© 2026 Grace Callaway 

All rights reserved. May not be reproduced, distributed, stored, or used for machine training without written permission from author.

Prologue

Three months earlier

Standing a few feet away from the closed door, Evie was gripped with desire and uncertainty.

She sensed James on the other side, moving around in his adjoining suite. He hadn’t yet left for the evening—a rare opportunity, if she had the courage to seize it. With his political star on the rise, her husband was invited to countless affairs. At first, he had requested that she accompany him…but she’d made excuses often enough that he’d likely grown tired of asking.

Or perhaps he has grown tired of me.

She swallowed against the pain and fluttering panic. The truth was she had no one to blame but herself. She hadn’t been good enough for him when he married her, and the events of the past year had shown that she would never be. She was cursed. She could never outrun her past. It would poison everything—everyone she allowed to come too close.

Trembling, she retreated a few steps. From this angle, she saw flickering movements under the door. James was getting ready to leave, and Robson, his valet, was putting the final touches on his perfection. She still had a chance to ask if she could join him this eve. She was in full evening attire and had asked her maid to take special care with her appearance. While she was no match for her husband’s elegance, she would pass muster. If she was brave enough to make the first move…to break the wall of silence. Even though she shouldn’t, she yearned to mend things—to have whatever intimacy she could with him.

She took halting steps to the door. Raised her hand to knock.

Robson’s voice filtered through the barrier. “I do believe the diamond stick pin is the correct addition, my lord. It was admired the last time you wore it.”

Admired? Who admired James’s cravat pin? Who was close enough—bold enough—to remark upon so personal an item?

Evie clenched her raised hand inches from the door, her breaths quick and hot.

“Was it?” Her husband’s deep voice came through. “Very well, leave it. It is getting late, and this particular hostess believes in punctuality.”

Who was hosting James? Was this a public affair…or a private one?

She had no right to care—not after everything she’d done. But she did care. With every fiber of her being.

“Shall I leave word regarding your return, my lord?” Robson inquired.

A heartbeat passed. Then Evie heard James’s distinctive footsteps approaching their shared door. Her pulse racing, she stumbled into a nearby corner, taking refuge amongst the leaves of the aspidistra. From the shadows, she saw the moving light under the door and knew that James was standing there on the other side.

Will he come in? Invite me to join him? What should I do?

“No.” James’s voice was curt. “There is no need to disturb the countess.”

Evie listened to his departing footsteps, wetness sliding down her cheeks.

Chapter 1

Watching her husband prowl in front of the fire, Evelyn Harrington, the Countess of Manderly, recognized with an uneasy quiver that he wasn’t himself. James was always proper and reserved—the perfect gentleman. The perfect husband. Nothing ruffled him; even the most disquieting circumstances failed to erode his composure and rationality. With her, he was courteous and kind, never asking for more than she could give—even if a part of her wanted him to.

However, Evie’s polished spouse of over three years was nowhere to be seen this eve. In his place stood a man who looked like James—but his restraint had been replaced by a raw, dangerous intensity. He’d raked his fingers through his thick brown hair, threaded with bronze, disheveling its precise cut. A night beard shadowed his typically clean-shaven jaw. He had shed his impeccable frock coat and cravat and rolled up the sleeves of his pristine shirt. While his physique was naturally brawny, he had packed on more muscle since she’d last seen him from such an intimate distance.

His fitted waistcoat revealed the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his torso. Fascinated, she saw the flexing sinew of his hair-dusted forearms as he curled and uncurled his hands. When he prowled away from her, crossing the floral carpet, her gaze caught on the sculpted curve of his backside. Her cheeks warming, she quickly looked away.

While Evie had rarely seen her husband in an agitated state, she also made it a habit not to pry into his affairs. It was better that way—better to keep a safe distance. Although she missed their former closeness, she told herself it was for the best that they did not live in each other’s pockets. She couldn’t risk letting her secrets destroy the best thing that had ever happened to her.

For his part, James seemed content with the present state of affairs. He never entered her bedchamber without permission and only when he had discreetly ascertained that such a visit would be welcome. In the early days of their marriage, he had knocked upon the door of their adjoining suites at least once a week. But now it had been six months and thirteen days since he’d last ventured into her room for conjugal purposes…not that she was counting. Nor did she blame him for his extended absence. In fact, she was surprised that it had taken him this long to see the truth of who she was: her flaws and shortcomings, the myriad ways in which she was no match for his shining perfection.

