I was enjoying a rare quiet afternoon with Isabella in our personal sitting room. My wife was nestled against me on the settee, her head on my shoulder as she read a novel. I had correspondence spread before me but found myself more interested in watching her expressions change with the story.
"You're staring," Isabella murmured without looking up.
"Am I not allowed to admire my wife?" I asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She smiled, finally glancing up at me. "Admire all you want, but it's distracting."
"Good," I whispered, leaning down to kiss her.
The kiss had just begun to deepen when Alistair's discreet knock interrupted us. I growled against Isabella's lips.
"Whoever it is, send them away," I called out.
The door opened anyway. Alistair stood there with his usual impeccable posture, though his expression held the slightest hint of apology.
"My apologies, Your Grace, but Mr. Damian Ashworth is here to see you. He insists it's urgent."
