THE SOFT LIGHT OF DAWN filtered through the curtains, gilding the chamber in muted gold. Adrian stirred, his senses easing into wakefulness for the first time in what felt like an age. The air was still, warm, and as his eyes opened fully, he became aware of the quiet rhythm beside him. Evelina lay there, her breathing even and untroubled, the faintest wisp of hair resting against her cheek.
For a moment, he did not move. He simply watched her. There was a serenity about her that unsettled him, though not unpleasantly. Her face, half-buried in the pillow, looked softer in sleep. He had hoped to avoid this very closeness by avoiding her chamber, avoiding her gaze, avoiding what it might mean to share a bed with her. But now, here she was, within reach, and all he felt was… calm.
He let out a quiet sigh and rested his head back against the pillow. How foolish he had been, depriving himself of sleep and comfort, all for the sake of pride or fear — he wasn't sure which. Those nights in the study chair, the endless tossing, the fatigue that clung to him each morning — for what purpose? To prove he could resist the presence of the woman his father had bound him to?
His gaze drifted to her again. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the small, unconscious sigh she made — it stirred something quiet within him. There was something different about her these past few days. Something he couldn't quite name.
She had changed. Or perhaps, it was he who had. Her laughter, once cautious, now carried warmth; her eyes, which had once held fear and caution, now met his with a steadier light. He could not recall when exactly he had begun to notice, but he had. And now, as he looked at her, a smile tugged faintly at his lips.
'Admiration,' he thought, and the word startled him. Is that what he was feeling now?
He exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of warmth settling in his chest.
After a while, he rose quietly, careful not to wake her. The hour was still early, the sky painted faintly with morning hues. He dressed with unhurried motions, glancing once more toward the bed before fastening his coat.
He would have to meet Blake soon and return to the site where their carriage had broken down. There was much to be done before they could head back to Langford Manor.
Before leaving, he lingered by the door, his hand resting lightly on the latch. His eyes softened as they fell upon her sleeping form once more.
With that quiet thought, he stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
*******
When Clara awoke, the morning sun had already risen high enough to warm the edges of the curtains. The other side of the bed was empty, the pillow cool to the touch. Adrian was gone.
For a moment, she lay still, her mind slow to catch up with the quiet truth of morning. Then, as memory returned—the memory of the night before, of her own voice inviting him to share the bed with her—a wave of embarrassment rose swiftly to her cheeks.
What had possessed her to do such a thing?
She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer her an answer. She had invited him and now she couldn't bare to face him even if nothing happened.
With a soft exhale, she sat up and pushed the covers aside. There was no sense in dwelling on what could not be undone. If anything, she should be thankful he had already left before she woke. She could not imagine the awkwardness that would have followed had their eyes met first thing that morning.
She rose, bathed, and dressed with deliberate calm, though her hands trembled slightly as she fastened the last ribbon of her gown.
By the time she decided to sit near the hearth, intending to lose herself in the small comfort of the crackling fire, a knock came softly upon the door.
Her heart stilled.
It was a gentle sound, but somehow she knew the person knocking. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Come in," she managed, her voice a touch unsteady.
The door opened, and there he was. Adrian stepped into the room, his expression composed yet softened in a way she had not seen before. The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips.
"Good morning, Eve," he said, his tone low and unhurried.
She rose automatically, smoothing her skirts, though her fingers felt clumsy. "Good morning, Adrian," she replied, forcing a small, polite smile and keeping her gaze lowered. She could not quite bring herself to meet his eyes still.
He moved closer, not with his usual measured detachment, but with a quiet ease that unsettled her all the more. When he spoke again, his voice carried that same gentleness that had startled her of late.
"I trust your morning was restful?"
Her head lifted slightly at that. The question, simple as it was, caught her off guard. He had spoken to her kindly before. But now, it seemed like he was even more gentle.
"Yes," she said softly, and then hesitated, feeling the faintest blush creep into her cheeks. "I… I woke rather late. Forgive me. I meant to rise earlier."
He smiled faintly. "It is quite all right," he said. "I knew you were exhausted. Anyone would be after yesterday's journey."
The tone of understanding in his voice struck her unexpectedly. He sounded almost — she dared not think it — tender. Her heart gave a confused thump.
She looked up at him, searching his face for mockery or indifference, but found neither. There was sincerity there — quiet, restrained, but unmistakable.
"Thank you," she murmured, hardly above a whisper.
Their gazes met then, and for a long, delicate moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them deepened, no longer awkward but laden with something unspoken — something fragile and unfamiliar.
Then Adrian's eyes shifted away, as though he had suddenly remembered himself. The moment passed.
"You must be hungry," he said, his tone steadier now. "I'll ask that supper be served."
She nodded quickly, her composure returning even as confusion threatened to swallow her whole. "That would be kind, thank you."
He inclined his head slightly, a courteous gesture, and turned toward the door. She thought he would leave without another word, but just before stepping out, he glanced back — only for a heartbeat.
Then he was gone.
Clara stood where she was, her hands clasped tightly before her, staring at the closed door. Her mind felt tangled up in a web of confusion as she wondered what might be on his mind.