Isabella sat by the window, a book forgotten in her lap. At the sound of the door, she looked up, her dark eyes widening before a slow, radiant smile etched itself onto her face.
“Oh, you are home?” she said, her voice a warm melody that always seemed to catch him off guard.
“Indeed, I am,” Cassian replied, crossing the room with a predator’s fluid stride. He stopped before her, the heat of his presence momentarily robbing her of the breath she had been about to draw. “I have finished my labors early. I came to take you out.”
Isabella’s interest piqued instantly, her eyes brightening with a spark of that adventurous spirit he so admired. “Out? At this hour? And where, pray tell, are we going?”
Instead of responding, Cassian leaned down. He did not capture her lips as he often did, but instead pressed a chaste, lingering kiss upon her forehead. “You shall see soon enough. Dress warmly, Duchess, I would hate for you to catch a chill.”
He stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to leave. “I shall be waiting for you at the carriage.”
When Isabella descended the stairs a short while later, she found Cassian waiting by the front entrance. He wore a heavy traveling cloak, his expression unreadable, but his eyes following her every movement. As she reached the final step, he took her hand in his grip, firm and undeniably possessive, and led her toward the waiting carriage.
“You still have not told me our destination, Cassian,” she noted as he handed her into the plush interior.
“You’ll see,” he replied simply, a trace of a smirk touching his lips as he climbed in beside her and signaled the coachman.
As the carriage rattled away, the scenery shifted from the meticulously landscaped gardens to the rolling hills of the wider duchy. Cassian sat close to her, his shoulder brushing hers as he spoke.
“The horse ride did not do enough justice to the beauty of this place. I wanted you to see more,” he said and began to point out landmarks they’d missed on that trip with a quiet, reflective tone. He showed her the old stone bridge where the local children still gathered, and the ridge where the view of the valley was most spectacular, places he remembered from the fragmented dreams of his childhood before he was taken.
“When I first returned,” Cassian said, his gaze fixed on a cluster of refurbished cottages in the distance, “everything was in shambles. The land had been neglected, the people forgotten. I spent the better part of my first two years here rebuilding, ensuring the roofs were sound and the fields were tilled. I could not be the Duke they deserved until the land itself was whole again.”
Isabella watched him, moved by the depth of his devotion to a place that had once been the site of his greatest tragedy.
“Did you never want revenge at all?” she asked softly. “Against those who took you? Against the family that benefited from your absence?”
Cassian sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of his past. He shook his head slowly.
“When I saw what hatred and obsession did to my father, how it consumed his life, I vowed I would never live like him. I would not let the darkness define me. Instead of fighting with foils or planning unnecessary things, I wanted to use wealth and restoration to show that this duchy is standing strong. There is no sweeter revenge than success, Isabella. Sooner or later, Lord Westby met his end, and so did most of his wealth. I chose to build while they rot.”
Isabella shifted closer to him, her heart aching with a mixture of pride and affection. She relished the warmth of his embrace as he pulled her against his side, his arm wrapping around her with a protective instinct she no longer feared.
The carriage eventually slowed as they reached a small, bustling farmers’ market nestled in the heart of a nearby village. The atmosphere was light but charged with the excitement of the locals.
As the Duke and Duchess alighted, a ripple of surprised joy spread through the crowd.
“Her Grace! Look, it is the Duchess!” a woman called out, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried forward.
Cassian stood back slightly, a small, satisfied smile on his face as he watched Isabella. She moved among the stalls with an easy grace, greeting the farmers and their wives, repeating their names after them, her laughter mingling with the sounds of the market. They sampled fresh honeycomb, and Isabella spent several minutes admiring a display of hand-knitted shawls, hergenuine interest winning over even the most reserved of the villagers.
The air between Cassian and Isabella remained charged, a series of lingering glances and subtle touches that spoke of the deep, unspoken bond between them.
After some time, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Cassian took her hand once more and led her back to the privacy of the carriage. The moment the door shut and the coach lurched forward, the playful atmosphere of the market vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy tension.
Cassian did not wait. He reached for her, his hands framing her face as he pulled her toward him.
“You were wonderful today,” he groaned, the sound low and tortured, before his mouth crashed against hers.
The kiss was intense and consuming, a fierce release of the desire he had been curbing throughout the afternoon. Isabella melted against him, her fingers curling into the fine wool of his coat as she pulled him closer, her breath hitching in a soft gasp that only drove him further.
In the dim light of the moving carriage, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the desperate, beautiful reality of their joining.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Where is the married couple? Tell them to come welcome me at once!”
Isabella had risen with the pale winter light, her sleep growing lighter these days, though she hardly minded.
