Chapter 32
“You are staring.”
Sophia glanced up from her plate, candlelight catching the green of her eyes. A smile played at the corner of her lips.
Edward did not deny it. He had been staring and could not stop staring since they sat down to dinner. Not since she appeared in the doorway wearing a deep burgundy gown that made her skin glow and her hair gleam like copper in the firelight.
“You look beautiful.” The words came out low, unguarded. He didn’t take them back.
Color rose in her cheeks. “You have seen me in this gown before.”
“I have seen you in many gowns.” He set down his fork. “You are beautiful in all of them.”
The blush deepened. She looked away, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass. The dining room felt too large, the table stretching between them like a continent. He wanted to be closer. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to finish what they had started in her father’s house.
Dinner had never lasted so long.
The servants moved through the courses with agonizing precision.
Soup. Fish. Meat. Each plate removed and replaced while Edward counted the minutes, while anticipation coiled tighter in his chest. Sophia ate little.
He ate less. They spoke of Oliver, of the journey home, of inconsequential things that neither of them truly cared about.
Beneath the words, something else hummed between them. A current. A promise.
At last, the final course was cleared. Edward rose from his chair.
“Shall we?” He extended his hand across the table.
Sophia looked at his outstretched palm, then up at his face. Whatever she saw there made her breath catch. She placed her hand in his.
Her fingers were cool against his skin. He drew her to her feet, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and led her from the dining room. The servants melted away as they passed, well-trained enough to disappear when discretion was required.
They climbed the stairs in silence. The house settled around them, quiet and dim, the corridors lit by flickering sconces. Edward’s heart beat a steady rhythm in his chest, anticipation and something deeper intertwining until he could not tell them apart.
He stopped outside her chamber door. Sophia turned to face him, her back against the wood, and her eyes searching his.
“Edward.” His name was a whisper on her lips.
He stepped closer, eliminating the space between them. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I have thought about this.” His voice emerged rough. “About you. Every night since we married. Every moment we have spent dancing around each other, pretending we did not want this.”
Her eyes opened. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Neither was I.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I was afraid. Of wanting too much. Of losing control. Of what might happen if I let myself feel everything I have been fighting.”
“And now?”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Now I am done fighting.”
He kissed her.
Not gentle, not tentative, not the careful kiss of a man holding himself in check.
This kiss was hunger and surrender, weeks of longing distilled into the press of lips and the slide of tongues.
Sophia’s hands fisted in the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer, and Edward groaned against her mouth.
He reached behind her and opened the door. They stumbled into her chamber, mouths still joined, hands grasping at fabric and skin. The door swung shut behind them. The fire had been lit, casting warm light across the bed, the rugs, the woman in his arms.
His wife. Finally, truly, his wife.
Edward pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, her hair coming loose from its pins, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She had never looked more beautiful.
“Are you certain?” He forced the question out, though every part of him ached to continue. “We can wait. If you need more time—”
“I do not want to wait.” She reached up and began unfastening his cravat, her fingers steady despite the tremor in her voice. “I have waited long enough.”
The cravat fell away. She moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, her knuckles brushing against his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. Edward stood motionless, letting her undress him, watching her face as she worked.
When his waistcoat joined the cravat on the floor, she looked up at him. “Will you help me with my laces?”
He turned her gently, his hands finding the ribbons at her back.
The gown was intricate, designed to require a lady’s maid, but Edward worked the laces free with patient determination.
Each inch of skin revealed made his pulse quicken.
The curve of her spine. The delicate wings of her shoulder blades.
The soft warmth of her beneath his fingertips.
The gown loosened and slipped from her shoulders. Sophia caught it at her waist, holding it against her body. She turned to face him, vulnerability and want at war in her expression.
Edward took her hands and lifted them away. The gown pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her shift, the thin fabric hiding nothing from his gaze.
“You are…” Words failed him. He shook his head. “There are no words. None that are adequate.”
Sophia reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it free from his trousers. He helped her drag it over his head, tossing it aside. Her hands settled on his bare chest, her palms flat against his skin, and he shuddered at the contact.
“You are shaking.” Her voice was soft with wonder.
“I know.” He caught her hands and pressed them harder against his heart. “Do you feel that? That is what you do to me. What you have always done to me.”
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, but he held her secure against his chest. Three strides carried them to the bed. He laid her down on the coverlet as though she were made of glass, as though she might shatter if he moved too quickly.
She pulled him down with her.
Edward slid a knee between her thighs. His hand palmed her breast, and he moved his thumb in slow circles over her nipple. Sophia gave a small whimper and reached down and grasped the length of him. A groan echoed hers as his hands slid from her breast to the cleft between her legs.
Sophia opened herself to him as his fingers slid between her slick folds. He knew she was ready for him. He kissed her gently.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Nothing matters more than you being comfortable.”
Sophia’s breath caught, but she did not pull away. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.
Edward searched her face, giving her every chance to retreat. When she only nodded, shy but certain, something softened in his expression.
“I won’t rush you,” he whispered.
He kissed her again. His lips moved slowly over hers, deepening the kiss a fraction at a time. One hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as if she were something precious.
When he entered her, Edward stopped at the small resistance. Sophia arched against him. “Please, Edward.”
