Norman exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. His fingers paused near the base of his neck, pressing against the tension that had gathered there ever since that moment—no, ever since the first kiss. She had looked at him like he’d set her world on fire. And it had terrified him.
Because he felt the same.
It was not simply desire, though that would have been far simpler to manage. It was…everything else. The way she tilted her head when she asked a question. The rare softness of her gaze when she was deep in thought. Her stubbornness. Her fury. Her impossible ability to make him feel alive in ways he had not in years.
And now—she wouldn’t even look at him.
“Do you… have feelings for her?” Andrew asked, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious.
Norman stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m being honest. Which, for me, is rare and deeply uncomfortable.” Andrew’s brow furrowed. “I’m asking because if you do—or if you think you might—then stop torturing both of you with this nonsense about control and ending your family name.”
Norman said nothing. Kitty was now pouring tea for Eleanor, carefully, gracefully. She smiled when Eleanor leaned against her shoulder with mock affection. Norman’s chest ached with something raw and electric.
He wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were…
“I want her,” he admitted. “In every way. But I’m not the right man for her.”
“Oh, bollocks.” Andrew rolled his eyes. “You’re not a villain in a gothic novel, Norman. You’re just a man who can’t admit he’s lost his heart to a woman who sees through you.”
“I might be losing my mind but, I assure you, my heart is intact.”
A long silence passed between them.
Then Norman finally asked, “And what if I cannot resist her forever?”
Andrew smirked. “Then, brother, I recommend you at least do it somewhere with a locked door.”
Norman swore under his breath.
“I’m serious,” Andrew said, finishing his drink. “You’ve got ten days. And whether or not you realize it, you’re in far deeper than you thought. She’s not just a woman you kissed and have to get married to out of duty. She’s the one you can’t stop watching. The one who makes you forget how to breathe.”
Norman didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
Because at that exact moment, Kitty stood, brushing the skirt of her gown with her palms, and turned ever so slightly—enough that her eyes finally met his across the garden.
It was no more than two seconds.
But it was enough.
Something in her gaze flickered. Curiosity, heat, anger, longing—he couldn’t name it. And then she turned back to Eleanor and sat down again, as though nothing had passed between them.
Norman lowered his gaze to the amber liquid in his glass.
Ten days.
Ten days to keep himself from falling apart.
Or falling entirely.
A breeze stirred through the garden, rustling the linen tablecloths and lifting a few stray petals from the edges of the blanket Kitty sat upon. Norman kept his eyes fixed on her even as she turned away, but the echo of that brief glance lingered in his chest like the last note of a song played too softly.
He hadn’t imagined it.
Whatever had flickered in her eyes—despite the distance, despite the wall she had rebuilt around herself—was real.
A movement near the edge of the gathering caught his attention. One of the house servants was crossing the lawn toward the two of them with a silver tray in hand. A single envelope lay upon it, sealed in pale green wax. The footman approached Kitty, bowed with precision, and extended the tray.
