Chapter 22 #2
He looked up at her then, eyes bright and rimmed red. “And then you came, and you made it so easy to forget. You loved that child with every splinter of yourself, even when she was not yours to keep. And you—” His voice caught. “You made me want things I’d spent a lifetime despising.”
Rose reached out and touched his hair, carded her fingers through the dark strands. He let her, his shoulders slumping as if he’d been unmoored.
“When you said you loved me, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. I was terrified. I thought, if I let this happen, it would all end in ruin. Because that’s what it always does, in my family.
” He swallowed, forced the words out. “And I didn’t want to ruin you.
I didn’t want to turn you into her, waiting and waiting for a love that only ever took. ”
He reached for her hands and entwined their fingers. “But I see now that by trying to avoid it, I did exactly that. I made you wait. I made you believe you weren’t enough.”
The dam broke then, and Rose let the tears come. She was not even sure what she was grieving: his lost childhood, her own loneliness, the collective inheritance of broken promises and hollow affection.
She pulled her hands from his only to cup his face, to force him to look at her. “You were wrong,” she said. “You were so, so wrong. I did wait, but it wasn’t the waiting that hurt. It was the not knowing if you ever wanted me at all.”
Felix closed his eyes. “I did. From the first moment, even when I pretended not to.”
“Then why—” Rose began, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.
“Because I’m a coward,” he admitted. “Because I mistook fear for wisdom. Because I thought distance would keep you safe when all it did was make us both miserable.”
She stroked his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, the softness under his eyes. “Words are nice,” she said, “but you know what would matter more?”
He opened his eyes, wary. “What?”
“Don’t pull back again. Not from me. Not from us. Even if it hurts. Even if you think it will break us. Stay, and let me try.”
Felix laughed, but it was a sound with more life in it than before.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, then seemed to realize something.
He dropped to both knees, still holding her hands, and leaned in until their foreheads touched.
“I love you,” he said. “Not as a convenience or an arrangement. Not because it fixes anything. I love you because you’re the only person who ever made me want to be a better man.
And because you’re the only person who ever truly saw me. ”
She kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that remakes a person cell by cell. When she pulled back, she smiled—crooked, unsure, but real. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I always have.”
Felix exhaled, and in that moment, something in him seemed to shift.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. The embrace was not gentle, but then, neither of them was built for gentleness.
Rose curled in his lap, and Felix’s arms wrapped around her as if he could hold them together for eternity by force of will.
When she finally looked up, she saw that his eyes were closed, his lashes wet.
She reached up and traced his brow, the line of his nose. “Are you all right?” she asked, half-mocking, half-serious.
He opened his eyes and grinned, sudden and boyish. “No. But I think I might be.”
She laughed, surprised by the sound of it. “That’s a start.”
Felix rose, bringing her with him, and they settled together on the old, battered sofa by the hearth.
The fire was nearly out, but the room was warm with the heat they made between them.
Rose nestled into the crook of his arm, her legs tucked beneath her, and let herself believe that love was not a trap, but a way out.
He stroked her hair, idly, as if he could never get enough of the texture. “You know, I always thought you were the strong one,” he said. “But I was wrong. We’re both strong. Just in different ways.”
She shook her head, but he kissed her temple and would not let her argue.
They spent the better part of the evening on the old green sofa, the one that sagged in the middle from generations of Cardens slouching through their troubles.
For the first time in months, it belonged to them—Felix and Rose, a tangle of limbs and laughter and occasional silences that were somehow less fraught than before.
They made plans for Lizzie—big, impossible plans.
“She’ll need a proper governess,” Felix mused, “one who can handle a child with more opinions than most parliaments.” Rose countered that what Lizzie really needed was a friend her own age, someone to share in her mischief.
They debated whether the child would grow up to be a terror or a poet.
They agreed, finally, that she would be both.
The fire dwindled to embers. Shadows pressed against the windows, but the room was a bright bubble of warmth. Rose dozed on Felix’s shoulder, waking only when he shifted to poke at the coals with the poker.
“Do you regret it?” she asked, the words floating up as if from a dream.
He looked at her, surprised. “Regret what?”