Yet things felt different tonight. For one thing, they were away from home. They were visiting Bottoms House, the country manor belonging to James’s brother and sister-in-law, Ethan and Xenia Harrington. While the guest bedchamber was well appointed, Evie yearned for her own room back at Grove Hall. Surrounded by her beloved plants and journals, she felt protected. Here, in this borrowed room, she felt the opposite: exposed and on edge.

Of course, the setting wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary. Mere hours ago, she and James’s younger sister Gigi had been kidnapped. She herself had been held at gunpoint. To rescue her, James had been forced to take her captor’s life. His decisive action came as no surprise. He’d always been the steadfast eldest brother and heir, the one his family had counted upon during times of tragedy and disaster. He performed his duty so perfectly that it was easy to miss that it cost him.

Seeing the rigid expanse of his back, she drew a trembling breath.

Say something, you ninny. You’ve been a good companion, if not wife, to James…find your way back to that. If you don’t long for more than you can have, you will at least have something.

“Are you…are you all right?” Evie asked.

James turned, facing her. She’d always believed “handsome” was too paltry a word to describe a man whose face conveyed the nobility of his character. His blunt, even features exuded uncompromising strength. The unyielding slant of his jaw was somewhat softened by his lips, the bottom one possessed of an unexpectedly voluptuous curve. His steel-blue gaze could express a spectrum of emotions, ranging from wry amusement to stern command.

Right now, his stare was incredulous.

“Am I all right?” he stated.

Although discussing emotional topics was not Evie’s forte, she didn’t know why he was repeating her question. It was a fair one, given that he had shot someone to save her life. Perhaps he was more rattled than he let on.

“Tonight’s events were a trifle disturbing,” she ventured. “It would be understandable if you were experiencing a negative reaction in the aftermath.”

He continued to gaze at her as if she’d lost her mind. This began to irk her. While she was lacking in many ways, she prided herself on her ability to reason clearly and well. She was a scientist, after all. Her botany experiments had earned her a reputation for intellectual rigor. As a member of the Botanical Society of London, she had written a paper which she hoped to present and perhaps even someday publish.

“You think you understand my current state?” James asked.

She lifted her brows. “Do you disagree with my observation?”

“As a matter of fact.” He stalked toward her.

She had the instinct to bolt like a frightened rabbit, yet she held her ground: this was James, after all. The one man she trusted, who’d never done an uncivilized thing in his life…well, except for killing her kidnapper. As far as she was concerned, that act had been wholly justified. Yet did he regret what he’d done? His honor was everything to him, and killing a woman—even a deranged, cold-blooded murderess—would not sit easily with him.

He gripped her shoulders. Pleasure quivered through her at his touch. When she tilted her head back, she was riveted by the blaze of silver in his eyes.

“A negative reaction does not begin to describe my feelings.”

She collected herself. “It must have been difficult seeing your sister in danger—”

“As relieved as I am that Gigi came to no harm, this isn’t about her. Bloody hell, Evie, I almost lost you tonight. And you think I am a trifle disturbed?”

His tone, while quiet, had the power of a shout. Her pulse raced, and a part of her wished she had run. Not because she feared him, but because she feared herself. For years, she’d worked at keeping her secrets safe. She’d sealed herself inside a shell of prim rationality, never giving her dangerous impulses a chance to emerge. She’d learned to control her yearnings—to stay on the safe path. The only possible path given that she’d chosen to marry the man she loved and did not deserve.

Now James’s intensity struck her like a blast of heat. Like the sun’s imperious summons to ripen and release. Longing swelled inside her, threatening to burst free.

No, you must not reveal who you are. You cannot hurt him. You cannot lose him.

Longing was a fist around her heart. It was a familiar sensation. She could—and would—manage it.

“Thanks to you, nothing happened.” She was surprised by how calm she sounded. “I am none the worse for wear. I could, however, use a bath.”

She prayed he would take the hint. Her gentlemanly husband certainly would. Yet this James merely clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching along the chiseled edge.

“The bath can wait until after we talk,” he stated.

No, no, no. Why does he have to choose this moment to be stern and commanding?

While James was courteous by nature, he was no milksop. As the Earl of Manderly and heir to the Marquessate of Blackwood, he wore the mantle of lord and master with natural authority. He was firm when required and did not suffer fools readily. Yet with her, he chose to be gentle and accommodating…as if she were a fragile bloom he feared to crush. Even when she showed her thorns, he handled her with care. Rarely did he lose his temper. When he did…she didn’t know what it said about her that she found him even more attractive.

