The day had faded into twilight, the sun's warmth replaced by a growing chill. Inside the main house, the corridors were quiet.
Derek walked to his bedchamber. He pushed the door open softly, intending only to grab a warmer cloak for the ride.
He stopped just inside the threshold.
The room was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. But there, on his large four-poster bed, was a shape that made his heart ache with a fierce, possessive love.
Marissa was sleeping.
She had curled herself into a ball in the center of the mattress, pulling his thick, woolen sheets up to her chin. Her dark curls were wild and free, no longer pinned up in the severe style of the Duchess. They sprawled across the white pillows like dark silk.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Her soft breaths filled the room, a peaceful sound that clashed with the storm brewing in Derek's mind.
