Morning After
Light filtered through the tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the unfamiliar bedchamber.
Amelia stirred, momentarily disoriented by the weight of an arm draped across her waist and the warmth of another body pressed against her back.
The memories of the previous night flooded back in a rush of sensation: Charles’ hands on her skin, his mouth claiming hers, the tenderness in his eyes as he’d explored her body.
She tensed, suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness and vulnerability. This wasn’t part of their arrangement. And yet she’d surrendered completely to this man who was still, in many ways, a stranger.
Behind her, Charles shifted, his arm tightening around her waist as he drew her closer against the solid warmth of his chest. His breathing remained deep and even.
Still asleep, then. Amelia allowed herself a moment to simply feel: the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her back, the gentle puff of his breath stirring her hair, the surprising comfort of being held.
How had they arrived here? From mutual animosity to… whatever this was now?
She needed to think, to regain control of the situation before he awoke. Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from his embrace, only to have his arm tighten instinctively around her waist.
“Where are you running to?” His voice was thick with sleep, the words rumbling through his chest and into her back.
“I’m not running,” she said, stilling her movements. “I simply need to… prepare for the day.”
A soft grunt vibrated against her skin. “The day can wait.”
Before she could form a response, he shifted, rolling her gently onto her back so he could look down at her.
In the early morning light, his face appeared softer, unguarded, the aristocratic mask momentarily set aside.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in tousled waves, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw made him look rougher, less polished.
“Good morning, Wife,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.
Amelia felt heat creep into her cheeks. “Good morning.”
His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her mouth before returning to her eyes. “You’re overthinking this already, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she countered, though they both knew it was a lie.
Charles smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his features. “Yes, you do. I can practically hear the wheels turning.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch impossibly gentle. “Stop analyzing, Amelia. At least for a few more minutes.”
The casual use of her given name said with a gentle command sent an odd flutter through her chest. They’d crossed a threshold last night, moved from formal distance to a new, undefined territory. How were they meant to navigate this shift? What did it mean for their arrangement?
“Charles,” she began, uncertain what she even wanted to say.
“Hmm?” His thumb traced the curve of her jawline, the gesture absent-minded and strangely intimate.
“Last night was…” She faltered, searching for the right words.
“Unexpected?” he supplied, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Inevitable? Extraordinary? Masterful?”
“Complicated,” she finished.
He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Ever the pragmatist.”
“One of us should be,” she replied.
His expression sobered slightly as he studied her face. “Do you regret it?”
The question hung between them, weighted with possibilities. Amelia considered her answer carefully. Did she regret surrendering to the passion that had been building between them? Allowing herself to be vulnerable with a man she never thought worthy of her attentions?
“No,” she said finally, opting for honesty.
He shifted, lying on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. “Excellent. I don’t regret a moment.”
Something in his tone made her heart swell with joy, but she carefully kept her voice neutral. “Even though this wasn’t planned?”
“Especially because.” He traced idle patterns on her shoulder, his touch raising gooseflesh on her skin. “Nothing about our marriage has proceeded according to plan. Why should this be any different?”
Before she could respond, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips—brief but tender enough to momentarily silence the doubts swirling in her mind. When he pulled back, his expression had turned more serious.
“Now, about these late-night excursions of yours, tell me what you found. What have you discovered in your investigation?”
She hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. Despite the intimacy they’d shared, trust and vulnerability were new between them.
“Mr. Fardell admitted there had been bribes to government inspectors, doctors paid to falsify reports, compensation to silence families of injured workers.” She swallowed, her hand unconsciously moving to her leg beneath the sheet.
“I’ve been piecing together who might lead me to the owners of the factory. ”
He rubbed his jaw pensively. “Crown Street most likely operates under multiple corporate entities, making it difficult to trace who actually owns it.”
“Precisely. The financial records would be helpful, but I’ve no clue how I’d get access.”
Charles was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “If these men discover you are tracking them, they won’t hesitate to protect themselves.”
“Which is precisely why I need to expose them before they discover my objective,” she insisted.
“I understand, but we must approach it differently. More strategically.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” His lips curved into a slight smile. “I have connections, influence, things that could prove useful.”
Amelia weighed his offer. Having his resources would undoubtedly make her investigation easier, potentially safer.
But it would mean letting him in, trusting him with something deeply personal.
Now that they’d consummated their marriage, she ought to think of him as a partner for life.
They were one unit now regardless of her fears.
“I’m afraid,” she blurted.
“Of what?” He reached out, stroking her hair. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent warmth through her.
“Of getting hurt. If I can’t give you an heir when—”
“Shh…” Charles pressed her against his chest, stroking her back. “Now I am yours regardless of the heir.”
Amelia looked into his eyes then.
“After all,” he continued, “I have not bestowed spousal privilege onto other women.”
Amelia arched her brows. “You cannot mean bedding.”
His laugh was playful. “No, obviously not. I mean the fencing lessons. I don’t give them away willy-nilly, you understand.”
She rolled her eyes. “The Duchess of Rutland may disagree.”
“Those were not real lessons.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she said flatly.
“I believe you are jealous, Wife,” he teased with a glint in his eyes.
“Of course, now that we’ve…” She trailed off, feeling shy about acknowledging she was his real wife in a real marriage.
“We’ve what?” he teased.
“You know what.”
“Tell me.”
She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “Rutted.”
Hereford’s laugh was half shock and half delight.
“That’ll teach you not to challenge me,” she said.
“You never cease to surprise me, my sweet,” he said with a chuckle, his hand roaming down her bottom, then her thigh as casually as if he was touching his own leg.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said with careful casualness. “Why don’t you use a cane?”
Amelia stiffened slightly. “I don’t need one.”
“Maybe so.” His voice was gentle. “I’ve watched you navigate uneven garden paths, crowded ballrooms. It can’t be easy when you are fatigued.”
She was quiet for a moment, weighing her response. “A cane draws attention,” she said finally. “It makes the disability the first thing people notice. I prefer to be judged on my words, my work. Not by my limitations.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “So, you endure the pain instead.”
“It’s not so bad,” she shrugged, though they both knew she was understating her struggle. “I’ve grown accustomed to it.”
Charles studied her face, something like admiration mingling with concern in his expression. “Your determination is remarkable, Amelia. But there’s no shame in accepting help when it’s needed.”
The tenderness of his voice still surprised her. This was a side of Charles she was still struggling to reconcile with the rakish aristocrat she’d first met.
“I should go,” she said, suddenly acutely aware of the time. “There’s work to be done at the Review, and—”
“And you need space to think,” he finished for her, releasing her hand. “I understand.”
Amelia nodded, grateful for his understanding. She gathered the sheet around herself and moved to rise from the bed. It was only when her foot touched the cool floor that reality crashed back. Her wooden leg lay across the room where Charles had carefully placed it the night before.
She froze, suddenly exceedingly aware of her vulnerability.
Walking across the room without her prosthetic would be impossible, yet asking for help felt like an admission of dependency she wasn’t prepared to make.
Had she been alone, she would have hopped or crawled, not caring how undignified she appeared.
Charles seemed to sense her dilemma. “Would you like me to bring it to you?” he asked quietly.
Pride warred with practicality. “Please,” she said finally, the word barely audible as she pushed down the shame that had accompanied her disability since childhood.
But instead of retrieving her prosthetic, Charles moved closer, gathering her into his arms, sheet and all. Before she could protest, he was pulling her back against his chest, his arms encircling her waist.
“Charles, what are you—”
“Helping,” he murmured against her ear, his voice low and warm. “Just not in the way you expected.”