It is not fair, how perfect he is. How undeserving I am of him.

Heat pushed behind her eyes. Pushing it back, she took refuge in propriety.

“If you insist,” she said coolly. “But do make it quick, for I am quite fatigued.”

“You didn’t seem fatigued when you kissed me earlier.”

She felt her jaw slacken. The husband she knew would not bring up her wanton behavior, which had occurred in the reckless moments after he’d rescued her. He would never embarrass her in such a fashion.

Her lips moved before she could think better of it. “I believe you kissed me.”

“Can you blame me?”

His intensity released a swarm of butterflies in her belly.

“That madwoman held a pistol to your head, Evie. If I had missed—if my shot had been off by even an inch—I would have lost you.”

“You didn’t miss.” Seeing the tension in his shoulders, she gentled her tone. “You never would. Your aim is as flawless as you are.”

“Flawless? Is that how you see me?” There was no humor in his smile. “I killed a woman, and I have no regrets. None. Because she threatened you, and if I lost you, I…I…”

Her breath stuck in her throat. His glittering gaze, topped by fiercely drawn brows and deep slashes around his mouth, set off a wild thumping in her chest. She knew she should run. She should retreat like she always had. But after the months of silence, his declaration, gritty and unfinished, felt like a balm to her soul. While she swayed with indecision, her feet remained planted. Then it was too late. James yanked her into his arms. Enveloped by his strength and the virile scent of sandalwood and male musk that was his alone, she trembled…not with fear but soul-deep longing.

It has been so long. I thought he would never hold me this way again.

“You’re my wife, Evie,” he said roughly. “Mine.”

She tipped her head back as his mouth came crashing down. The impact made her whimper, then moan for more. The scorching kiss burned away her secrets and failures until only a single thought remained.

He needs me and wants me still.

Joy broke the dam in her heart. Desire rushed through her, and there was no way to stem the tide, no way to stop the pent-up need from taking over. She pressed herself against her husband, spearing her fingers into the rough silk of his hair. Parting her lips, she welcomed him in, and the growl that escaped him didn’t sound like James. To be fair, she didn’t feel like Evie. The months of separation fell away like withered petals, and her restraint followed. In her beloved’s arms, she was nothing but sensation. Nothing but endless wanting and heat. The depth of her hunger might have shocked another man, but James…James just kissed her harder.

Wetter. Deeper.

“That’s right, sunflower,” he whispered. “Open to me.”

Sunflower.

The first time he’d called her by this endearment, she’d thought it was silly. Now the whimsy of it dampened her eyes. He hadn’t called her “sunflower” in ages, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it, even if the comparison to Helianthus annuus was illogical. For she was nothing like the dramatically beautiful bloom: it boldly sought out brightness while she hid in the shadows.

Yet James’s desire unfurled her. His possession touched the essence of her yearning until she burned with need. They fought to get closer, tearing at the layers between them. She was desperate and greedy, and his growl conveyed his own urgency. When they were panting and pressed together flesh-to-flesh, she had the giddy, fleeting feeling of being his equal. Even so, in the moment before passion obliterated her, before James shocked her by bending her over the bed and driving into her with a force that pushed a blissful cry from her lips, a thought flitted through her head.

I love you, now and forever. Yet I must keep you safe from the shadows I carry.

Chapter 2

James opened his eyes to an unfamiliar canopy of green silk damask and an equally unfamiliar feeling swelling in his chest.

Hope.

He managed, just barely, to prevent himself from grinning like a fool. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw that Evie was gone. This wasn’t surprising. His wife was an early riser, and if this were a typical day at home, she would be puttering in her greenhouse in the ungodly hours before dawn. Yet they weren’t at Grove Hall, their idyllic Berkshire estate on the Downs above Brightwalton, and there was nothing usual about what had transpired last night.

Have I finally fixed things with Evie? Is our marriage back on course?

Tucking his hands behind his head, James allowed himself to savor the memories of their lovemaking. Prior to their troubles in the last year, he had experienced his wife’s passion…yet even he hadn’t suspected the extent of it. Shy and serious, Evie preferred the company of plants over people, a quality he found charming. In truth, he was proud of her intellectual prowess and accomplishments. How many fellows could claim that his lady had discovered a new subspecies of a flower and had written a scholarly paper based on her studies?

