“Evelyn,” he said quietly yet firmly before she could walk away. She turned back toward him, anticipation in her eyes, and he reached out, catching her gloved hand as he leaned in and said in a low voice, rough with something he didn’t want to name, “Do not let him touch you again.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him, but there was no fear in their hazel depths. There was only… awareness.
“I-I didn’t realize you cared so much,” she said, her voice as low as his.
“I do not,” Asher said swiftly, knowing he was lying. “I only?—”
He stopped, for what could he say? He only cared more about her than he would ever admit? Didn’t like the idea of another man touching his woman? He couldn’t finish his sentence without either lying or confessing, and he had no wish to do either.
“You only what?” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
He sought a response, but before he could do so, a servant walked past them. The footman’s face was averted, but of course, he would be listening, ready to share whatever he learned with the rest of the staff. The last thing Asher needed was an explanation of their relationship swirling between his own servants and, therefore, those of other houses.
“Let’s speak somewhere more private,” he said, marching to the stairs, her hand curling around his elbow as they ascended. Hearing his mother and sister conversing down the corridor, he hurried her into his own chamber, practically yanking her in before shutting the door softly behind them.
His back to the door, he let out a breath before lifting his gaze and meeting Evelyn’s eyes, which were wide, surprise crossing her face as she stared him down.
“Did you just run away from your mother like a schoolboy who doesn’t want to be caught?”
He paused before he felt his lips twitch with amusement. “Yes?”
She waited a beat before her mouth broke out in a smile of its own, and soon she was in full-out laughter at him. He couldn’t help but understand, and soon enough, he had joined her.
When they finally came down from their amusement at one of the most powerful men in England hiding from his mother, he tilted his head and studied her.
“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he murmured.
“Am I?” Any hint of mirth fled from her face.
She was beautiful at all times, but those words stuck in his throat.
“You should laugh more often,” was all he said.
“I do,” she said, before amending, “At least, I did. Before… all of this.” She took that moment to look around her and take in his bedchamber.
Rich, muted colors surrounded her, lavish drapes framing the tall windows, creating an intimate, almost suffocating atmosphere.
His grand four-poster bed, draped in deep burgundy fabric, towered over the room like a fortress, while the intricate carvings on the furniture whispered of secrets long held within these walls.
After his father’s and then brother’s deaths, his mother had insisted he move into the duke’s chambers, and he hadn’t argued, but nor had he done anything to make this room his own.
But somehow, Evelyn’s bright presence made the room a little less dark, a little less suffocating.
“This was how my father liked the room,” he said, needing to explain these weren’t his choices. “I never changed anything, although… perhaps I should. You are welcome to do the same in your chambers.”
“I shall consider it,” she said, but her voice was distant.
“Is it really so bad?” he asked, annoyed by the vulnerability in his tone. “Being married to me?” he clarified.
“You have been more than kind,” she said, twining her fingers in front of her. “I am simply uncertain of our… relationship. Are we business partners? Friends? Or…”
“Yes, we are exactly that,” he said, stepping closer to her. “All of that. Partners. Friends. Husband and wife.”
“That can mean many different things,” she said, looking up at him, her voice low and husky.
“It can,” he agreed.
“You perplex me,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I always thought I could solve any puzzle presented to me, but you… You remain a mystery.”
