Her fingers found his waistcoat, curling into the fabric as his other hand settled on her hip, pulling her closer across the carriage seat. Heat surged through her, dizzying, intoxicating. Her breath came in soft, uneven rushes.
She felt his tongue brush her lower lip and nearly lost all sense of herself.
Cassian pulled back, not far, just enough to breathe against her mouth.
“Isabella…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “We cannot.”
She blinked, breathless.
“Why not? We are husband and wife.”
“Because,” he said, eyes flicking to the narrow space between them, “I will not claim my wife for the first time in a carriage.”
The blush that rushed to her cheeks was so fierce, she felt it in her ears. Dangerous images flashed across her mind unbidden: his mouth on her skin, his hands, the things he had done to her that night beneath the terrace shadows, and then later in the hall.
Her breath shuddered.
He smiled slightly, as though he could read every thought on her face.
“You see?” he murmured. “You tempt me far too easily.”
She looked down, flustered beyond reason, wondering how a man could unravel her so swiftly, so effortlessly, even now, when he barely touched her at all.
He brushed a knuckle along her cheek.
“Soon,” he whispered, and her pulse answered for her.
Isabella scarcely had time to gather her breath before the carriage slowed beneath them, the wheels crunching over the gravel drive of Everthorne Manor. The looming silhouette of the estate appeared through the window. It felt almost unreal that this house, this formidable estate with its stone façade and tall windows, was now her home.
The footman opened the door, and Cassian stepped out first. For a moment, he stood there quietly before turning to offer her his hand. His palm enveloped hers, warm and steady, and the simple touch sent a ripple of awareness through her.
“Welcome to Everthorne Manor, Duchess,” he said, his tone formal but low, almost roughened by something she refused to name.
Her heart fluttered.
He helped her descend with care, keeping her close as though the day itself might attempt to steal her away. The cold brushed her cheeks, but Cassian’s nearness ignited something warmer, something that spread through her far too quickly.
The front door swung open, revealing the staff lined up in two rows, bowing as Cassian guided her forward.
“This is your Duchess,” Cassian said, his voice commanding as always. “See to her with utmost care.”
Isabella flushed, a little overwhelmed by the sudden respect and attention. Before she could speak, Cassian stepped back.
“I have matters to attend to,” he said, already turning away. “You will be shown to your chambers.”
She watched him disappear down a corridor, his shoulders tight, his pace brisk, as though distance was the only shield he possessed. Isabella exhaled slowly.
Marriage, she thought, was going to be a far more complicated endeavor than she had prepared for.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“And this side of the corridor holds His Grace’s own work,” Isabella barely caught the words, which subsequently returned her to reality as she blinked, confused.
The housekeeper gave Isabella a thorough tour of the grand estate. Not that she had not already frequented the halls, but she had been confined to more public areas during her visits. The manor was far larger than she had imagined, but not nearly as large as the townhouse with its endless hallways, polished floors, grand staircases, and an array of rooms each decorated with elegance and quiet pride.
“His work?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Most of the wooden furnishings within the manor were crafted by His Grace’s hand. Quite the talent he possesses,” The older woman said proudly.
