Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
She looks so peaceful.
That was the only thought that was going through his mind as he traced little circles along his wife’s exposed skin. She lay beside him, her body pressed softly against his, her breathing slow and deep in the haze of sleep.
Simon, however, was still wide awake, unable to keep his hands off her.
He hadn’t meant to keep touching her, nor had he meant to keep kissing her even after the heat between them had faded, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
His lips ghosted over her shoulder, over the curve of her collarbone. Even in sleep, she shivered beneath his touch, and something in Simon’s chest twisted.
It made him almost want to wake her up and repeat what they had been doing before. Twist with her in the sheets until she was left breathless and exhausted, but still asking for more.
Stop this.
He had never been like this before. After his release, he had never felt the need to stay, let alone linger in a woman’s arms, touch her, and still not get enough of her.
Of course, with her, it was different. Like all things. Rachel had somehow become his.
His breathing faltered at the thought. It was one after the other—this need to consume her and make her entirely his own was not something he had ever felt before.
And I am not about to start now.
His jaw tightened as he forced himself to pull away, to create space between their bodies. He could not afford to think this way.
He wanted her. That much had always been true. But this was more than that. It was deeper, and Simon felt the world slip out from under him as he gave a name to the feeling.
This was love.
Simon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he sat up in bed.
When did this happen?
To most people, the realization that they had fallen in love was a pleasant one. Or at least, not one that inspired dread. In his case, it only caused a sheer sense of panic to grip him.
He had married her because he had needed to, because it had been necessary for the title, for his standing, for the life he was meant to uphold. He had not married her to fall in love with her.
Simon clenched his jaw, staring down at Rachel as she slept beside him, oblivious.
Once again, he wanted to reach out and touch her. Somehow, seeing her face made him forget all the worries that occupied his mind. But it was too dangerous to play this game.
Not when he still had unfinished business. Not when his focus needed to be on the truth, on finding the person responsible for his parents’ deaths.
Simon forced himself to stand, moving as quietly as possible. His body was reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed, but his mind knew better.
He needed to put distance between them before it was too late. Before she woke up or before he did something foolish like tell her the truth.
He reached for his robe, fastening it around his waist with careful, steady hands. Then, sparing one last glance at the woman who had somehow become everything, he left.
It is better if she is heartbroken than if she is in danger.
It was a good morning.
That was her first thought when she woke up in the morning.
She turned onto her side, reaching instinctively for Simon, only to find the space beside her empty.
He must have risen early. Knowing him, he must have found something to do.
Rachel exhaled, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling for a moment. She had never woken up feeling like this before. Last night had changed something—not just between them but inside her.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing slowly, her muscles still pleasantly sore. As she moved across the room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped.
She looked… different.
Her skin seemed to glow in the morning light, her lips still slightly swollen, her collarbone dusted with the faintest hint of color where Simon’s mouth had lingered.
She felt like a woman.
Not just in the way she had shared herself with Simon but in the way she knew herself now. A soft blush crept up her cheeks as memories of the night before came rushing back. The way he had touched her, worshiped her, as if he couldn’t get enough. He had wanted her.
No, that was not enough to convey what had happened last night. He had needed her.
Just as achingly bad as she needed him. And for the first time, Rachel let herself believe that maybe he had begun to care for her in the way that she had begun to care for him.
The thought of it alone sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the maid greeted her as she carried in a tray.
Rachel quickly composed herself, smoothing her robe with her hands. “Good morning,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
“His Grace asked that I bring you breakfast.” The maid set the tray down on a nearby table.
”Simon… sent this?”
The maid nodded, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
A warmth bloomed in Rachel’s chest. He thought of me. It was a small gesture, but after last night, it meant something.
She moved to the tray, lifting the lid of one of the plates. Warm toast, fresh fruit, and a pot of perfectly steeped tea. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Of course, he had sent breakfast—but why had he not opted to have the breakfast with her?
“Could you send His Grace a message that I would appreciate his presence over breakfast?”
