As Evelyn stood in the paddock, the silence of the moment weighed heavily on her. Nathaniel's touch, that kiss, lingered like a phantom, warm and possessive, seeping into her skin. She could still feel the press of his lips on hers, still feel the dangerous promise that hung in the air after he released her.
Her heart raced, but not from the excitement of what had just happened. No, it was the creeping dread—the dawning truth that Nathaniel wasn't simply comparing her to Eleanor anymore. He was replacing her.
It should have been a relief. Shouldn't it? She had always feared being held against Eleanor's memory, the shadow that loomed over her every step. But now… now it was worse.
Nathaniel had marked her, claimed her in the most possessive of ways, and she was left with no escape. His words had been soft, almost tender in their tone, but they held a coldness she couldn't ignore. "You might just become everything I need."
The weight of it pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She could feel her pulse in her throat, and with each passing second, the truth became clearer: she was never going to escape his world. His game. She was simply another piece, to be molded and shaped as he saw fit, like Eleanor before her.
A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. How long had she deluded herself into thinking she had a choice? That she could somehow walk away from him without consequences.
But now it was too late.
Evelyn's hands clenched at her sides as her gaze flickered to Nathaniel, still standing there, watching her with those calculating eyes, as if he had all the time in the world. He was waiting for her to react, to show him something—something that would prove she understood.
The kiss had been an assertion of power. He wasn't worried about her feelings, not about what she wanted or didn't want. He had taken what he wanted, and now he was watching her to see how she would respond to that.
She swallowed, feeling her stomach twist in disgust at the thought. And yet, a part of her—a dangerous, traitorous part—felt something else, something that made her stomach flutter.
Did she want to give in to him?
No.
No, she couldn't. She refused to.
But the nagging truth was there, gnawing at her: she didn't know how to escape. And the more Nathaniel pushed, the more she found herself questioning if there was any part of her left that still had the power to resist.
The fear of losing herself in him, of being consumed, was growing. And with that fear came something even worse: the possibility that she might never truly want to leave.
---
Nathaniel watched her closely, his eyes not leaving her face. She was still caught in the aftermath of the kiss, the look in her eyes betraying the confusion and conflict swirling within her.
It was almost too easy. The way she fought herself, the way she pretended to resist—he could see it all. But Nathaniel was patient. He knew what it took. He would break her in the end. Not with force, but with time.
He could feel the shift between them now. It was subtle, but it was there. She was no longer the girl who stood before him with a mix of uncertainty and defiance. No, this version of Evelyn was different. She was beginning to understand what it meant to be in his world, to play by his rules.
Her breath was shallow, her lips parted as if she was still trying to catch up with the speed of the game he was playing.
Nathaniel took a slow step toward her, his gaze flickering down to her trembling hands. He could sense her resistance, but it didn't matter. She was still a part of his plan.
His voice was low, just above a whisper, as he closed the distance between them.
"You're more like her than you realize," he murmured. "But don't worry. In time, you'll be everything I need."
The words were a promise, one that he fully intended to fulfill.
And Evelyn, despite herself, could feel the weight of that promise. The dangerous allure of it.
There was no escaping Nathaniel now. She had already begun to fall.
Two weeks had passed since Nathaniel had begun her training. Each day had blurred into the next—a delicate dance between the lessons on horseback and the insistent, heated demands of Nathaniel in the privacy of his chambers.
Evelyn had learned, in some strange, maddening way, to find her balance on the horse. Her body, once stiff with fear, had begun to respond fluidly to the rhythm of the animal beneath her. Yet, in those moments, when she was away from the horse and alone with Nathaniel, her body still trembled at his touch. His demands were insatiable, his roughness unrelenting. She could never quite decide whether it was anger or something darker that burned through her when he pulled her into his bed. She had grown to accept it, though—had even come to crave it at times.
And yet, through all the confusion, all the passion and pain, she found herself unable to hate him.
Not entirely.
She dismounted the horse with practiced ease, her body still humming from the day's ride. She felt the familiar ache in her muscles, but it was a different kind of ache now, one that had become a part of her. But as her feet touched the ground, something strange flickered inside her. Her vision blurred, and the dizzying sensation was swift, like the world itself was spinning out of control. She grasped the reins tightly, her breath coming short and fast.
Nathaniel's footsteps drew near, his presence as commanding as always. His boots crunched against the earth, steady and deliberate, and yet Evelyn could scarcely focus on anything but the swirling in her head.
She swayed slightly, trying to steady herself, but the dizziness grew stronger. She blinked, trying to clear the fog that clouded her mind, but it only thickened.
"Careful," Nathaniel's voice broke through her haze, low and smooth. There was no concern in his tone—only the sharp command that had come to characterize everything he did.
He was close now, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body as he stood at her side, a silent observer of her struggle. His large hands—strong and knowing—reached for her waist, his fingers grazing the fabric of her riding attire, steadying her.
"Eleanor," he murmured, his voice holding a note of something deeper, though she couldn't name it. His eyes, always watchful, narrowed as he studied her. "What's wrong?"
She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry, her words tangled in a web of uncertainty. Her chest tightened, and her pulse quickened, her senses overwhelmed.
"I'm fine," she managed to say, though she hardly believed her own words.
Nathaniel didn't seem convinced. He lifted one of her hands, his fingers sliding gently over her skin before bringing it to his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath the dark fabric of his coat, strong and steady—everything she wasn't.
"You're clearly not fine," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "I shall have Locke call the doctor."
Her body trembled beneath his touch, but she was unable to pull away. His presence seemed to anchor her, yet only made the world spin faster.
A strange, unsettling mixture of relief and confusion filled her. The dizziness made it hard to think clearly, but there was one thing that stood out above everything else: Nathaniel was right. She had been pushed to the edge. Not just by the lessons, but by his demands, and always getting it.
His grip tightened, pulling her closer, and Evelyn felt herself melting into him, her body betraying her once again.
"You need rest," Nathaniel said, his voice a velvet rasp as he guided her toward the stables. His touch was tender now, a stark contrast to the hardness of his earlier words. She felt weak in his arms, but there was no part of her that wanted to fight it.
Her vision continued to blur, the dizziness persistent, and yet she felt a sickly comfort in his embrace—like a moth drawn to a flame.
"No, I'm fine," Evelyn said, her voice shaking as she struggled to break free from Nathaniel's grip. The coolness of the air hit her face as she pulled away, desperate to prove her independence, to show him that she could stand on her own.
But as her feet touched the ground, the ground beneath her seemed to shift and sway. Her legs, which had once been steady beneath her, felt like they were made of jelly. She swayed, her vision darkening at the edges, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't regain control.
The dizziness intensified in waves, spinning her world into a blur of motion and color, her body no longer her own.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as she took a hesitant step forward, hoping against hope that her body would obey. But as quickly as the thought appeared, her vision faded entirely, her limbs giving way beneath her. She felt herself falling, a sharp breath escaping her lips as everything around her darkened.
Before she could hit the ground, Nathaniel's arms were around her again.
"Dammit, you are quite stubborn" he muttered under his breath, pulling her against him with surprising tenderness. His grip was firm, as though he had anticipated this moment all along. He held her close, lifting her effortlessly into his arms as though she were nothing more than a delicate, fragile thing.
The warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, filled her senses as she hung limply in his arms, unable to do anything but exist in the moment.
"You're not fine, Eleanor," Nathaniel's voice was low, almost a growl, as he carried her back toward the stables. "Stop pretending."
Evelyn's eyes fluttered open for a moment, "My lord..?" She tried to speak more, but her words were lost in the fog that clouded her mind.