Raphael was practically now sulking. He was better looking than the coachman. He was a duke, for heaven's sake. He stood at the top of the social hierarchy. So why would she prefer the coachman when she hadn't even tried him?. He knew that he was being ridiculous. He had no claim to feel such emotions. She was merely a servant, and he, a duke. His position demanded restraint and composure, not base feelings unbecoming of his station. Moreover, she wasn't his usual type. He wasn't too picky when it came to women but he definitely didn't like them being so petite. He blamed the circumstance. She was obviously the only option for the meantime. That was the only reasonable reason for his jealous. No matter how hard he tried to brush it aside, the thought of another man's hands—especially the coachman's—on her filled him with anger.
Raphael's eyes glanced back at her, watching as she absentmindedly touched the small pendant around her neck. The delicate chain shimmered faintly, drawing his gaze lower, where the simple fabric of her dress stretched over her chest. He noticed, perhaps for the first time, the soft curves hidden beneath her otherwise modest attire. Maybe she just wanted to be chased, playing hard to get. Or maybe she was scared of being rejected. A lock of her golden hair had come loose from its pin and framed her face, catching on her lips when the coach jolted. He couldn't deny the fact that he found Natalie attractive. He had always admired her hair, her blonde strands shimmering like spun sunlight. She brushed it away with slim, trembling fingers, and something in that small, vulnerable gesture made his chest tighten.
He decided to take the bull by the horn.
"Are you cold?" His low voice broke the silence.
Natalie's head snapped up, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words before she managed, "No, I'm not."
Raphael raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his seat. "You're shivering."
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly tucked her hands beneath her arms. "Well… a little. It is quite chilly here."
"Thought you were hot earlier," he said, unable to resist the jab. He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
Her blush deepened, and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Not anymore," she murmured, her tone defensive yet faintly embarrassed.
He regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable, before he reached and slid the small window shut. "There," he said curtly, leaning back once more.
"Thank you, Your Grace." Her voice was softer this time, almost hesitant. She fidgeted with her skirts, smoothing invisible creases. "I… I'm sorry for earlier. We didn't mean to neglect our duties."
Raphael waved a hand dismissively. "It's in the past now."
The coach swayed as they continued down the road, the silence between them heavy yet charged. Natalie cleared her throat nervously.
"Are you… thirsty?" Raphael asked.
He arched a brow at her noting the way she hesitated, as if debating whether to lie.
"Yes," she finally said.
"Juice?. She nodded in agreement. "Very well, I can do with some myself".
Raphael began to lean forward toward the compartment on the wall, but he soon felt her fingers on him.
Natalie caught his wrist before he could move further. Her hand felt so small on top of his, her skin warm despite the chill. She froze at the contact, her gaze darting to where she held him. Slowly, she withdrew her hand and folded it in her lap, her head ducking in embarrassment.
"I'm here to serve you, Your Grace," she murmured, barely audible. "Let me get the juice."
Without waiting for his reply, she leaned forward again, reaching into the compartment. The space was tight, and as she bent to retrieve the glass and pitcher, her elbow narrowly missed his thigh, her soft breath brushing his knee. His jaw clenched as her movements brought her closer still, her breasts brushing lightly against his lap in the confined space. He caught the faint scent of her—lavender and something earthy, like fresh rain. It was subtle, but it lingered, teasing his senses. Raphael wondered what she was up to. But whatever it was, he liked it and where it was going. He immediately missed her closeness when she retreated.
Natalie sat back, pouring a glass of juice with careful precision, though her trembling hands betrayed her nervousness. She extended the glass to him, her eyes refusing to meet his.
Raphael took the glass but didn't drink. "On second thought, I think wine would be better," he said, setting the glass aside."it would be a better option for the cold".
Her brow furrowed slightly. "What about the juice?"
"I don't want it anymore," he replied flatly, leaning back in his seat as he studied her. "Pour the wine."
Natalie hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue, but she thought better of it. She returned the juice to its container and reached for the compartment. Raphael braced himself for her warmth again. This time, she missed his groin by an inch. Raphael was now certain she was seducing him. He smiled inwardly. Of course, the thing with the coachman was to elicit primal male jealousy. She had him good there.
She poured the wine, the rich crimson liquid catching the light of the lantern. She handed the glass to him once more, but he didn't take it.
