Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rachel had meant only to pass through—to find a book, perhaps, or simply to steal a moment of solitude after the exhausting visit with her family. But as she stepped inside, her breath caught.
Simon was already there.
He sat in the high-backed chair, one long leg stretched out, the other bent slightly as he held a glass of whiskey between his fingers.
He did not look at her immediately. Instead, he swirled the amber liquid absently.
She hesitated, torn between retreating and stepping forward.
“You may stay,” Simon said, his gaze finally lifting to hers.
Oh, so he had noticed her lurking.
Rachel swallowed, her pulse skipping.
She was not sure what made her move, but she walked slowly toward him until she reached the other chair. She sat, smoothing the fabric of her night robe over her lap, trying to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the sight of him.
For a long moment, there was silence. Then Simon broke it.
“Your family,” he observed. “They are… difficult.”
Rachel let out a soft, humorless laugh. “That is a kind way of putting it.”
He watched her, waiting.
She exhaled, letting her fingers trace the edge of the armrest. “My mother was not of the peerage,” she said finally. “She was a maid. And my father—” Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue, “He never let me forget it.”
Simon remained silent, giving her the space to go on without imposing.
Rachel took it as an opportunity to continue.
“Still, he raised me and Marina after my mother died.” She hesitated. “For that, I suppose I am grateful.”
Simon’s fingers tightened around his glass. “You suppose?”
“Is it not possible to be both grateful and resentful? To know that someone has given you something, yet still you wish they had given you more?”
His jaw clenched slightly, and Rachel wondered if her words had struck something in him.
“And what of your mother? What was she like?”
Rachel blinked at the question, caught off guard. Few people had ever cared to ask. Even fewer had waited to hear the answer.
“She was… kind,” Rachel said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Gentle in ways my father never was. She used to hum when she worked, little melodies that I never knew the words to.”
She let out a quiet breath. “She was happy, or at least, she pretended to be.”
“Pretended?”
“I suppose it is not possible to be truly happy, knowing that she was only a shadow in my father’s life.” She swallowed hard. “She knew her place. She never demanded more than what he was willing to give. But I think…” She paused, gripping the armrest of her chair. “I think she wanted more.”
“And you?” he asked. “Did you ever demand more?”
Rachel laughed softly. “What would have been the point?”
“I imagine you would have found one.”
Rachel met his eyes then, something shifting in her chest at the certainty in his voice. For a man who so often kept himself closed off, his words had a way of unraveling things she had long since tucked away.
“I learned young that wanting something does not mean you will have it.”
“And what is it you wanted?”
Rachel hesitated. To belong. To be cherished. To be something more than a reminder of a mistake.
She did not say any of these things. Instead, she smiled faintly, shaking her head.
“It hardly matters now.”
Simon’s expression darkened slightly, as though he disagreed, but he chose not to argue with her. “And your sister?”
Rachel’s heart softened at the mention of Marina. “Marina is… the best of us,” she admitted. “She still sees the world with hope. I think she wants to believe that if she is kind enough, patient enough, she will be rewarded for it.”
“And do you believe that?”
Rachel’s lips pressed together in thought. She had not anticipated being interviewed like this.
“I believe that kindness is not always repaid. That patience is not always rewarded,” she said finally after putting much thought into it, “but I hope she proves me wrong.”
For a long moment, Simon said nothing. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he murmured, “So do I.”
The words lingered between them, and Rachel exhaled slowly, looking away first. She had revealed more than she intended, let him see too much.
“I didn’t expect you to care about any of this,” she admitted.
“You assume I do not care about many things.” Simon’s gaze flickered to her.
“You make it rather easy to assume,” Rachel hesitated.
“I have learned that caring too much is a weakness,” he said finally.
“It is not,” Rachel frowned. “It is the exact opposite of a weakness. In fact, it can be a strength.”
“It can be used against you,” His fingers drummed against the armrest.
Rachel studied him. It was not a thought that had never crossed her mind, but she had never heard it spoken so plainly.
“But,” she said, her voice softer now, “you seem to care for your aunt still.”
“She is all I have left,” Simon’s jaw tensed, and his tone was bitter.
Rachel swallowed. There was something tragic in the way he said it, something so final it made her chest ache.
“Grief is not a weakness,” she murmured.
“You sound certain of that.” Simon’s eyes flickered toward her, sharp and assessing. “In fact, you sound quite certain of things that you have not experienced very often.”
“I have experienced plenty of grief.” Rachel sat up a little straighter, meeting his gaze. “It means that something once mattered. That someone mattered to you. There is no shame in that.”
Simon exhaled, but he did not argue. Rachel hesitated, then reached forward, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrist.
He did not pull away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his body relaxing beneath her touch. In a way, the moment felt quite intimate. It was a different kind of intimacy than the one they had shared the other day.
“What did you do to me?”
Simon blinked. “I was merely picking at your brain for answers.”
“No. That is not what I mean. I meant the other day…” Her voice dropped to a whisper all of a sudden, even though they were alone.
“How did it make you feel?” he countered with a question of his own, though he suddenly felt warm at the memory of her.
