Chapter 17
Asher stared out the window of the carriage, fists tight.
Do not say anything, he told himself. Don’t let her know.
But with Evelyn being Evelyn, there was no hiding anything from her.
“If you have something to say, say it,” she said from between what sounded like gritted teeth across the carriage from him.
“He is hiding more than financial trouble,” Asher finally managed, although his voice was strained, the emotion bleeding through despite his best intentions not to allow it do so.
The truth was, he was jealous.
Supremely jealous of a man looking at his wife with appreciation, even though nothing had happened, nor had Evelyn given him any reason to think it was possible she would ever stray. She seemed the loyal sort.
But that didn’t change how much he hated that Eastclere seemed to think that she was available for the taking.
Not his wife.
Not Evelyn.
He realized then that it didn’t matter whether Eastclere was more interested in Evelyn as his wife or as an entirely separate person.
Asher didn’t want anyone else to lay a finger on her, nor to think that there was any reason they could. That brush of a kiss on her hand…
“We came at him too hard,” Evelyn said, kindly taking on half of the responsibility. “He is a defensive man.”
“He is,” Asher conceded. “Eastclere and I… were always competitive. At school, at sporting events, with…”
“Women?”
“Yes….”
“Oh,” Evelyn said, dipping her head. “I see.”
“One of his mistresses became… interested in me,” he said, unable to look at her, not wanting to tell this story but also not wanting to lie to her. “There was nothing between us, but he was always sore about it afterward.”
“I see.”
She still wasn’t looking at him, so he reached out, placing his fingertips against her chin and gently turning her face toward him.
“That was all before. A long time ago, in fact.” He hadn’t had any time nor inclination to chase after women since he had become the duke. “You know that, do you not?”
“Of course,” she said, but her smile was obviously forced.
He wanted to continue, to remind her that neither of them would be seeking another for the foreseeable future, but he had a feeling that forcing his edicts on her would have the opposite effect.
They were silent for the remainder of the carriage ride, but when they returned home, he still felt inclined to finish the conversation, to make it clear that he didn’t appreciate her flirtation with another man, even if it was no fault of her own.
He knew she had only been trying to disarm Eastclere and, in fact, it had worked.
He still hadn’t liked it.
“Evelyn,” he said quietly yet firmly before she could walk away. She turned back toward him, anticipation in her eyes, and he reached out, catching her gloved hand as he leaned in and said in a low voice, rough with something he didn’t want to name, “Do not let him touch you again.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him, but there was no fear in their hazel depths. There was only… awareness.
“I-I didn’t realize you cared so much,” she said, her voice as low as his.
“I do not,” Asher said swiftly, knowing he was lying. “I only—”
He stopped, for what could he say? He only cared more about her than he would ever admit? Didn’t like the idea of another man touching his woman? He couldn’t finish his sentence without either lying or confessing, and he had no wish to do either.
“You only what?” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
He sought a response, but before he could do so, a servant walked past them.
The footman’s face was averted, but of course, he would be listening, ready to share whatever he learned with the rest of the staff.
The last thing Asher needed was an explanation of their relationship swirling between his own servants and, therefore, those of other houses.
“Let’s speak somewhere more private,” he said, marching to the stairs, her hand curling around his elbow as they ascended. Hearing his mother and sister conversing down the corridor, he hurried her into his own chamber, practically yanking her in before shutting the door softly behind them.
His back to the door, he let out a breath before lifting his gaze and meeting Evelyn’s eyes, which were wide, surprise crossing her face as she stared him down.
“Did you just run away from your mother like a schoolboy who doesn’t want to be caught?”
He paused before he felt his lips twitch with amusement. “Yes?”
She waited a beat before her mouth broke out in a smile of its own, and soon she was in full-out laughter at him. He couldn’t help but understand, and soon enough, he had joined her.
When they finally came down from their amusement at one of the most powerful men in England hiding from his mother, he tilted his head and studied her.
“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he murmured.
“Am I?” Any hint of mirth fled from her face.
She was beautiful at all times, but those words stuck in his throat.
“You should laugh more often,” was all he said.
“I do,” she said, before amending, “At least, I did. Before… all of this.” She took that moment to look around her and take in his bedchamber.
Rich, muted colors surrounded her, lavish drapes framing the tall windows, creating an intimate, almost suffocating atmosphere.
His grand four-poster bed, draped in deep burgundy fabric, towered over the room like a fortress, while the intricate carvings on the furniture whispered of secrets long held within these walls.
After his father’s and then brother’s deaths, his mother had insisted he move into the duke’s chambers, and he hadn’t argued, but nor had he done anything to make this room his own.
But somehow, Evelyn’s bright presence made the room a little less dark, a little less suffocating.
