Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
BENNET HALL, SURREY - JULY 28, 1816
LEE
It was a disconcerting juxtaposition, waking with dry, crusted eyes, a sticky face, a sore throat, a full bladder, and the beginnings of a megrim but also wrapped safe in my wife’s arms. Mostly wrapped in my wife’s arms. She was small and I was large, and the hint of her growing belly pressing into my upper back made her reach even shorter.
Her boney arm was tucked between my neck and head, bent with a delicate hand laying claim to my chest—just above my thrumming heartbeat. The other arm was slung low across my waist, the hand hanging in the air.
Snores, almost imperceptibly soft, were pressed into my neck. Her breath was warm and damp against my shoulder blade.
An icy foot had found its way between my calves, so cold that frostbite was a possibility.
Every other point of contact was hot, so hot, too hot.
And I never, ever, wanted to move again.
I belonged right here, trapped under her lavender-and-orange-blossom-scented quilt, half damp with sweat and half frozen.
Never in my life had I felt so dead and so alive at the same time. I couldn’t even recall making it to the bed last night. Surely I had cooperated. She couldn’t have managed it on her own. But everything after I asked her to stay was blank.
Physically, this was remarkably similar to the aftermath of one of my episodes. But emotionally… It— she —was like nothing I had ever known.
Many long moments passed before I was able to name the feeling in my chest or, more accurately, the absence of feeling. Relief. This wrung out, exhausted, languid feeling was relief.
There was embarrassment, too, at my display of overwrought emotion. But that was familiar, almost like a friend. I felt that every time I swam to the surface after an episode.
But mostly there was a void, an empty place where some of the guilt and turmoil used to live. It was still there—I didn’t expect it would ever go away—but it was lessened.
I had never told anyone before. When Mia died, Brigsby told her parents. I was still recovering from the broken leg and burns—and the subsequent infection they brought. The tenants and villagers just… knew. Gossip traveled fast and their landlord killing his wife was perhaps the best gossip in existence. As for everyone else... I avoided them. I hid in Bennett Hall and my observatory. Right until Charlotte.
Ah, there it was, the spark of guilt returning. Charlotte, who should be dancing at balls and hosting parties. Instead, I kept her locked in my tower like a beast. Someday, someone would come to slay me, to free her.
We had found a permanent solution to a temporary problem, she and I. But when she returned to town and her life… she would find someone else, someone true. I’d promised her freedom—one year for the rest of her days. The thought twisted like a knife in my gut now. Some faceless booby with grubby hands and overly waxed hair would caress her curves, taste her lips.
It wouldn’t be enough for that man, the piece of her that I’d promised to leave free. The memories I kept wouldn’t be enough for me either. How naive I’d been to think I could have her for a year and give her up at the end.
I would have to, though. The question was, would she let me keep the sliver we’d discussed, or would she want to give that to the one when she found him?
Divorce… I would grant her one, if she asked it, but it wouldn’t free her—not entirely. The consequences would place her right back where she started before our marriage. Ostracized and shamed. But the right man, a man who loved her enough, he wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t mind.
But I was a selfish man, and she would need to ask for it. Otherwise, I would cling to the sliver I was allowed to keep, alone in my empty observatory with nothing but the heavens for company.
She stirred against me, her arm tightening reflexively before loosening when consciousness returned. The hand hovering in the air near my waist moved to wipe her mouth. She must have drooled.
Something about knowing that my beautiful, accomplished, elegant wife was a little less perfect in her sleep was comforting. Had the arse that left her alone with child been allowed to see her this way? Had her husband?
Jealousy wasn’t an emotion I’d spent much time with. But I knew it instantly. I swallowed, my throat still raw, and tried to shove it down. It wasn’t my place.
“Good morning,” she breathed into my back. Her voice was low and hoarse with sleep. I found the hand still pressed into my chest with my own and dragged it to my lips and pressed a kiss to her elegant fingers before setting it back home.
