The door to their shared chamber closed with a soft click, but the sound felt deafening in the silence that followed. Lydia stood still, her fingers grazing the delicate lace of her gown, her breath uneven. The air between them was thick—heavy with unspoken words, lingering resentment, and something else… something she wasn't ready to name.
Adrian had removed his jacket, his tall frame cast in the warm glow of the candlelight. He didn't speak. He merely unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling them up with slow, deliberate movements, his gaze unreadable. It was infuriating how composed he seemed, how little this seemed to rattle him.
Lydia, however, was anything but composed.
The reality of the night settled over her like a weight she wasn't prepared to carry. They were married. Bound by vows spoken before a crowd that had applauded as if this were some grand love story. But this was no fairy tale.
This was an arrangement.
And yet, here they were, alone in a room where a marriage was meant to be consummated.
Adrian finally turned to her, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You look like you might run." His voice was deep, a touch amused, but there was something else beneath it—something darker.
Lydia's chin lifted. "Would you stop me?"
A smirk played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No." He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his scent—something rich and masculine—filling the space between them. "But you won't."
Her pulse quickened. "You sound so sure of that."
"I am."
There was no arrogance in his voice, just certainty. And damn him for it, because he wasn't wrong. Lydia wasn't foolish enough to think she could escape this, not tonight, not ever.
She swallowed hard, willing herself to be unaffected. "Then you must have me figured out already," she said, forcing a lightness she didn't feel.
His gaze roamed over her, slow and deliberate. "No, Lydia. You're still a mystery to me."
The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. He had barely touched her, yet she felt ensnared, tangled in something far more dangerous than a marriage contract.
Adrian reached for the glass of whiskey on the nearby table, taking a slow sip before setting it down. "You should change."
She hesitated. "Here?"
His lips twitched. "Would you rather I turn around?"
Heat flared in her cheeks, but she refused to let him see her discomfort. Instead, she lifted her chin defiantly. "I can manage."
She turned away, moving toward the dressing screen. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfastened the delicate clasps of her gown, letting the fabric slide down her body. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, even though he wasn't watching. Or was he?
Her breath hitched at the thought.
Lydia stepped into the silk nightgown waiting for her, its fabric cool against her heated skin. When she emerged, Adrian was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, he stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He closed the space between them, and Lydia's breath stalled in her throat. He raised a hand, his fingers barely grazing the side of her face before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was such a simple gesture, yet it stole the air from her lungs.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he murmured.
"I'm not," she whispered, though they both knew it was a lie.
Adrian's eyes searched hers, something flickering there—something dangerously close to tenderness. "Good." His thumb brushed the corner of her lip, lingering for a heartbeat too long. Then, he stepped back.
The air between them was charged, electric.
But he didn't push.
Instead, he turned, walking toward his side of the bed, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt as he went.
"We should get some rest," he said, his voice huskier than before.
Lydia exhaled shakily, nodding. "Right."
She slipped beneath the covers, her heart pounding as she felt the bed shift beneath his weight. They lay there, inches apart, the tension between them thrumming like an unspoken promise.
This night was only the beginning.
And neither of them was ready for what came next.