"Pour one for yourself," he said. "I don't want to drink alone."
Her head shot up, her hazel eyes wide. "I don't… I don't really take wine, Your Grace."
"Don't?" He tilted his head, his tone laced with mockery. "Everyone takes wine."
"Well, yes, I do, but it's against the rules to drink while working."
Raphael's lips curved slightly. "Those rules are for the Estate," he said smoothly. "Besides, I am ordering you to drink. Do you intend to refuse?"
"No, Your Grace," she said quickly, her cheeks burning, "but…"
"Then take it."
With clear reluctance, she took a small sip, her lips barely grazing the rim of the glass. He watched her intently, the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the slight tension in her shoulders as she fought to maintain composure.
"See? Not so bad," he said, his tone teasing.
Natalie nodded faintly, taking another sip. The wine warmed her, easing the chill in her bones, though it did little to calm the tension in the air. Raphael took out another glass and poured for himself.
"How is it?" Raphael asked.
"Nice."
"Nice?" His brow lifted, a flicker of amusement in his otherwise serious demeanor. "My father is definitely not happy with your response."
Natalie frowned, glancing at the glass. "This is the former Duke's wine collection?"
"Yes."
Her hands faltered slightly as she set down her cup. "I don't think I should be drinking this."
"Why not?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
"Well, if it's made by the Duke himself, then I'm not worthy to take it."
Raphael laughed, a rich sound that seemed to fill the small space between them. "It's just wine. Moreover, there's plenty of it in the estate. I'm sure worse than servants have had their share. As long as you don't say it's nice, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."
A slow smile curved Natalie's lips as she lifted the glass once more, taking another sip.
"So," he drawled, leaning back, "how does it taste? Give me something better than nice this time."
Natalie hesitated, swirling the wine in her glass as if it held some hidden truth. "Before I say anything, I must warn you—I'm not good at this. Wine tasting, that is."
He leaned closer, "Let's hear it anyway."
Natalie took another sip, letting the rich, velvety warmth linger on her tongue. "Fine," she relented, meeting his gaze. "It's… deep. Complex. There's a hint of something—dark berries, maybe? And a subtle smokiness at the end."
Raphael's brow lifted, impressed despite himself. "Not bad for someone who claims not to know anything about wine."
"I said I wasn't good at it, not that I was clueless," she countered with a small smile, her confidence returning.
They drank in silence. Raphael looking at Natalie as she sipped her wine. He imagined how much better the wine would taste if he drinks it from her mouth.
"Is it still being produced?" she asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was light, almost shy, though he could see the subtle shift in her demeanor. She was giving him the green light, he thought, but refusing to make the first move.
"Yes," Raphael replied, his voice steady. "But not like before. My father took great pride in it, but after his passing, the estate's priorities shifted."
Raphael spoke in a mood that hinted he was in the mood for more than casual conversation. He had half a mind to instruct the coachman to stop the carriage so he and Natalie could *talk* in the forest. The smug look on the coachman's face earlier had irritated him to no end. Still, Raphael reminded himself he was a Duke, not a wild animal. And, truth be told, he wasn't about to follow where another man had already been. Call him old-fashioned, but he wouldn't touch her unless she'd wiped away any trace of Matthew. Not in the way he would have preferred, though.
"So," Raphael began, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "What were you *talking* about with the coachman?"
She blinked, clearly startled by the abrupt question. "He has a name, you know," she said, her tone defensive.
"Really?" Raphael drawled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "What is it?"
"Matthew," she replied firmly, lifting her chin as if daring him to challenge her.
"Splendid." He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. "So, what were you discussing with Matthew?. You obviously *enjoyed* your discussion with him."
She took another sip of her wine, but due to her unsteady hands, and the liquid spilled, trickling down her chin. Raphael's breath hitched, his eyes tracing the path of the wine. His eyes landed on her lips. Forget her hair—how had he not noticed her lips before now? They were soft and full, the color of a rose petal just after bloom. As the wine glistened against them, he felt a tightening in his chest—or perhaps lower.
She opened her mouth to respond, but her words faltered as his hand moved, slow and deliberate, toward her face. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, catching the droplet of wine before it could fall further.
"There's wine here," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I wouldn't want any to go to waste".