When dinner ended, Eloise insisted on helping Emily clear the dishes, claiming there was much cleaning to be done.
"It's quite all right, my lady. There's hardly anything here." Emily spoke truthfully—a simple dinner attended only by Ryan required little effort. Especially compared to this year's summer ball in Blissbury, which Emily had managed almost single-handedly.
Yet Eloise persisted, murmuring something about Emily surely being tired, and made her way toward the kitchen. Her gaze, however, drifted persistently toward the living room.
*Ryan will tell Father about us tonight.*
The thought sent her mind wandering back through their stolen moments.
---
During their time at the estate, Ryan had asked repeatedly when Mr. Severton would return.
The meaning behind his impatience was clear: he wanted to declare their relationship properly, to court her openly rather than in shadows.
"Then I won't have to grab you and drag you into empty rooms like some scoundrel," he'd said once, his hand brushing her cheek as he spoke. His touch wandered with deliberate slowness—fulfilling, perhaps, his own promise to behave like the very scoundrel he claimed not to be.
She could have stopped him. His hand approached with ample warning.
Instead, Eloise drew a short breath and let her eyes fall closed—a silent invitation.
Ryan froze.
*"Damn it."*
The words escaped him in genuine bewilderment.
"Miss Severton, why do you trust others so easily? It could lead to... awkward situations."
Though his tone carried the sternness of a tutor scolding a wayward student, something else threaded through it—an undisguised, breathless excitement.
*He* had grabbed *her*, and now he was issuing warnings. The absurdity of it drew laughter from her chest.
"This impossible man."
Eloise opened her eyes. Before her stood a man utterly undone by her willingness, uncertain what to do with someone who offered herself without hesitation.
Still laughing softly, she pressed closer.
"And what exactly is this *awkward situation*, Sergeant Thornton?"
"Ha..."
Ryan had no answer.
Despite his repeated warnings of danger, this fearless lady showed no intention of retreat.
"When I encounter such peril," Eloise murmured, her voice dropping low, "I would appreciate instruction on how to keep my composure. Sergeant."
"That's a bold challenge."
Ryan, who had been preparing to step back, felt something shift within him—a surge of heat that scattered his careful restraint.
"You truly want me to teach you?"
Eloise smiled instead of answering.
As though she knew perfectly well that he would, as always, simply talk and retreat.
That sweet, infuriating expression decided it.
Ryan stepped forward.
"If you insist, there's nothing complicated about it."
His hand caught the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. She flinched—he had never touched her so boldly—but she did not pull away.
Permission granted. He would show her precisely how dangerous such situations could become.
And truthfully, he could bear it no longer.
Ryan claimed her lips.
They were not sweetened with honey, yet this soft, warm, yielding flesh drove him to madness from the first contact.
The self-discipline he had cultivated since childhood evaporated instantly.
The moment their mouths met, nothing remained of the composed soldier. In his place stood only a starving creature who knew neither shame nor propriety.
His tongue slipped between her lips, seeking deeper territory.
*"Mmph—!"*
She trembled in surprise, but his hands—one cradling her head, the other locked around her waist—refused to let her escape.
*If she asks to be taught, then there is nothing difficult.*
The beast she should fear stood before her, ravenous.
If she wished it, he would become her danger at any moment.
Perhaps because he had denied himself so long, his kiss stretched on—deep, demanding, relentless.
In truth, Ryan had never considered himself skilled in such tender arts. He had never imagined anything like this. Eloise was his first in every way that mattered.
Their initial kiss had left him fumbling, uncertain of timing or technique.
But he was an excellent soldier, quick to master anything physical. And Eloise proved a generous partner, tolerating his inexperience with patient grace.
He learned swiftly under such favorable conditions.
Now was no different.
At first, he hadn't known when to breathe, how to balance taking and giving. But now he moved with instinct—advancing deep, withdrawing slow, stealing the very breath from her lungs.
Her breathing grew ragged, but it continued. Though he knew the thought was wicked, Ryan *adored* the sound of her uneven gasps—each one caused by him.
Desire stirred in the depths of his being.
*More. More. Until she finally calls my name. Until she begs.*
Under the pretense of instruction, he indulged his craving to its fullest.
Yet no matter how deeply he drank from her, it was never enough. He wanted to claim every breath she drew as his own.
And then his body responded—an involuntary tightening low in his core.
Feeling himself harden, Ryan gathered the last threads of his restraint and released the lips he had been devouring.
Her face appeared before him, flushed with shared pleasure.
Each time this happened, Ryan silently cried out to God.
Otherwise, he could not answer for what he might do.
He laughed bitterly at his former self—the man who had mocked those who surrendered to passion's arms.
It wasn't that he possessed some superior nobility or patience. He simply hadn't yet met his match. And when he did, his will and reason crumbled like a sandcastle before the tide.
The only reason he hadn't crossed the final line was the smile Eloise gave him afterward.
Ryan had no intention of cheapening what they shared. He refused to reduce it to fleeting passion, to some temporary indulgence of the flesh.
He wanted this to last forever. He wanted it *honored*.
Thinking this, he met her reproachful gaze—those eyes that clearly asked *why have you stopped?*—and felt the urge to abandon everything, to behave with complete impropriety.
If legendary witches truly existed, Eloise was surely one of them.
How else could she so instantly possess a man's body and soul, binding him utterly?
"So when exactly will Mr. Severton return?" Ryan had asked, catching her hand and pressing a burning kiss to her palm.
---
She remembered how eagerly he had inquired. And tonight, at last, her father had returned.
The moment dinner concluded, Ryan followed him to the living room.
While clearing dishes in the kitchen, Eloise's attention remained fixed on that closed door.
*He will observe propriety,* she assured herself. *He'll inquire about Father's business, offer condolences for the passing of his godmother. And then—carefully—he will turn the conversation toward us.*
Eloise dried her hands and waited to be summoned.
She wondered how her parents would react when Ryan revealed their attachment.
Mother would be surprised, certainly, but pleased. Father as well.
There would be mild reproach, no doubt, regarding their secret courtship. But that was unavoidable now.
Eventually their relationship would be recognized, and from this evening forward, they would no longer need to hide.
The mere thought set her heart racing.
Images of the future bloomed unbidden in her mind.
The man who had appeared like a miracle at her darkest hour—who had saved her and remained by her side, helping both her and Feltham find their footing again.
Ryan had woven himself deeply into the fabric of her life.
That bright thread, so suddenly introduced to the weave of her existence, had become inseparable from whatever future awaited her.
Eloise pressed her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by a thrill she had never known.
They had survived the most dangerous moment of her life *together*. And that moment remained not a nightmare but a memory—bearable, even precious—because she had someone with whom to share its weight.
A man who, even years hence, could confirm: *We were there. Together.*
She had finally found such a person.
Just as Eloise began dreaming of a more distant future, a knock interrupted her reverie. Richard entered—and immediately went outside with Ryan.
From the moment he departed, a different kind of tension gripped her.
Not the breathless anticipation of moments before.
This was instinct. A premonition of impending disaster.
And when Ryan returned to the house, he spoke the words Eloise never wanted to hear.
**"I need to go to the capital for a short while."**
He was leaving her—without a single promise.