“Gently, my love,” he whispered, barely maintaining control. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Sophia gripped his hips, and she pulled him into her. “Oh!” She bit her lip, and Edward saw a glint of tears.
“Are you all right?” Edward braced himself above her, ready to retreat.
Sophia didn’t answer him; instead, she rocked her hips gently. Edward felt the wetness of her and slowly slid deeper into her. He flexed his hips and pushed farther in, her softness tightening around him.
He pulled out slightly, then inched in again. Over and over, until Sophia was writhing beneath him. Her breath came out in small pants.
“Do you want me?” he whispered against her lips.
“Yes, Edward. Yes.” She wrapped her legs around his hips.
This time his strokes were bold and deep, plunging into her in quick rhythm. She met every thrust, and their bodies grew slick with sweat. When she screamed out his name and her body clenched tightly around his shaft, he gave one final, powerful thrust as his own climax joined hers.
A shudder moved through him as his body felt a rush of hot pleasure course through it.
Afterward, Edward lay on his back with Sophia curled against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, her hair spilling across his skin like silk. The fire had burned low, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The world beyond the bed had ceased to exist.
He traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder, his touch featherlight. She hummed with contentment and burrowed closer; her breath warm against his collarbone.
“Stay.” Her voice was drowsy, muffled against his skin. “Don’t go back to your chambers.”
“I was not planning to.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “You would have to drag me from this bed.”
She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were soft, and her lips curved in a smile that made his chest ache.
“This is real.” She said it like a question, like she was still trying to believe it. “We are really here.”
“We are really here.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I am not going anywhere.”
She kissed him then, soft and sweet, a kiss that asked for nothing and promised everything. When she pulled back, her hand came up to rest against his cheek.
“I never expected this.” Her thumb traced the line of his jaw. “When I agreed to marry you, I thought… I thought it would be an arrangement. A transaction. I never imagined…”
“Neither did I.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss on her palm. “I thought I knew what marriage would be. Duty. Obligation. A practical solution to a practical problem.” He held her gaze. “I was wrong.”
She smiled, and something in his chest unfurled. Something that had been clenched tight for longer than he could remember.
“What happens now?” She settled back against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his skin.
“Now?” He considered the question. “Now we sleep. And in the morning, we wake up together. And then we do it again. And again. For as long as you will have me.”
“That sounds rather permanent.”
“It is.” He tightened his arms around her. “You are my wife, Sophia. In every way that matters now. And I intend to spend a very long time proving that I am worthy of you.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she pressed a kiss to his chest, directly over his heart.
“You already are.”
Edward closed his eyes and held her close. The fire crackled. The night deepened. And for the first time in years, he fell asleep with something that felt dangerously like peace.
Morning light spilled through the curtains and painted golden stripes across the tangled sheets.
Edward woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces. The warmth of another body pressed against his. The scent of lavender and something uniquely Sophia. The soft sound of her breathing, deep and even with sleep.
He opened his eyes and found her still in his arms, exactly where she had fallen asleep hours before. Her face was relaxed, unguarded, and looked younger in repose. Her hand rested over his heart as though she had been measuring its rhythm in her dreams.
He could have watched her forever.
But the household would wake up soon. Servants would appear with breakfast trays and fresh water. The day would begin, whether or not they were ready for it.
Edward brushed his lips against her temple. She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Good morning.” His voice was rough with sleep.
She blinked up at him, confusion giving way to memory, memory giving way to a smile that lit her entire face.
“Good morning.” She stretched against him like a cat, her body arching in ways that tested his already fraying self-control. “You stayed.”
“I told you I would.” He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Did you doubt me?”
“Not for a moment.” She kissed him properly, slowly and thoroughly, with her hands sliding into his hair.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder than before, Edward groaned.
“If you keep doing that, we will never leave this bed.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“No.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “But Oliver will expect us at breakfast. And if we don’t appear, he will come looking. And then I will have to explain to a four-year-old why his uncle and aunt are still in bed at ten in the morning.”
Sophia laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and Edward felt it resonate through his entire body.
“Very well.” She pressed one last kiss to his lips and slipped out of his arms. “But tonight, you are mine.”
He watched her cross the room, reaching for her dressing gown, the morning light gilding her skin. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, caught him staring, and smiled.
“Tonight.” He echoed the promise. “And every night after.”
Her smile widened. She disappeared behind the dressing screen, and Edward fell back against the pillows, staring at the canopy above.
He had spent so long afraid of this. Afraid of wanting, of needing, of opening himself to the possibility of loss. And now, lying in a bed that still smelled of her, listening to the soft sounds of her preparing for the day, he could not remember why.
This was worth the risk. She was worth the risk.
He rose and gathered his scattered clothes, dressing quickly. By the time Sophia emerged from behind the screen, her hair pinned and her morning dress fastened, he was decent enough to be seen.
He crossed to her and took her hands in his. “Breakfast with Oliver and then back to reality.”
“Back to reality.” A shadow flickered across her face.
“Back to our life.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each one in turn. “Our home. Our family. I rather think that is a good thing.”
The shadow lifted. She nodded, her fingers tightening around his.
“Yes.” She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I rather think it is.”
They walked down to breakfast together, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm.
And for the first time since he could remember, Edward felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.