Chapter 22 #2
Then he caught the boy around the waist and rolled—carefully, but with enough surprise that Henry’s delighted shrieks probably reached London. They ended in a tangle of limbs and laughter, Tobias holding Henry against his chest whilst the boy caught his breath between giggles.
Amelia watched them, her throat impossibly tight. This was what Henry deserved. Laughter and play and someone who looked at him with such uncomplicated affection.
This was what she deserved, some traitorous part of her whispered. Though that thought led nowhere she could afford to follow.
Henry quickly seemed to get tired of the adults, and he moved away from them—eagerly inspecting flowers, tugging at leaves here and there, and giggling at a fly that buzzed around his head.
Tobias moved towards her then.
“He is overjoyed so easily,” she said—if only to fill the silence. She could feel him nod.
“You make it possible, my lady,” he said at last.
They stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the space between them. Close enough that when he shifted his weight, his sleeve brushed her arm in a whisper of contact that shouldn’t have sent sparks racing across her skin.
Henry stumbled over a protruding root—momentum carrying him forward in a graceless tumble that ended with him sitting on his bottom, looking more surprised than hurt. The butterfly fluttered away, utterly indifferent to his failure.
Amelia moved instinctively, but Tobias was faster. He crossed to Henry in three strides and crouched beside the boy, this large hand gentle on the boy’s small back.
“You all right there, lad?”
Henry’s lower lip trembled. Not from pain—she could see that—but from the crushing disappointment of a child who’d just learned some things remained forever out of reach, no matter how desperately you chased them.
“It got away,” he said, his voice wobbling. “I almost had it, Papa, but it got away.”
“I know.” Tobias lifted him carefully, settling the boy against his chest. “But you gave it an excellent chase. I’d wager that butterfly will be telling stories about the fierce giant who nearly caught it.”
Henry sniffled, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Butterflies are terrible gossips.” Tobias’s expression was perfectly solemn. “By tomorrow, every butterfly in Kent will have heard about your remarkable pursuit.”
That earned a watery giggle. Henry pressed his face against Tobias’s shoulder, one small hand fisting in his shirt, and sighed with the particular exhaustion of childhood dramatics thoroughly spent.
Amelia found herself drifting closer, drawn by forces she’d stopped trying to name. When she reached them, Tobias had started humming—something low and meandering that might have been an actual song or might have been entirely improvised.
Henry’s eyes were already drooping. His small body had gone heavy with impending sleep the way children’s bodies did—utterly boneless, completely trusting.
“He’ll need his nap soon,” she said quietly, though she made no move to take him. “The excitement has quite worn him out.”
“Has it?” Tobias’s voice held gentle humour. “I rather thought he’d worn us out.”
She smiled despite herself, watching her son drift toward sleep in Tobias’s arms. The morning sun painted them both in gold—chestnut hair and dark curls, strong hands cradling small limbs with infinite care.
They looked... right. Together. As though this was how things had always been meant to be, despite every reason it shouldn’t be.
“You’re very good with him,” she said again, because the observation bore repeating. Because Tobias deserved to know what his affection meant—to Henry, yes, but also to her.
“He makes it easy.” Tobias adjusted his hold fractionally, and in doing so, his knuckles brushed her arm.
The contact was incidental. Meaningless.
Except it wasn’t.
Electricity arced through her at that simple touch—that bare whisper of skin against muslin. Her breath caught audibly, and his gaze snapped to hers.
They stood frozen, the space between them charged with something she couldn’t name and didn’t dare examine. His knuckles still pressed against her sleeve. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.
Neither moved. Neither breathed.
Henry made a small sound in his sleep, and the spell shattered.
Tobias pulled his hand back as though burned. Amelia stepped away, her heart hammering against her ribs with enough force to make her dizzy.
“I should...” She gestured vaguely toward the house, toward safety, toward anywhere that wasn’t here with him and this impossible wanting. “Lord Ashbourne is waiting.”
Tobias’s jaw tightened fractionally. “Of course. Lord Ashbourne.”
The name was sobering. A stark reminder of what was appropriate, what was proper, what was allowed.
“Henry adores you,” she said softly, because if she didn’t fill the silence with words, she might say something far more dangerous. “He’ll miss you when... when things change.”
When I marry someone appropriate. When we’re no longer living in this impossible proximity. When you’re merely Uncle Tobias again instead of the man Henry calls Papa.
When I can no longer watch you hold my son and pretend my heart isn’t breaking.
Tobias looked down at Henry’s sleeping face for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice had gone rough.
“So will I.”
The confession escaped before he could cage it. She watched the words register—watched him realize what he’d revealed—and something in his expression cracked open. Raw and vulnerable and utterly devastating.
“Tobias—” she began, though what she meant to say remained unclear even to herself.
But he shook his head, that careful mask sliding back into place. The one he wore in society. The one that gave nothing away.
“We should go inside,” she said gently, ending the moment before it could destroy them both. “Before Lord Ashbourne thinks I’ve forgotten him entirely.”
She held out her arms for Henry. Tobias transferred him carefully, and for one suspended breath their faces were inches apart—him bending to pass the sleeping child, her reaching to receive him—and she could count his heartbeats in the pulse at his throat.
Could see the longing he was trying so desperately to hide.
Could feel her own longing rise to meet it, fierce and undeniable and absolutely forbidden.
Then Henry was in her arms, warm and heavy and real. The barrier between them was restored. And she turned toward the house without looking back.
But she felt Tobias watching her go. Felt his gaze like a physical touch burning between her shoulder blades all the way across the lawn.
When she reached the terrace, she couldn’t stop herself. She glanced back.
He stood exactly where she’d left him, hands clenched at his sides, and the look on his face made her chest constrict painfully. He looked like a man watching something precious walk away. Like a man who’d just realized exactly what he stood to lose and had absolutely no idea how to prevent it.
She forced herself to continue inside. To climb the stairs. To settle Henry in his nursery and smooth his dark curls one final time before leaving him to Mary’s care.
To descend toward the morning room where Lord Ashbourne waited with his impeccable manners and appropriate interest.