The study smelled of smoke and old books. The fire was burning low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the shelves. The carved wooden chair she sat on felt far too small beneath her. Her palms rested on her lap, fingers curled tight to keep from shaking.
She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d touched her. Since the way he had dragged her to the edge of herself with nothing more than his hand. Since the way he’d looked at her after, like he owned her.
Now she waited, alone in his private study, the sound of her own heartbeat loud in her ears.
The door opened without warning.
He walked in wearing a dark waistcoat and white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He closed the door quietly, like a man who knew silence held more power than noise. His boots clicked against the w
