Chapter 19

Alistair’s POV

I watched her pause just before she reached the empty chair opposite me. “Come sit with me, wife,” I said abruptly, stepping in front of her. She lowered her gaze and hesitated, then moved toward the chair beside mine. Before she could settle, I held up a hand. “Not there,” I insisted, patting my thigh. Her eyes flicked up, uncertain, as if expecting me to relent, but I simply repeated, “On my lap.”

Her cheeks colored briefly, and I braced myself, expecting that sweet, pleading expression she always gave when she felt shy. Instead, she nodded and sat down stiffly, as though she were a statue forced into position. The moment she settled on my thighs, I felt a rush of heat—not just from her, but from within myself. Her weight pressed firmly against me, and I sensed instantly how nervous she was.

At that moment, the maids rolled the dinner service into the room—plates clinking, cutlery gleaming under the chandelier. They put the dishes on the tab