Night had already fallen at Wycliffe Manor by the time Nathaniel's carriage crunched up the long drive. Footmen hurried to take his cloak as he crossed the threshold, his stride measured and assured despite the long journey home.
Evelyn had been waiting. Too restless to sleep, she had spent the day roaming the halls as if she might catch a glimpse of him around every corner. The matter with the accounts was still fresh in her heart and the way Nathaniel had defended her in front of the household and handed over responsibility for the estate. She could hardly believe it was real.
When Mrs. Carroway informed her that the Duke was finally upstairs, she paused only long enough to smooth her skirts before heading to his chambers.
His door was slightly ajar, lantern light spilling into the dim hallway. She knocked softly before stepping inside.
He was there, shrugging off his jacket and unfastening his cufflinks with graceful precision. The travel dust had been washed from him, but there was a slight fatigue to his posture as he glanced up at her reflection in the mirror.
"You're still awake," he noted simply, his voice like polished oak.
"I was waiting for you," Evelyn replied, moving into the room. "There was something I wished to say."
He turned fully then, his dark gaze locking on her. "And that is?"
Her hands found one another in a nervous twist. "I… I wished to thank you. For what you did with the accounts. For standing up for me."
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, subtle but real. "You're my wife," he said, as if that were reason enough.
The steady beat of her heart quickened as he crossed the space between them. From his pocket, he withdrew a small iron key and held it out to her.
"What's this?"
"Come," he said, gesturing toward the bookshelf that filled one wall.
She followed him, brow furrowing as he touched a secret latch that released a concealed panel. Within was a small steel safe set into the wall.
Nathaniel fitted the key into its lock, then swung the door open. Inside, neat bundles of notes, gold coins and other valuables glinted in the lantern light.
Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Her lips parted. "My Lord…?"
"You'll want for nothing in this house," he said simply. "And this..." he placed the key in her palm, his fingers lingering warmly against hers, "...is yours. Spend as you like. You need never wait on anyone's permission."
A strange knot formed in her throat. After weeks of careful steps and cautious manners, he was telling her that all she had to do was take what was already hers
Her breath caught, "I can't possibly...."
"You can," he cut in gently. "You manage this house. It's only right that you have the means."
"You mean I may use this anytime I wish?" she asked softly.
He nodded once. "Anytime."
Emotion surged through her; gratitude, yes, but also a fierce, aching want that she rarely allowed herself to feel so openly. "That is more generous than I could have hoped," she whispered.
His gaze darkened a shade as he studied her face. "You deserve generosity," he replied in a tone that was almost a murmur.
That low timbre curled through her like a touch. Without quite deciding to do it, she set the key carefully aside, reached up to touch his cheek, and kissed him.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling.
He went very still for a heartbeat and then his hands were in her hair, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that was utterly unrestrained. His hands were at her waist, drawing her close as if sensing the overflow of her feelings.
"You deserve this," he murmured, gaze dark with something deeper.
The safe and its treasures were forgotten as his mouth descended on hers in a kiss so warm and searching that her hands went up to cradle his face.
He walked her backward without breaking the kiss, hands sliding down to the curve of her hips. Her back brushed the edge of the bed before she toppled onto it with him, his weight warm and insistent above her.
"You're beautiful," Nathaniel breathed against her neck as deft fingers began to unlace her gown.
Heat rushed up her throat as silken fabric loosened and fell away. A gasp escaped her as his hands, broad and sure, explored her bare skin.
"You take my breath away," she murmured, words trembling as his lips traced the hollow of her collarbone and traveled lower.
Her hands tangled in his dark hair as he worshipped every inch of her with lips and hands, his deep hums vibrating through her like an ache. When she helped him shrug off his shirt and felt his warm skin against hers, she yielded to him completely lost in the rich pull of his strength and tenderness.
She felt every inch of him as they tangled together in the warm nest of blankets, hands learning each curve and angle, lips tasting every inch of newly bared skin. Evelyn's breath caught as his mouth traveled lower, his hands coaxing her into wild arches, his body a perfect, driving rhythm that left her trembling.
When he finally sank into her, all her gratitude unraveled into pure, dizzying pleasure. Her arms held him close as he moved above her, their breaths falling together like the ocean tide, his mouth at her ear whispering things that made her cheeks burn and her body tighten around him.
Time fell away in that deep, intoxicating rhythm, leaving only their breathless moans and whispered names as they moved together.
And when they shattered together, it was with a kind of ease that felt like homecoming, ierce and perfect, a wordless understanding that ran deeper than all their guarded conversations and careful glances ever had.
Afterward, they lay tangled together in the hush of the darkened room, hearts beating slowly back into rhythm. Evelyn pressed her face into the warm hollow of his neck and felt his fingers comb lazily through her hair.
"You're my wife," he repeated in a voice as soft as a caress.
And this time, as her lips curved into a sleepy smile against his chest, she heard the undercurrent of something more, something that felt very much like affection.
"Yours," she agreed, her heart full as she drifted into sleep in his arms.