Isabella moved closer to a side table, beautifully carved and refined. She had known he was into carpentry, but she didn’t know his creations were displayed in his house.
Her fingers brushed the smooth surface. Not merely skill but also heart and patience had gone into them. She felt her chest tighten.
Evening crept upon the manor like a soft shadow, and soon, Isabella found herself seated at the long dining table opposite Cassian. A pair of tall candles glowed between them, their flickering light dancing across his features. He looked devastatingly handsome, dressed in dark evening attire, his hair slightly mussed from the day. Yet his posture remained rigid, his gaze unreadable.
The silence stretched until Isabella could bear it no longer.
“Is the lamb to your liking, Your Grace?” she asked, attempting conversation.
“It is acceptable,” he replied without looking up and forked another sliver into his mouth.
She tried again. “Mrs. Linton informed me that many of the furnishings here were crafted by you. I must say, I am impressed. The craftsmanship is exquisite.”
At that, his eyes flicked up.
“It is a pastime, nothing more.’’
“I think it is far more than that,” she said gently. “It takes dedication, patience, and a sharp eye. I admire it.”
His jaw tightened, as if her praise unsettled him.
Isabella drew a breath.
“Cassian… must we speak as though we are strangers forced into a room together? We are married now.”
His fork stilled. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, dark and unreadable.
“What exactly is it that you want from me, Isabella?”
“I want to know you,” she said simply, but she was holding back, and perhaps, he could tell because he stood so abruptly, she startled. He came around the table, his boots silent on the carpet until he stood beside her chair, towering, imposing, shadowed in candlelight.
“If you want something from me,” he said quietly, dangerously, “ask for it.”
The words thrummed in the air between them.
She felt heat spread across her cheeks because she knew precisely what she wanted, and she also knew he already sensed it.
“Cassian…” She swallowed. “I only wanted conversation.”
“That is not all,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath brushing her ear.
“You look at me as though you expect something of me. As though you want something beyond polite conversation. I am your husband now. Ask it of me,” His voice growled from deep within his chest.
Her breath hitched, and he drew back just enough to study her, his eyes darkening as her blush deepened.
“Isabella,” he said softly, almost with reverence, or warning.
Her lips parted. Her cheeks burned. Her heart pounded.
“I…” She swallowed hard. “I thought you might… kiss me.”
The change in him was instantaneous. The air thickened. His eyes darkened with unmistakable intent.
He lifted her chin with his fingers, slowly, deliberately.
“You want my mouth on you again?” he asked, voice low enough to unravel her.
On you, and not on yours…
