She was… breathtaking. Hers was the kind of beauty that did not announce itself but commanded; the kind of beauty that struck like a sudden wind and left a man wondering if he’d ever been steady to begin with.
Evelyn stopped before him, her hand sliding into his, and he nearly forgot where they were. That they were not alone. That they stood before God and clergy and bloodthirsty relatives.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m glad you chose the pearl,” he murmured. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”
She didn’t answer, but he felt her shiver. A small, contained movement.
He turned her hand over and pressed his lips against her knuckles.
“Though I doubt I could disapprove ofanygown on someone as beautiful as you.”
He felt her pulse skip beneath his lips. That pleased him far more than it should have.
The ceremony began. Words were spoken. Vows were exchanged. Hands clasped, rings slid on fingers. A prayer echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
He heard none of it.
Everything beyond the woman at his side dissolved into fog. Her scent, jasmine, warm linen, and something distinctlyher,was in his lungs, anchoring him and unmooring him all at once. He was supposed to think of what this union meant. Of strategy. Of access. Of leverage and vengeance and legacy.
But all he could think of washer.The way her lashes lowered when he looked at her too intently. The way she stood tall despite every storm hurled at her. The soft flush on her cheeks when he touched her hand. She was everything he didn’t know he needed. Everything he told himself he didn’t want.
The moment ended too soon. One blink, one breath, and the chapel emptied.
Now, he stood in his study. The heavy door closed behind him with a quietclick.
Mason, ever precise, stood by the hearth. There were two glasses of dark liquor waiting on the table and next to them, a bottle of old Irish whiskey Mason had brought as a celebration gift. A soft crackle from the fireplace filled the silence. For a long moment, Robert said nothing.
“She wore the pearl,” he muttered, more to himself than to his friend.
Robert downed the drink in one swallow. It did nothing to ease the ache in his chest or the hunger twisting inside him.
He was a married man now. He was bound to a woman who both challenged and intrigued him, a woman who had survived betrayal and still stood proud. Finally, a woman who had not wanted him, not truly, and yet had come to him anyway.
Mason didn’t ask. He merely poured his friend another drink, and Robert downed it again. The liquor slid down his throat like smoke in a biting but efficient flow of heat. Robert stood still for a moment, feeling the burn settle in his chest. It did not dull his mind. It only slowed the current enough to think clearly.
“She’s in her chambers?” Robert asked, voice low.
“I believe so. Lady Hazel accompanied her back not long ago.”
Robert said nothing to that, only nodded once and turned to the fire. The flames were low, tamed by the iron grate, but alive. They were contained, like him.
The silence stretched, easy between them. Mason had been with him long enough to know which silences to fill and which to leave be.
After a moment, Robert spoke again.
“I’m closer than I’ve ever been. To the truth.”
Mason didn’t ask which truth. He didn’t have to.
Robert’s fingers flexed at his side, the crystal glass still in his hand. “Everything my father left behind… it wasn’t for nothing.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, a habit that showed only when he was battling the more dangerous kind of thoughts.
“They thought it would disappear. Buried under time, power, and titles. But they left threads. And now, piece by piece—” His voice quieted, sharpened, “I’m pulling them loose.”
Mason inclined his head. “You’ve never stopped.”
“I couldn’t.” His voice wasn’t angry. If anything, it was detached. Hollow, somehow. “You know that.”