“This was how my father liked the room,” he said, needing to explain these weren’t his choices. “I never changed anything, although… perhaps I should. You are welcome to do the same in your chambers.”
“I shall consider it,” she said, but her voice was distant.
“Is it really so bad?” he asked, annoyed by the vulnerability in his tone. “Being married to me?” he clarified.
“You have been more than kind,” she said, twining her fingers in front of her. “I am simply uncertain of our… relationship. Are we business partners? Friends? Or…”
“Yes, we are exactly that,” he said, stepping closer to her. “All of that. Partners. Friends. Husband and wife.”
“That can mean many different things,” she said, looking up at him, her voice low and husky.
“It can,” he agreed.
“You perplex me,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I always thought I could solve any puzzle presented to me, but you… You remain a mystery.”
“How so?” he asked, equally as confused.
“To the world, you are the duke. You are cold, responsible, and regimented. But then, at times, when we are alone, I see hints of another man. One who knows how to enjoy life, finds the moments of fun, lets his guard down, and enjoys a flirtation or takes the time to solve a puzzle. But whenever I see that side of you, you quickly hide it once more. Why?”
His heart seemed to pause as he took in what she said. He knew she was right, and yet, it hurt to be reminded of how he hid that side of himself — his true self.
“I cannot be that man anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because that man isn’t a duke,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. “That man is Asher, the second son. But that’s not who I am anymore.”
“Why can you not be both?” she asked, looking thoroughly confused.
“The second son can be selfish and make choices in his own best interests, while the duke is responsible for so many more people than himself,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then help me understand,” she said simply, not taking any offense.
She was right. He couldn’t help but take another step toward her until their toes were touching. He was drawn to her, so much more than he should be, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself away. The more time he spent with her, the harder it was becoming.
And being so close to her, her scent surrounding him, the depths of her eyes drowning him, he forgot why he had to keep his distance, why he couldn’t afford to have her so close.
He reached out, his hands cupping her elbows, and when she didn’t pull away, he lowered his head so that they were just a breath away from one another.
He paused, waiting for her to pull back, to tell him that this couldn’t be, but she only lifted her chin, her eyes telling him what she didn’t with her words — that she had clarity, that this was her choice as much as his.
And so, he took what she had to offer.
His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her up toward him. Her hair was soft, as was her mouth beneath his. Her hands curled into the front of his jacket, holding onto him, keeping her anchored.
The kiss started light, delicate, as his other hand came to where her shoulder met her neck, as he craved a touch of her skin. She shivered when he drew his thumb over her, back and forth, and he couldn’t help but need more.
He knew he’d likely rue it later when her hair needed fixing, but he tangled his fingers into those soft strands so that he could tilt her head back for better access to her mouth.
He tested her to see if she was ready, sliding his tongue over her lips, and when she opened to him, he tasted her, need rolling through him.
When his tongue swept over hers and a small moan escaped her into his mouth, his every nerve ending came alive, attuned to her, his desire ratcheting up a level until the need throbbed throughout his body.
One of her hands slid over his chest, pressing against it, and he was enveloped in that fresh floral scent of her.
He finally lifted his head, his breath coming hard as he stared down at those pink, swollen lips, needing more and yet uncertain if he could stop at just this.
“Asher, are you in there?” came a call from the door, and Evelyn bit her lip at his mother’s voice, but he only shook his head at her before placing a finger against her mouth to silence her.
Eventually, footsteps retreated, and he slid his finger down, letting it rub against her lips before moving it away.
“Are you still hiding?” she whispered.
“That depends,” he said, no longer thinking of anything but her. She was his wife. Should he not enjoy his wife? Especially if they had both vowed not to take another. He could do so without tying emotion to it. Couldn’t he?
“On what?” He was pleased to see that she was as breathy as he was.
“On whether or not you want to stay.”
“It’s mid-afternoon.”
“So it is.”
“Do you not have anywhere else to be?”
“It is Saturday. I have it to myself, as much as I choose it to be.”
Her eyes searched his, no hesitancy there, but rather interest.
“What changed?” she asked with some wonder.
“Still trying to determine how to solve this puzzle?” he asked with a slight laugh.
“I think I’m missing some pieces,” she murmured.
“I’d be happy to fill them in,” he said. “But for now, let’s say that I finally realized that there will never be distance between you and me — not when we are both here in London. We are married. We seem to be attracted to one another. So why not take advantage and enjoy one another?”
A brief flicker of emotion filled her eyes, but before he could wonder whether it was hurt or something else, it was gone.
“Very well,” she said with a slight shrug. “Let’s enjoy one another.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “I don’t want to force anything—”
“Asher,” she said, shaking her head with a laugh. “Are you trying to talk me out of this?”
“Never.”
“Then stop talking and kiss me again.”
He certainly couldn’t argue with that.