The letter trembled faintly in Catherine's hand, as though it carried the weight of iron chains rather than ink and parchment.
She did not look at Aiden at first. Her eyes lingered on the curve of the signature, the seal already broken, the words already etched into her chest.
The firelight in the chamber flickered against her face, highlighting the quiet despair she struggled to conceal.
Aiden's chest swelled with a warmth he refused to show too openly. He wanted to smile—he wanted to smile so widely it split his face—but not here, not near her ladyship.
Not when her blue eyes were dimmed with grief, when her body leaned ever so slightly as if the absence of her husband's presence had already carved a hollow in her spine.
But that bold thought returned again, whispering into his ear like a serpent: I can take advantage of this. Her sadness. Her loneliness.
His heart thumped, quickened by the forbidden thrill. She was sad because she was to be alone again. She was lonely.