I should apologize for my display last night. I intended to, truly. Instead, a rusty, “Thank you,” escaped.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like death. But also… better. I should have told you before. I’m sorry.”
I felt her shake her head, her forehead pressed against my shoulder blade, rolling there. “You told me when I needed to know.”
“A bit late. I did try to make you ride several hours on your wedding day. In your condition.”
A sweet laugh, muffled by my shirt, rang out. “That was badly done. But I understand now.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
And that was enough, those two words, to make me brave. With a great inhale, I rolled over to face her.
CHARLOTTE
He was adorable, all sleep rumpled and bleary-eyed. His hair stuck straight up on one side.
I couldn’t help myself, I reached up to brush it down. It sprang back up.
At my laugh, he dragged an irritated hand down it, but his efforts were futile as well.
“It always does that ’til I wet it.” His voice was low and graveled, hitting deep in my lower belly.
I trapped an inappropriate sound, nodding instead. Surely I was a mess too. I had been drooling on the back of his shirt mere moments ago. But I wouldn’t have moved for the world.
His hand fell down, landing on my waist over the curve of my growing belly. The move was so nonchalant, so unpracticed. As though it wasn’t unbearably significant. This moment where his massive, unbearably warm hand settled on the babe that wasn’t his.
The babe understood the significance too. Because they chose that precise moment to make their presence felt. It was little more than a flutter, not so different from the bubbling nausea I had experienced for several months. And yet, entirely different. Nothing had ever been more different.
A kick.
I froze, waiting, desperate to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination. And then, again. Right beneath his hand. My eyes met his, wide and round to match his lips, parted in a perfect astonished circle.
“Is that—” he asked, graveled tone gone and wonder in its place.
I nodded dumbly, too filled with emotions I couldn’t name to speak.
“Has that—” Apparently he had lost the ability to finish a sentence.
“I—not like that. Not so strong. I didn’t know what it was before.”
For the second time in less than a day, my giant of a husband folded himself in half and buried his face in my belly. He pressed a distracted kiss there, right above his hand before leaning to whisper, “‘lo there. That is some truly exemplary kicking. But do not forget to be kind to your mama. You were a right terror for months. Need to earn her favor.”
And for the second time in less than a day, hot tears slipped down my cheek. I laced my hand with his, and the babe gave another greeting kick. In that moment, every horrible, unkind thing I had ever thought about this child floated away. All that was left was love. Love for the child. And love for the man contorting himself to whisper nonsense into my stomach.
It was, perhaps, the most perfect moment of my life. Which was, of course, why the scratching noise at my door was entirely unsurprising. Lee didn’t notice, too wrapped up in chatting with my belly. The door creaked open a crack, and I saw the tip of a tail swishing back and forth toward the bed.
It reached the edge before the tail dipped out of sight, but I knew what was coming. With a disgruntled, merah , Cass landed on the corner of my mattress. She chirped her way over to me, each step accompanied by a corresponding mrow before she found my wrist. She rubbed her head against my hand until I lifted it and let her sniff.
Satisfied with my scent, she stroked her head under my hand, stepping forward so it dragged along her back. Again. A third time. And like the mark I was, I gave her a scratch on the fourth rub and received a chomp and an irritated chirp for my trouble.
My curse was enough to draw Lee from my belly.
His eyes narrowed at the cat. “Shoo.”
I laughed, full and hearty. “Has that ever once worked?”
His warm gaze met mine over my belly, accompanied by a sheepish grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
His grin deepened and melted into a full, brilliant smile.
I never wanted to leave. Not this house, not this room, not this bed—even with the absurdly manipulative cat. Outside the sanctuary of this quilt, the remaining months of our arrangement ticked by ever faster, each minute shorter than the last. We could stay here forever though, right?
With a feigned casualness, Cass sauntered over to the other corner of the bed by my husband, where she bit him on the calf.
Perhaps I could do without the absurdly manipulative cat.