The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Evelyn's fingers drifted along the spines of leather-bound tomes, pausing here and there to read titles too grand or obscure to decipher at a glance. Behind her, the crackle of the fire blended with the gentle scratch of Nathaniel's pen.

He sat at his desk, one shoulder hunched slightly as he moved through ledgers and reports. But it didn't escape Evelyn's notice, the way he'd pause now and then, rotating his right shoulder with a tight wince, massaging it briefly before continuing his work.

"You're doing that again," she said gently, breaking the quiet.

He glanced at her from over his shoulder. "Doing what?"

"Your shoulder," she murmured, stepping closer. "You keep rubbing it. Does it ache?"

He looked at her, guarded as ever, then gave a stiff nod. "It's nothing."

"Sit back," she said softly, rounding the desk. "Let me try something."

He studied her for a moment, before he leaned back slightly in his chair. Evelyn came up behind him, resting her fingertips on his shoulders.

Her touch was light at first. Gentle. She pressed along the tight muscles of his neck and upper arms, searching for the knots she could feel beneath layers of control. Slowly, steadily, her hands grew firmer, working the tension out of his body with practiced ease.

"You've done this before," Nathaniel muttered, eyes now closed.

"My father worked long hours. I used to do this for him," she said, voice hushed. "He always said I had the hands of an angel."

Nathaniel gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "He was right."

Evelyn blushed and leaned in slightly, her breath brushing his ear. "You think so too?"

Her fingers kneaded the tension that clung to his muscles like stone. The knots, rigid and buried deep beneath his composed surface, slowly began to unravel under her touch.

"You're incredibly tense," she murmured. "Even for you."

"I don't exactly live a restful life," he replied in a low voice.

"Still… I think you carry more than most." Her thumbs dug into the base of his neck and he let out a quiet, involuntary groan, his head tipping forward.

Evelyn smiled, triumphant.

"You should let someone take care of you once in a while."

"Care is a dangerous indulgence."

She leaned closer, her voice brushing his ear like a feather. "Not when it's given freely."

He turned his head then, slowly, until their faces were just inches apart. His gaze was unreadable, but heavy with restrained heat. Without a word, he reached back, caught her wrist, and pulled her gently around the side of the chair.

Their eyes met. His hand slid to the curve of her waist, guiding her down, down until she straddled him in the wide leather chair, her skirts spilling over his lap. Her breathing hitched. He looked up at her, his expression grave and unreadable

His hand settled against the small of her back. The other brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're too generous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"You looked like you needed it," she said, brushing her nose against his. "Besides... I enjoy it."

Nathaniel stared her beautiful face for a long while, his gaze unreadable. "I don't deserve it," he said quietly. "Your softness."

"I'm not soft," Evelyn whispered, sliding her hands into his dark hair. "But I am yours."

That shattered something in him. His mouth crashed into hers with stunning heat. He

urgent, raw, his hands seizing her hips and pulling her tighter against him. Her fingers curled at the nape of his neck, sighing into his mouth as the kiss deepened.

She felt him, all solid muscle beneath her, every inch of him thrumming with restrained power. He devoured her slowly, thoroughly, his hands moving over her body like he was committing her shape to memory.

Then his hand slipped to her bodice, drawing it down just enough to bare her shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, then another lower. Her breath hitched when his mouth lingered at the hollow of her collarbone.

Evelyn melted against him, fingers finding the back of his neck, threading through his hair.

But just as the heat between them built and he was beginning to trail kisses down her jawline, her gaze flicked toward the desk. A familiar pattern in the ledger caught her attention, and she squinted.

Nathaniel leaned in again but she spoke before his lips could claim hers.

"There's something wrong with the numbers," she murmured.

He froze, blinking. "What?"

"The ledger," she said, pointing with her chin toward the open book. "That entry… the figures don't match the last quarter's expenditures. It looks off."

Nathaniel stared at her in confusion. "What?"

"The accounting. There's a discrepancy. See?" She pointed—still in his lap, half-undressed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen—and began explaining the inconsistency with alarming clarity.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, lips parted, stunned by the complete derailment of his focus.

"You're reading the ledger while I'm...."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But it's off. I can't unsee it."

Nathaniel looked at her like she was some impossible, infuriating, irresistible puzzle.

Evelyn looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to ruin the mood, but... look. There's a discrepancy."

He turned slightly, following her gaze. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward causing her to press closer to his chest and looked at the page.

Then he exhaled through his nose, torn between disbelief and reluctant admiration.

And then he growled low in his throat and kissed her fierce, hungry, retaliatory. His tongue tangled with hers, and this time there was no softness, no teasing. She gasped as his hand wrapped around the back of her neck and deepened the kiss, grinding her hips down against his.

"You're impossible," he said roughly against her lips.

She smiled breathlessly. "So are you."

Without another word, he lifted her easily, one arm under her thighs, the other braced against her back and rose to his feet. She clung to him, startled, laughing into his shoulder.

"Where are we...?"

"Somewhere I won't be distracted by bloody ledgers," he muttered.