Her lips parted as if to speak, but the milk chose that moment to overheat, drops of it splashing out of the pot. Asher snatched his hand back and turned to tend it, his heart thudding.
He busied himself pouring the milk, intensely aware of Evelyn's nearness, the rustle of fabric as she shifted on her stool.
He focused on his task, trying to ignore the desire thrumming under his skin and taking an extra moment to collect himself.
When he turned with the prepared cups, he found her directly behind him, so close he could see the scatter of freckles across her nose, smell her fresh scent. His breath stilled.
"Thank you," she murmured, accepting the cup he offered. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment longer than necessary. "For indulging me."
"It's no hardship." Far from it. Being with her like this, stolen moments in the dark, was a pleasure he could easily become addicted to.
They sipped their milk in charged silence, standing a foot away from one another, gazes catching and sliding away. Asher's pulse hammered in his throat. He wanted to set his cup down, take hers away, and...
"I should retire," Evelyn said abruptly, as if hearing his thoughts. A becoming blush stained her cheeks. "It's late."
"Of course." Reluctantly, he stepped back, allowing her to pass, her cup in hand. He followed her up the stairs, dousing the candle as they went. Even though he knew he should let her go, he didn’t want to say goodnight. Not just yet.
“Would you like to finish your drink in the sitting room together?” he asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.
“I would like that,” she said shyly. “Unless you have something else to do?”
“Nothing pressing.”
She followed him into the small sitting room near the back of the house, which was much more comfortable than the other rooms and where he preferred to visit if the occasion ever called for it.
“Well,” Asher said, sitting in front of the fireplace in the chair across from Evelyn, “I have to say that tonight was one of the most enjoyable evenings out I have spent in years.”
“It was?” she said, raising her brows. “In what way?”
“It was the first time since… in a long time that I have been able to be out in society without constantly looking over my shoulder, trying to avoid being caught in a web by a young lady and her mother hunting a duke.”
“Is that not what ended up happening to you anyway?” she asked wryly.
“Yes, but you are different.”
“How?”
“You never meant to catch me. You were an accidental surprise.”
“I see,” she said, looking down. “I must ask, is there a reason you ignored me all night?”
His breath caught in his throat. There was a reason, but it wasn’t one he could share with her. It was that he hadn’t wanted to appear the besotted husband to anyone, most especially to her, after all their talk about the purposes of their marriage.
“You know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “Once people are married, they spend time with others in social settings, as they spend so much time together at home.”
“Mm hmm,” she said, although it was clear she didn’t entirely believe him. “I would have liked to have danced.”
“With me?”
“Of course,” she said, her eyes down, not looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, taken aback. He’d had no idea, but then… how could he, when he had barely looked in her direction?
She cleared her throat.
“Did anyone say anything about the diamond theft?”
“Not directly,” he said, still thinking about her desire to dance. “A few veiled comments.”
“The same for me,” she said. “How are your estates?”
“Fine,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “My father did so well, built them up, and put people he could rely on in charge. I just have to make sure to keep them afloat, prevent them from falling to ruin.”
“Is that what worries you?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, and he knew then what she was thinking — she was seeing past all of the facades he had built up and was peering right into his soul.
“I… suppose the responsibility weighs on me,” he said with a sigh. “Their role was not meant for me.”
“I know,” she said, tilting her head, studying him, her eyes warm and understanding. “I fear failure as well. Of not belonging. I am not like other ladies, as you must realize.”
“Did you worry you wouldn’t marry?”
“No,” she said with a low laugh. “I worried that I would have to.”
“And here you are.”
“Yes,” she said, licking her lips as though she had more to say on the subject, but she kept it to herself. “What I feared was that my intellect wouldn’t be enough. That I would have to work that much harder to be taken seriously, because I am a woman.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, before noticing something marring her wrist.
Without thinking, he reached forward, fingers wrapping around her wrist as he tried to brush it off.
“It’s just ink,” she said, her voice nearly breathless, but she didn’t pull back from him as he thought she would. Instead, they stayed a breath away from one another, immovable, his hand holding hers.
They stared at each other, instinctively leaning forward, so close that their breath mingled.
He badly wanted to kiss her, but he had done that once already and feared that if he did so again — here, now — he would take it too far.
Yet he couldn’t fight the need to touch her.
“You said you wanted to dance.”
“I did.”
“Would you like to now?”
“Here?”
“Why not?”
She nodded slowly as he stood, holding a hand out toward her. She placed one hand in his, her other resting on his shoulder.
“We have no music,” she said softly.
“I can fix that,” he said with a grin, before he opened his mouth and started singing.
She started, likely in surprise, for he didn’t sing often, but he always enjoyed it and knew his voice was pleasant enough not to cause anyone to cringe.
He twirled her around the room, their eyes locked, their hands warm against one another. She felt right in his arms, as if she fit there, and he slowly realized he was no longer thinking of her as a responsibility, but rather… an addition to his life.
They didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to — their dancing was saying all they needed to. That they were there for one another, supporting each other — and that, deep within, was a fire burning brightly that neither of them dared speak about aloud, yet didn’t have any hint of dimming anytime soon.
She was staring up at him, her lips parted, and Asher knew that if he wanted to take her to bed, now was the time.
But how could he, without a promise of more?
“We should retire,” he said, releasing her abruptly, shock and pain evident in her eyes as he did. He hated hurting her, but it would be all the worse to make her promises he couldn’t fulfill.
“Yes,” she said, swallowing hard and averting her eyes. “We should.”
Yet she made no move to leave.
“Goodnight,” he said, before practically bolting abruptly from the room, leaving her there with their cups of milk and the simmering of their desire between them.
He should have walked her to her room at the very least, but he couldn’t, for if he did, there would be no chance of his leaving.
He gripped the doorframe of his bedroom in frustration, berating himself for his weakness. He couldn’t keep himself away from her, yet every time they came close, he knew that he was only making this more complicated.
It was disconcerting, to say the least.
And he had to solve the problem one way or another, because he was going to stay married to her forever — it was just a matter of whether they would truly be together or not. That was another conversation entirely.
He lay awake for a long time, fists clenched, resisting the urge to return to her, for he knew that if he did, he would never manage to keep his distance.
Sleep proved elusive, while the fire still smoldered in the hearth and the candle burned low, taunting him, reminding him that he could fight it all he’d like, there was little chance that flame would burn out anytime soon.