“I…” she flushed, looking away.
No. You brought it up; now, you must also answer. “There is little need for shyness around your own husband, Duchess.”
Her blush deepened, and she bit down on her lip in a way that made him wish that it was his teeth there instead. “Well, I… I never knew I could feel like that. I never knew it was even possible.”
A muscle in Simon’s jaw ticked, his knuckles white against the glass in his hand.
So innocent. It baffled him that the kind of carnal pleasure they had shared was new to her. He’d had his suspicions that she was inexperienced before, but now, they were confirmed.
Rachel had never pleasured herself before. The thought alone was enough to drive him wild, but he restrained himself.
“I just… I need to know. What was that?” she continued, oblivious to the darkness that had suddenly overcome his thoughts.
“You surprise me every day,” he answered finally.
“That is not an answer.” Her eyes narrowed, though the blush on her cheeks remained.
“Yes, but it is an observation,” He kept his voice measured. “You have no experience of physical pleasure.”
Rachel looked down at her hands. “No, I haven’t.”
For some reason, that admission made Simon’s blood run hot.
Damn her.
Damn her for sitting there, looking at him with those wide, green eyes, unaware of how utterly tempting she was. Unaware that the very innocence in her question made him want to ruin her.
“Would you—” She exhaled shakily then straightened her shoulders. “Would you show me?”
Simon stiffened, his entire body taut with restraint.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
Rachel met his gaze, searching. “Please,” she whispered.
Please. Heavens. The words—however innocuous—seemed at that moment the most tempting thing that had ever entered his ears.
Simon closed his eyes for a brief second, exhaling harshly. He had to hold back.
No.
He needed to hold back.
But God help him, he could not deny her.
“Say that again.”
Rachel’s eyes widened for a moment at the request, but she complied. “Please. I need to know.”
All his carefully forged restraint came undone at that moment. Slowly, he set down his glass. When he looked at her again, his expression had changed.
“If I touch you now,” he said, his voice dark and deliberate, “I will not stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” She swallowed hard.
He could not have her. Not yet. Not fully.
But he could teach her.
He leaned forward, his gaze burning into hers. “Undress,” he murmured.
Rachel’s breath caught.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, slowly, her fingers went to the tie of her robe. She loosened it, the fabric slipping from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor.
Simon’s eyes darkened, his gaze sweeping over the curves on her delicate frame. It was as though she had been crafted, chiseled to perfection. Blood pumped between his legs, and his thoughts grew even more clouded.
“Come here.”
She complied yet again, stepping forward and closing the distance between them.
When she reached him, he grasped her wrist, his fingers wrapping around her delicate skin as he guided her hand lower, pressing it against her most intimate part.
Rachel gasped, her knees nearly buckling, but Simon’s other hand was there, steadying her.
His lips brushed against her ear. “Now, I will show you how to take care of yourself,” he whispered.
Rachel trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
And Simon—who had meant only to teach her—realized that keeping his hands to himself was going to be impossible.
He slipped his hands around her waist, inching towards her femininity. A small sigh escaped her lips as he first began to massage the curve of her buttocks.
“Tell me, Duchess,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, “do you want me to touch you?”
“Y-yes,” she moaned, shakily.
“Mm.” His lips found her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses. He relished the sound of her moans as he did, his fingers inching slowly towards their destination. “Tell me where?”
“Y-you…” she flushed. It was almost endearing that even in a moment as intimate as this, she found herself growing shy. “Y-you know where. I want you to.”
Gods. That slight hoarseness of her voice and the desperation that it contained. He would not torture her—or himself—any longer.
Slowly, with her body taut against his own, he slipped one long finger inside her, her folds welcoming his arrival and putting up no restraint.
“You are so ready for me,” he could only murmur in praise as her eyes closed shut.
“S-Simon,” she gasped as he began to quicken his pace. And then, he inserted another finger, feeling her walls tighten against them.
“You’re close.”
“I-I don’t want you to stop,” she moaned, bucking her hips. He felt himself growing larger, the thin fabric of his pants barely able to restrain him.
How could he when she was coming undone like this in his hands?
“You’ll release when I tell you,” he commanded her, feeling a strange kind of possessiveness overcome him. “You’ll say my name as you do.”
She wriggled against him—not out of protest but pleasure. Her head tossed from side to side, moaning as she moved against him.
It was a sight that he wanted to save in his memory forever.
“Come.”
And she did. Her walls tightened around his fingers, and his name ripped through her lips.
“S-Simon,” she cried out.
God. It was the best sound he had ever heard.
And when it was over, he cupped her chin, tilting her gaze to his.
“That,” he murmured, “was your lesson.”
She covered herself with her hands, suddenly self-conscious. “You are a good teacher.”
“Now you know how to do this yourself.” His voice was thick with something unreadable.
Rachel barely had the presence of mind to nod.
“I’ll give you the privacy to dress yourself,” he said finally and let her go. He did not wait for an answer as he quietly slipped out of the room.
He had just broken his own rule again. Somehow, he was beginning to understand that it might not be the last time.