Yet, if he were honest, there were times when he wished that Evie would apply the same vigor and curiosity she had for botany to their marriage. The thought was accompanied by a stab of guilt. For Evie was a good wife: dutiful and considerate, she ran their household with seamless efficiency. His family and the servants adored her.

As a spouse, she was loyal, attentive, and saw to his comforts. If he complimented a dish once, he would find it added to the regular menu. While Evie could be reserved in public, when it was just the two of them, she never lacked for conversation. True, most of it concerned scintillating topics such as pollination…but he liked her quiet yet passionate ambition. He also liked how animated she got when discussing flora and fauna. Flecks of gold would surface and sparkle in her whisky-brown eyes, and her face, framed by soft blonde curls, would flush a charming peony-pink.

Evie was a good listener, too. When they discussed his favorite subject of politics, he found her mind as agile as any of his male cronies. He valued her opinion and their lively debates when they did not agree. He had also confided in her about his family. She alone understood his close and complicated relationships with his siblings.

Evie had held up her side of the marital bargain. She was a proper countess and a comfortable companion. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted…well, he wanted…

More. I want more.

Staring up at the canopy’s swirling and inscrutable pattern, he wondered when he’d begun feeling this way. Truth be told, discontent had been niggling at him for months and perhaps longer, yet he’d buried it. If there was anything a Harrington valued, it was loyalty. Ad finem fidelis—faithful to the end—was the family motto. His dissatisfaction with his marriage felt like a betrayal of his vows, especially since Evie had been candid about the kind of wife she would be. Indeed, she’d turned down his first proposal.

“You do me a great honor, my lord,” she had said with quiet dignity. “But I fear I am not suited to marriage.”

“To me, specifically, or in general?” he’d asked.

“I have no intention of marrying anyone. I prefer a solitary state, and from what I’ve observed, gentlemen tend to demand attention. And you, my lord, strike me as a fellow who would expect a union marked by the kind of intimacy that I am neither prepared nor able to give.”

He hadn’t known whether to be astonished or insulted by Evie’s response. There he’d been, one of London’s most eligible bachelors, offering for an impoverished lady’s companion on the brink of ruin…and she’d turned him down flat. The fact that she’d characterized him, a gentleman vaunted for his self-discipline and restraint, as needful of attention had been icing on the cake. Most men would have washed their hands of her.

James had been utterly intrigued.

Who was Miss Evelyn Ashewood? What sort of woman, with wolves of scandal snapping at her heels, would turn down marriage to a wealthy earl? What lay beneath this lady’s dowdy dress, unshakeable pride, and dark, heart-of-a-sunflower eyes?

James had been determined to find out. While he had a reputation for civility, once he set his mind upon a thing, he went after it with single-minded focus. Although it had taken several attempts, he eventually secured Evie’s hand. Knowing her skittishness, he avoided talk of love…and contrary to her assumptions, he had no desire for messy entanglements. The few turbulent affairs he’d had as a younger man made him dread dramatics and emotional tempests.

What he wanted was a comfortable marriage. A relationship of mutual respect, care, and trust. At heart, he was a simple fellow, and at four-and-thirty, unnecessary complications held little appeal. Passion was well and good but never at the expense of prudence. He wanted a wife who was a steady partner, who valued duty, honor, and family as much as he did. Of course, physical attraction had to be part of the equation: given his views on fidelity, his marital bed would be his sole sexual outlet, and he intended to enjoy it.

Out of this compatibility, affection would naturally grow. Given his upbringing, he valued love—but he wanted the genuine article, not some trifling imitation. In his experience, infatuation was oft mistaken for love, which required time and commitment. He was a patient man and believed that good things came to those who put in the work.

It had taken a while, but he and Evie had said the words—and meant them…or so he thought. Even if mawkish declarations didn’t come easily for either of them, life with Evie was no chore. He should have no complaints, for she fulfilled every requirement on his list. He ought to have been content.

He hadn’t realized the extent of his self-delusion until last night. 

The memory of Evie bent over the bed sizzled through him. He felt the giving plushness of her hips beneath his hands and the firm bounce of her bottom against his thighs as he plowed her. Her sheath, snug and wet, had sucked him in with sweetly lewd sounds. With a sensual quiver, he recalled the way his veined beast had split her open, her pink petals stretching prettily to accommodate him…

Feeling the gathering heat, he slanted his gaze downward and saw his cockstand tenting the sheet. Waking up in this condition wasn’t uncommon, but it was usually due to unsatiated lust. For the last six months, he had used boxing and riding as outlets for his physical needs because he believed space was what Evie wanted. Sports had proved to be a poor substitute for bedding his wife, and he had never stopped desiring her—that had never been the problem. What had been at issue was whether she felt the same.

