My fingers still burn where they brushed Charlotte's over the velvet portfolio. I tuck a stray curl behind my ear, pulse racing as her quiet instruction hangs in the grand hall air, a command I long to follow.

In the shadowed corridors of the estate I crave the safety of her claim, the way her palm rests at my back while we review ledgers and the correction that follows when I yield. Yet the fear of sudden dismissal claws deeper than any longing, threatening her royal commission if our cross-class affair comes to light.

She steps toward the narrow hidden stair lit by one shaft of light. I wait for her to decide whether her doubt will stop her from taking what we both need.