Chapter Seventeen
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting pale bands of gold across the bedchamber.
Evangeline lay awake long before the household stirred, staring up at the canopy overhead while her thoughts chased one another in restless circles.
The previous evening lingered vividly in her memory.
She had often imagined what it would be like, lying with her husband. But what had occurred the night before had been something she never could have prepared for.
It was not only the physical pleasure that took her by surprise but the sense of trust she had not expected. The vulnerability of sharing that part of yourself with someone else.
Was it always like this between a man and a woman?
She did not know. But she could not help but feel that the ache between her legs was there for something more than just duty. It had to mean more.
When she turned her head, she found Anthony sitting on the edge of the bed, fastening the cuffs of his shirt.
Morning light caught the dark strands of his hair, and for a moment he looked less like the Duke of Blackwood and more like the man she had come to know.
He glanced at her. "Good morning." His voice was calm and composed.
"Good morning."
For a brief moment, silence settled between them. Evangeline found herself waiting for something.
A smile or comment about the previous evening. Just some small acknowledgement that things were different, that they were different now.
But instead, Anthony rose, and as he reached for his coat, his expression became thoughtful.
"There is something we should discuss."
The words immediately made her nervous.
She pushed herself upright. "What is it?"
Anthony hesitated only briefly. "The arrangement."
The warmth she had been feeling since waking up cooled. "Our arrangement?"
He nodded. "We agreed upon certain terms when we married. Practical terms to ensure an heir."
His tone was so formal, businesslike even. It was the same tone he used when discussing tenant accounts or estate improvements.
Evangeline folded her hands in her lap. "I remember."
Anthony looked toward the window before meeting her gaze again. "We will continue sharing your chambers until you conceive."
Her chest tightened. She had not realised how much she had hoped for a different conversation.
Anthony seemed unaware of her disappointment, or perhaps he was deliberately ignoring it.
Either possibility left her unsettled.
After a moment, he inclined his head. "I shall see you at breakfast."
Then he left, and the door closed quietly behind him.
Evangeline remained where she was, staring at the empty space he had occupied only moments before.
The contrast was jarring.
The man who had sat beside the fire with her discussing books and childhood memories felt entirely different from the man who had just spoken of their marriage as though it were a legal contract.
And then there was the man he was last night, the man who'd given her the type of pleasure she had never dreamed possible.
These were three different men and also the same person.
The realisation confused her more than she cared to admit.
***
The remainder of the morning passed as it usually did. At breakfast, Anthony behaved exactly as he always did.
He asked whether she intended to visit the school later that week. He listened carefully as she outlined several ideas for obtaining additional books and supplies.
His questions were thoughtful and his attention genuine.
Yet there was no mention of the conversation they had shared the night before, nor of their lovemaking. There was no mention or acknowledgement that anything between them had changed. Although it had, obviously it had.
By the time breakfast ended, Evangeline felt more bewildered than ever.
Throughout the day, she attempted to focus on her responsibilities.
She met with Mrs Dearwell regarding household matters. She reviewed notes from Miss Briggs at the village school. She even spent an hour drafting plans for a winter clothing drive among the tenants.
None of it helped, and her concentration drifted repeatedly.
Every time she thought she had regained control of her thoughts, she found herself remembering a look, a laugh, or a conversation.
By afternoon, she was thoroughly annoyed with herself.
She was seated in the morning room pretending to read a book when Anthony appeared in the doorway.
"Am I interrupting?"
Evangeline lowered the volume. "No."
He crossed the room and paused beside a table covered in estate reports. "I reviewed the estimates for the school repairs."
Immediately, her attention sharpened.
"I believe your suggestion regarding the roof is sensible."
A small smile touched her lips. "You sound surprised."
"I was surprised, pleasantly." Anthony's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "But I have also learned that is often the case when discussing plans with you."
The remark warmed her, but it also frustrated.
She no longer knew how to reconcile all the versions of Anthony she had come to know, and she didn’t want to try anymore.
***
Over the course of the week, the click of her door latch was the only warning Evangeline had before Anthony slipped into her room like a shadow made flesh.
And all the nights that followed blurred into an exquisitely torturous routine that left her breathless and wanting more. Every departure left her feeling hollowed out, cherished and abandoned in equal measure.
He never kissed her, not her lips.
One night, as he knelt between her legs, she reached down to cup his face, her thumb brushing his lower lip.
"Kiss me," she whispered.
Anthony's entire body went rigid. He caught her wrist in an iron grip, his eyes darkening.
"No." The word was flat, final.
He released her as if her touch burned him and rose to his feet. "This was a mistake." He strode toward the door.
"Wait!" Evangeline scrambled from the bed, her nightgown tangled around her legs. "Don't go. I'm sorry."
He paused with his hand on the latch, his back to her.
"I don't understand any of this."
Anthony turned slightly, his profile sharp in the candlelight. "I will see you in the morning."
The door closed behind him, and Evangeline sank to the floor, her body trembling.
She could still taste him on her tongue, still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin. Her body ached with desire, but her heart ached with something far more dangerous.
Each night she craved his touch more desperately, and each morning she woke more empty than before.