In the early years, he’d caught glimpses of her delightfully wanton streak, but in recent months, she’d been notably reserved. Cooler. In bed and elsewhere. She favored the greenhouse over his company. He’d tried to draw her out of her shell but to no avail. He didn’t know if this was the natural progression of marriage—Lord, he hoped not—or something else.

Something deeper. Some other reason why his wife would hold back…or lose interest.

As lowering as it was to admit, James had wondered whether his love and desire were reciprocated. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between them, and he didn’t know how to knock it down. He’d counseled himself to act like a considerate husband. He had given her space, thinking that she would come to him when she was ready.

She hadn’t knocked on his door—not once.

But last night, after months of waiting, he had finally re-established his connection with Evie. Her throaty moans, the way she’d wailed his name as she spent, repeatedly, had eased his doubts. She’d creamed around his cock so delightfully, anointing him with her bliss at least three times, and in various positions…

He was painfully hard now. Seeing the wet spot where his tip jutted against the coverlet, he was tempted to take matters into his own hands. To let off some of the built-up steam. Yet he was a grown man and not some overeager schoolboy. He was hungry for his wife, and the knowledge that she wanted him just as badly made him as randy as a sailor on shore leave.

Yet he and Evie had matters to discuss. First and foremost, he needed to know what had changed for her. Perhaps she had finally recovered from…from what had happened a year ago. While he didn’t like to dwell on grief, there was no denying that the loss had pushed them apart, physically and emotionally. Like him, Evie wasn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and he hadn’t known how to comfort her…or if she wanted comforting.

Admittedly, discussing the subject of feelings was not his forte. He valued restraint and found excessive displays of emotion distasteful. He supposed he took after Papa…although the latter’s stoicism did not extend to Mama. James had witnessed his parents’ open devotion with varying degrees of awe, amusement, and embarrassment. Regardless, he considered himself a man of action rather than words, and right now, he sensed an opportunity in his marriage. He was going to make things right—make up for lost time. He was going to make love to his wife until she was hoarse from moaning his name.

Then he would start all over again.

Resolved, he threw aside the covers and got out of bed. He winced as his erect flesh swayed, heavy and throbbing. With any luck, he would find Evie forthwith, and they could take up where they left off last night. Better yet, if he found her alone where he suspected she would be—in the gardens, inspecting this species or that—he might steer her to the woods just beyond. The fantasy was wild…exciting. The image of Evie, her golden hair dappled by the sun and streaming down her back as she rode him like his very own Lady Godiva, made him do the unthinkable: forgoing the assistance of his valet, Robson, he decided to dress himself.

As he headed for the wardrobe, he passed a small table…and saw the folded note addressed to him. He recognized Evie’s untidy penmanship; it never failed to amuse him that his precise lady scientist had the handwriting of a tipsy poet aboard a tempest-tossed ship. He reached for the note, wondering if he was about to read his first love letter from her. The notion of his practical girl scribbling some bit of sentimental nonsense gave him an oddly heady feeling. With fumbling eagerness, he unfolded the paper.

James,

I trust you slept well. While I have returned home to tend to my experiments, there is no need for you to hurry back on my account. Stay as long as you wish, and please convey my regards to your family.

Yours,

Evie

As he stared at her messy scrawl, his vision seemed to darken. Just when he thought the door was opening between them, she slammed it shut in his face. Something sputtered, then extinguished inside him. An instant later, rage swelled.

Damn you, Evie. And damn me for believing that things could be different.

He hurled the crumpled note. Dragging his hands through his hair, he forced himself to calm down. Not the easiest thing to do when his urge was to drive his fist into the wall. Yet that would require an explanation to his family as to why he’d damaged his brother’s property, and he would rather face a firing squad than endure the humiliation.

Like solitaire, rejection was meant to be a solo sport. It took several breaths, but James restored his composure…and his pride. If Evie wanted to act as if last night hadn’t happened, then he would oblige her. If she didn’t give a damn about their relationship, then neither would he.

If a bloodless marriage is what you want, wife, then by Jove, that is what you shall have.

Jaw clenched, he yanked on the bell to summon his valet. The pull tore, leaving him holding a piece of frayed rope. He tossed it aside with a snarl, pulled on his robe, and stalked off in search of Robson.