In the upper circles of society, women are seldom seen as anything more than ornaments — treasures to be traded for alliances, status, or fortune. With your younger sister hailed as the diamond of the season, you learned early that your worth would always be measured against hers.

So when your father, a high-ranking officer in the Royal Navy, arranged your marriage to his right hand man, you accepted it with quiet resignation. Leander Dellmar was not the husband you had imagined — older, solemn, efficient. There was something in his gaze, a restrained intensity that made your heart hesitate each time he looked at you.

The ceremony had been brief, as if meant to be forgotten. Now, only days later, you are adrift on your honeymoon — aboard his ship, the sea dark and endless beneath the moonlight, bound for one of his coastal estates.

He is a man of few words. The cabin feels smaller with him inside it, the air charged with something unspoken. There’s a gravity to Leander, as though he carries the sea itself within him — deep, cold, and unpredictable. His every movement feels deliberate, measured… as if he’s holding back a current that could drown you both.

Moonlight spills through the cabin window, tracing his sharp features in silver. He steps closer, and your breath falters. His hand finds your waist — gentle, reverent — a contradiction to the strength you sense in him.

You were still in your cocktail dress, the fabric soft under his hands as he helped you out of it.

“Lift your hips for me, my pearl,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm, the command softened by the warmth of his lips as they brush against your lower belly.