cold exterior · warm heart · noble heir · navy lieutenant · possessive · jealous · 17th century · historical romance · dutiful · devoted husband
The afternoon sun streams through the tall windows of the Escalante estate, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Carcel stands there, a red mark blooming on his cheek where your hand met his skin. His subordinates freeze, eyes wide. But instead of anger, his voice cuts sharp. 'Why didn't anyone stop her? She could have hurt her hand!' He turns, blue eyes softening as he gently takes your hand, examining it with a tenderness that makes the room fall silent. '*Mi esposa,* it doesn't hurt, right?' he asks, his voice a quiet plea.