Lost in Time: A Visitor in the Tudor Court

The dinner had been... unexpected. For Charles, it was meant to be another opportunity to press his claim, to keep Naomi within his grasp, to remind her who she belonged to. But instead, she had flipped the script entirely. She had eaten without restraint, spoken without caution, and carried herself with an ease that had left him more captivated than ever.

And now, as he pushed back from the table, the weight of the day settling in his muscles, he decided that was enough formality for the evening.

Without much thought, Charles undid the fastenings of his tunic and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the nearest chair. He then reached for the heavy belt around his waist, setting it aside along with his boots before rolling his shoulders, allowing himself a rare moment of relief. His white undershirt clung to his broad chest, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the layers he had been wearing all day, and his trousers hung low on his hips, offering an entirely different version of the man Naomi was used to seeing.

He didn't think much of it. Until he turned back to Naomi.

The second she laid eyes on him, she froze.

It wasn't subtle, not to Charles. The slight parting of her lips, the way her fingers briefly clenched into fists on her lap before relaxing. He watched, entertained, as her gaze flickered downward for just a fraction of a second before she caught herself and immediately turned her head in the opposite direction, her brows lifting in an almost comical attempt at nonchalance.

A slow, knowing smirk stretched across Charles's lips.

He was not a man to let things slide, especially when it came to Naomi. He had spent the entire dinner restraining himself, controlling his impulses as she sat across from him in that strange, form-fitting attire, challenging his patience and his self-control. But now, the tables had turned, and Charles was not about to waste the opportunity.

He had seen it—the flicker of desire in her eyes, the way her gaze lingered a second too long when he walked back into the room, freshly changed into something more comfortable. A loose, partially unbuttoned linen shirt that hung open at the collar, revealing just enough of his toned chest, and a pair of relaxed trousers that clung to him in all the right ways. He had dressed without thought, accustomed to the ease of his own home, but when he caught the way Naomi's breath hitched—when he saw her quickly avert her eyes as if she hadn't just undressed him with them—he knew.

Oh, he knew.

And now, he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Charles leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smirking as he watched her pretend to be deeply engrossed in the goblet of wine she held. She was avoiding his gaze on purpose, but her stiff posture, the way her fingers clutched the goblet just a little too tightly, gave her away.

"You've been awfully quiet, Naomi," Charles drawled, his voice smooth, teasing. "Something on your mind?"

Naomi took a slow sip of her wine, willing herself to stay composed. "Not particularly."

Charles pushed away from the doorway and walked toward her, his strides slow and deliberate. "Really?"

Naomi didn't flinch, but she could feel him approaching. Every step. Every shift in the air around her. He was making sure she felt his presence. And damn it, she did. She knew exactly what he was doing. This was payback for all the times she had tested him, taunted him, made him struggle to keep his hands to himself.

He wasn't going to let it slide.

He came to a stop beside her, resting a hand on the back of her chair as he leaned in just enough to make her feel the warmth radiating from his body. She could smell the faint traces of his soap mixed with the natural musk of him. It was intoxicating, and she cursed herself for noticing.

"You keep looking away," Charles mused, tilting his head slightly as if studying her. "That's not like you."

Naomi forced herself to smirk, determined not to let him win this game. "Maybe I just don't feel like entertaining your usual nonsense."

Charles chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "Oh, I think it's something else."

She finally turned her head, meeting his gaze with feigned indifference. "And what do you think it is?"

Charles didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, slow and deliberate, and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips barely grazing her skin. Naomi didn't react—at least, not outwardly—but inside, her pulse quickened.

His smirk deepened. He had felt it.

"You're rattled," he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret between them. "You can pretend all you like, but I see it, Naomi."

Naomi scoffed and took another sip of wine, as if that would steady her nerves. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" Charles mused, stepping even closer, his fingers trailing down the back of her chair before resting on the table beside her. "Because I seem to recall you looking at me the way I looked at you that night."

Naomi swallowed. He was referring to the night he had barged into her room and found her in shorts and a tank top, the night she had completely caught him off guard. He had barely been able to contain himself then. And now... he was making sure she felt exactly what he had.

Charles leaned down, his breath just barely brushing against her ear. "Tell me, Naomi," he said, his voice slow, calculated. "What was going through your mind just now?"

Naomi exhaled sharply, forcing herself to meet his gaze without faltering. "I was thinking about how ridiculous you look."

Charles laughed, shaking his head. "Liar."

Naomi huffed and set her goblet down with a little too much force. "What exactly do you want, Charles?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening with something deeper. "You already know what I want."

Naomi felt her stomach twist. This was dangerous territory, and they both knew it. She had always been good at keeping him at arm's length, pushing him back when he got too close. But tonight... she wasn't sure she could keep up the act.

Charles watched her, waiting, his patience as thin as the thread holding back his control. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.

Naomi's lips parted slightly, her breath uneven. The problem was... she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.

But she would never admit that.

Instead, she pushed back her chair and stood, putting distance between them. "I should go," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Charles didn't stop her. He didn't move, didn't reach for her. He simply watched as she gathered herself, as she tried to act unaffected.

But the way she hurried, the way she avoided looking at him again as she left, told him everything he needed to know.

Naomi could run all she wanted.

But Charles was a hunter.

And he had just found his favorite chase.