Evelyn flushed. Sebastian leaned toward her, brushing his thumb lightly across her skin. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, and when she looked up, she found him watching her—not with heat, but with something far deeper. Something that made her breath catch.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His hand lingered a moment longer on her cheek, as though he could not bring himself to withdraw it. The room felt suddenly quieter, the fire warmer. Exhaustion still weighted her limbs, but beneath it stirred something softer—relief, safety, the fragile aftershock of fear giving way to the awareness of him.
“You should rest,” Sebastian said quietly. His voice was low, warm, and far gentler than she had ever heard it. “You have been through too much.”
“So should you,” she murmured. “Your ribs must be hurting.”
“They do,” he admitted with a faint smile, “but not so much as earlier.”
She hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Come. Sit beside me?”
He did. Slowly, stiffly, but he sat, and she shifted so their shoulders brushed. For a long moment, neither spoke. Theysimply breathed the same quiet air, their hands still loosely joined on the space between them.
“This feels unreal,” Evelyn whispered. “A few hours ago, I thought I would die.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened around hers. “I know,” he said softly. “I keep looking at you to be certain you are truly here.”
She turned toward him. His face, drawn with fatigue, held no trace of the confident duke the world saw. He looked human—worn, aching, and deeply moved.
Her chest tightened. “Sebastian…”
He met her gaze, and something in it—some mix of longing and restraint—stirred a warmth low in her belly. Not the sharp flame of sudden desire, but a slow, steady unfurling.
“I am not afraid now,” she whispered. “Not with you.”
He exhaled sharply at that, his expression unguarded for the briefest moment. “Evelyn,” he murmured. “If you knew what it is to hear you say that…”
She reached up and touched his cheek, mirroring his earlier gesture. His eyes half-closed under her touch, fatigue and feeling mingling there.
He leaned in—slowly, giving her every chance to retreat—and when she didn’t, his lips brushed hers, feather-light. Not urgent. Not demanding. Justthere. A promise. A question.
She kissed him back, just as softly.
The kiss deepened only gradually, as though neither had the strength to rush it. Their lips moved with quiet reverence, a touch of wonder, as if rediscovering one another after almost losing everything.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. Both were breathing a little unevenly, but it was not from exertion—it was from feeling.
“Come,” he whispered at last. “Let us go upstairs.”
Relief and longing mingled in her chest. “Yes,” she breathed.
He rose carefully—slowly, mindful of his injuries—and offered her his hand. She took it, and together they walked to their chamber with the quiet certainty of two people who had almost lost one another and would not waste another moment apart.
The room was large and clean, the lamplight soft against the white sheets of the bed. When Sebastian drew her into his arms, Evelyn felt her breath catch. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the buttons at her neckline, and she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest while he worked.
Her gown slipped to the floor in a whisper. She stood in her shift, blushing as he stepped back to look at her—his gaze warm, reverent, hungry in a way that sent heat rushing through her body.
He came forward again, slower this time, his hands gentle as he touched the ribbons at her shoulders. The brush of his knuckles against her skin made her shiver. She shut her eyes, leaning closer, feeling the rise of his breath and the steadiness of his hold.
“Evelyn…” he breathed, his voice thick with feeling.
Her reply dissolved into a soft gasp as he kissed her—slowly, deeply—one hand at the small of her back, the other lifting to cradle her breast. Before she knew what he was doing, he bent and brushed a tender kiss across her chest. She gasped and cried out, pleasure like fire rushing up her nerves to her brain.
He lingered there with exquisite care, his lips and fingertips coaxing responses from her she could neither temper nor hide. She moaned softly, overwhelmed by the pleasure he awakened in her—each delicate caress sending warmth coursing through her limbs until she trembled beneath it.
When he finally straightened, a smile curved his mouth, his blue eyes glinting with a heat that made her heart trip. And then—before she could speak, before she could even think—he swept her effortlessly onto the bed.
