Shackles. Royal bloodline. Eternal damnation.
Reason and desire clashed fiercely in his mind, like two trapped beasts locked in a fight to the death.
On one side was the yearning of emotion, the call of responsibility, the instinctive longing for continuation and stability; on the other was political calculation, future hidden worries, and his father-in-law's cold warning that saw through the ways of the world.
He knew Earl Rochefort's concerns were not groundless. An heir with the dual bloodlines of the Broomflower royal family and the Schmidt Family would bind him, bind Carnford, to that tottering royal house all too tightly!
It might cut off countless future possibilities, nailing him and his domain fast to the royal family's sinking ship.
But... at this moment, the warmth in his arms was so real, the fear of imminent parting so clear, the helplessness before an unknown fate so heavy.
He was only a man, a man about to march to the battlefield, a man who longed to leave his mark on the woman he loved, who longed to have his bloodline continue.
Those cold political calculations seemed so pale and powerless beneath the shadow of life-and-death separation and the impact of mankind's most primal instincts.
Just this once... it couldn't be that coincidental, could it? A faint, luck-clinging voice, like the whisper of a devil, sounded in the deepest part of his heart, gently pushing open the heavy door of reason.
His arms seemed to gain a will of their own. The hand that had been properly wrapped around her waist twitched faintly at the fingertips, then slowly, tentatively, slid an inch upward along the smooth, satin-like curve of her back beneath her silk nightgown.
The warm, delicate touch beneath his fingertips was like a spark falling into dry grass.
Louise seemed