Sebastian stood in the doorway.
He was still fully attired in his dark tailcoat and immaculate cravat, the candlelight catching the severe line of his cheekbones. His expression was unreadable. Evelyn felt a shiver trace her spine—whether from fear or something else, she could not tell.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.
His voice, too, was unreadable. Evelyn drew a breath, trying to steady her racing heart, and prepared to answer.
Chapter Fourteen
Sebastian stood in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, drawn from her face to the body that he could see on display beneath the translucent fabric of her nightgown. The linen was thin, and where she stood, with the lamps behind her, it was possible to see every curve, every swell and softness of her body as if she wore nothing. His pulse quickened, heat rushing through him with dismaying swiftness.
He stepped forward before he could think better of it.
“I was finding it hard to sleep,” she murmured. A faint line marked her brow—tension, worry, something he could not yet name.
“Me too,” he admitted, offering a small, rueful grin. It startled him how natural it felt, sharing that truth with her.
“I wanted to read…” she began.
“To take my mind off it,” he finished quietly.
She smiled—bright, warm, disarming. “Exactly.”
Her delight made her cheeks flush, and Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat, desire threatening to overwhelm him. His gaze met hers and held it.
Her dark eyes widened, surprise replaced with something else, something unexpected. Her gaze, too, was narrowed with desire.
“Would you prefer to read alone?” he asked, though his voice had gone rough.
“No.”
Soft, simple, utterly sincere.
Sebastian drew in a steadying breath, overwhelmed for a moment by her uncomplicated reply. Her gaze was locked with his, a boldness there that he could not ignore. He took another step, closing the distance between them.
One long look in her eyes seemed to speak volumes, and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her own.
Her lips parted gently under his, the skin soft as satin and full and plump under his own firm mouth.
A low sound escaped him—all the longing that he had struggled to suppress for the past few days building and growing inside him. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her curves against his body. He could not resist her, could no longer deny her to himself for a moment longer.
She sighed and tensed for a second, but then relaxed against him before he had pulled away. He held her close, loosening his grip so that she could, if she wished to, easily step back. Instead, her eyes lifted to his—wide, uncertain, and luminous with a new and fragile trust.
The sight undid him.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, though still gentle, savouring the soft warmth of her mouth and the quiet, startled sigh that answered him. The world seemed to tilt. He could think of nothing—not duty, not promises, only her.
He crushed her to him and, before he could stop himself, he lifted her in his arms.
“Sebastian!” she gasped softly. “What...where...put me down!” She whispered, but she did not sound afraid. All the same, he set her gently on her feet.
“Do you wish to…?” He could not finish. His voice failed him.
She drew a tremulous breath.
“Yes.”
The word was barely above a whisper, but it rang through him like a bell—clear, steady, decisive. Her gaze held his, trusting him in a way that made his chest tighten.
