I never intended to find comfort in giving orders, but the estate's shadowed corridors seem to demand it of me where Ursula is concerned.

Each time I correct her posture over the family documents or instruct her to wait in the alcove until I finish, she meets the command with a compliance that quiets the dread I carry from my father's lonely rule. The weight of what we both need presses closer with every instruction obeyed.

The peerage depends on our restraint, yet when I command her to stay exactly as she is while our shoulders brush, the air holds the promise of discipline neither of us has spoken. One more order and the line between securing the title and satisfying what we both crave may finally blur beyond repair.