“All of this. Us. The marriage. Lizzie.”
Felix snorted, pulling her closer. “If I regretted it, I’d be the greatest fool in England.” He kissed the top of her head. “I only regret taking so long to get it right.”
She smiled, letting herself relax by his side. “I suppose I should move my things to your room,” she said, only half-joking.
Felix turned to face her, dead serious. “I would like that. More than you can imagine.”
She searched his eyes, saw the truth there. “I’d like it, too,” she said.
When the light outside began to fade, Felix stood and offered her his hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s check on our daughter.”
Rose took his hand, and together they walked the length of the hall, their fingers laced, their steps in sync.
In the nursery, Lizzie slept on her back, arms splayed in a posture of total trust. Rose bent and kissed the child’s cheek, then smoothed the blanket around her.
Felix stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and for once, he did not pull away. They watched their daughter breathe, the rise and fall of her chest, and in that ordinary, everyday miracle, Rose felt the world expand.
“Good night, my darling,” she whispered.
Felix watched from the door, his expression soft and unguarded. “She’s safe with you,” he said. “With both of us.”
They closed the door gently and stood for a moment in the hush of the corridor, unsure what to do with the newness of everything.
Rose turned to Felix, and this time she was the one to pull him down for a kiss.
“Come to bed,” he said as they pulled apart. The words were so simple, so absolute, that Rose had to laugh.
She let him lead her to the master suite. The room was just as she remembered—grand, a bit too cold, but now warmed by the promise of his company. Felix shrugged out of his coat and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with an intensity that sent a shock of heat up her spine.
She crossed the room, unlacing her dress with steady fingers. He watched her, not lecherous but reverent, as if undressing was an act of faith. She let the gown slide to the floor, then climbed onto the bed beside him.
He reached for her, and this time there was no hesitation.
Felix’s hands were careful, almost trembling, as he traced the lines of her collarbone, the curve of her hip. Rose let herself touch him in return—his shoulders, his scars, the tender skin at his waist.
They lay together, bodies entwined, hearts thundering.
His breath tickled the nape of her neck, steady and reassuring, but as she shifted, she felt the hard line of his desire pressing against her hip.
Felix murmured something incoherent, his eyes fluttering open, and in that hazy moment, their gazes locked. He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb tracing the curve of her lip, and she arched toward him, her pulse quickening.
With deliberate slowness, watching Rose’s face for any sign of distress, Felix rolled them over, so she was beneath him, his weight a comforting press that made her gasp.
His cock, already rigid and insistent, slid against her thigh, and she allowed her hands to roam over him.
Her fingers glided along his back before venturing lower to wrap around his shaft, feeling its velvety heat pulse in her grip.
He groaned, low and primal, as she stroked him with a steady rhythm. Her own arousal built, her core growing wet and aching for his touch.
Felix’s lips found her neck, then her breasts, lavishing them with kisses that turned to sucks. His tongue teased her sensitive peaks until she writhed beneath him.
Their bodies moved in unison. Rose gasped, pulling him closer, and he thrust into her with careful intent, filling her completely. The pleasure was immediate and profound, a slow burn that built with every stroke. His hips ground against hers in a rhythm that synced their breathing.
Rose drew him deeper with her arms and legs around him, her moans mingling with his as the tension coiled tighter, the friction of their bodies igniting sparks of ecstasy.
It was not a desperate thing, not a hungry collision of need.
It was slow, deliberate, the pleasure building to their combined climax in waves that crested and broke, leaving them gasping and laughing at the wildness of it all.
Afterward, Rose curled against his chest, the beat of his heart steady and strong beneath her ear.
Felix stroked her hair, his voice thick with sleep. “We can do this, can’t we?” he murmured.
She pressed a kiss to his throat. “We already are.”
He pulled the blanket over them both and settled her into the crook of his arm. “Promise you’ll never leave,” he said, voice small and boyish.
She smiled into the dark. “Only if you promise the same.”
He squeezed her tight. “Forever, even in darkness.”
She believed him.
In the hush of the great house, in the warmth of his arms, Rose let herself fall asleep at last, trusting that tomorrow—and every tomorrow after—would be theirs.