The maid bit her lip before answering, “His Grace left early this morning, Your Grace.”
“Left?”
“Yes,” the maid said carefully. “He asked that a carriage be prepared at dawn.”
”Did he say where he was going?”‘
The maid hesitated again. “No, Your Grace.”
Rachel’s initial surprise quickly settled into understanding. Of course, Simon had left early. He was a man of duty, always preoccupied with something that required his attention. But it wasn’t like before. This time, he had thought of her.
He would return soon. And when he did, she wanted to welcome him home properly.
“Could you inform the kitchen staff that I would like a special dinner prepared for this evening?” Rachel said, opting not to read too much into her husband’s absence. “Something extravagant. A feast, like a celebration.”
“As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll inform the cook at once,” the maid agreed. “If I may ask… what is the occasion?”
Rachel felt warmth rise to her cheeks.
She turned away slightly, busying herself with pouring tea from the pot Simon had sent. “There is no occasion,” she murmured.
The maid, to her credit, didn’t press, but Rachel caught the knowing glint in her eye before she curtsied and hurried off.
Was I really that obvious?
Rachel sighed, shaking her head as she lifted the teacup to her lips.
She couldn’t admit it aloud, but tonight she wanted to celebrate because she finally felt like Simon’s wife.
Tonight would be perfect.
Rachel took a deep breath, holding onto that thought, refusing to let doubt creep in.
Simon would come home.
And when he did, she would be waiting for him.
“Shall I have the kitchen prepare another round of warm dishes, Your Grace?”
Rachel flinched at the sound of the maid’s voice. She had been staring at the dining room doors for so long—half expecting them to swing open at any moment—that the maid’s interruption startled her entirely.
“No. That will not be necessary.” She took a slow breath and shook her head.
The words were only calm at the surface, but a sense of disappointment gnawed at her on the inside.
Where was he?
“Your Grace, perhaps His Grace is simply delayed. Shall I ask the footmen to keep watch for his arrival?” the maid asked, sensing the need of the moment.
Rachel’s lips curved into something that might have resembled a smile had it not been so tight. “I do not wish to trouble anyone. His Grace knows where the dining room is, should he decide to make an appearance.”
The maid’s gaze flickered toward the untouched feast laid out before them, and Rachel found herself getting embarrassed again. Everything she had ordered with such enthusiasm that morning, believing—foolishly—that tonight would mark a shift in her marriage.
“Very well, Your Grace,” the maid said after a long pause, her voice careful. “Shall I have the staff clear the table?
“Yes,” Rachel swallowed, willing herself to ignore the ache in her chest. She had waited long enough. “Put everything away.”
The maid nodded and gestured for the footmen to begin. Silver trays clattered softly against fine china as the meal was whisked away. So much for all the effort that had been put into it.
“That will be all for the evening.” Rachel rose from her seat, pressing her hands together to steady herself.
The maid hesitated, looking unsure whether or not she should leave.
“If I may… is there anything I can bring you? A tray, perhaps?” she asked carefully, watching Rachel’s face for any sign of what she truly wanted.
My husband, Rachel thought to herself. If you bring him, that would be most appreciated.
She opted not to say that out loud.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That will not be necessary.”
The maid dipped into a bow, but before she turned to leave, Rachel caught the careful way she looked at her—as if debating whether to say something more.
”It is only dinner,” Rachel said lightly, though the words felt heavy. “There will be another.”
At this point, she was only trying to mask her disappointment.
“You are late.”
Rachel’s voice was quiet and tired. It was well past midnight, and she had been waiting by the door for her husband to arrive back home all this time.
“I had business,” Simon said simply, as if that explanation was enough.
Oh. Right. Business. She had spent the evening telling herself that he would come. That she was being foolish for watching the clock, for glancing at the doors each time she heard the faintest sound in the manor. And this was all that her husband had to say to her in response.
“Why are you still awake?”
“I was waiting for you.” Rachel inhaled sharply, lifting her chin.