20. The Painful Pact
Twenty
The Painful Pact
K ate lay curled across her bed like a child, her hair tangled around her face and the traces of tears still marking her cheeks. She hadn’t bothered to change her clothes, nor to comb her hair. The silence of her chamber pressed in, broken only by the occasional hitch of her own breath.
Her thoughts kept returning to him—to her—and to every small thing that, now, seemed like a clue she’d missed.
She remembered the first night at the Pemberton ballroom, how he had come to her with a refined poise that set him apart from the others.
The difference had moved her then, though she hadn’t been able to acknowledge it.
She thought now of his hands, so fine, almost delicate for a man’s.
And how they lingered in her memory long after their first touch.
Every time their fingers met, something stirred inside her, some private current ran through her, a heat she’d tried not to admit.
She remembered the first time he embraced her, right after her father’s funeral. He had waited for her, said nothing, only wrapped her in his arms, holding her as though he knew what silence could heal. No one else had given her comfort like that. No one else had made her feel so safe.
But she had always wondered about him, too. His stories of the past did not quite align with those her late father had been told. There were gaps, shadows that made her investigate constantly.
But the uncertainty never stopped her. Not entirely.
And then their wedding day, he hadn’t kissed her lips before the congregation, only her cheek. She had found it tender beyond words, a gesture that lit something warm and frighteningly intense in her chest.
Later, that same night, when the guests had gone and the two of them danced alone outside beneath the stars by the great fountain, she had admired his grace. He moved with an elegance unlike any man she had known. She had wanted to kiss him then, wanted it fiercely.
There was more, the way he managed every detail of her shipping business.
The way he never once diminished her authority, though the men around them often tried.
Even when the partners turned instinctively to him, he always looked back at her, waiting for her command, recognizing her as the one in charge.
And of course, there was his touch. His kisses. Every time he held her, her body burned with a feverish intensity, a fire so deep she could never quench it. Now she understood, those desires, those hungers, were not caused by him . They had always been caused by her .
That realization only pulled her back to the confusion that had plagued her since girlhood. The way she’d always felt different, wrong somehow, the way other women’s interests had never been hers. But this time, this time she—
A sudden sound broke her reverie, a soft knock on the door.
Kate startled upright, brushing hair from her damp face.
Another knock followed, and then she heard his voice, gentle through the wood.
“Kate? Are you awake? Can we talk?”
Kate slid smoothly out of bed. Movement felt heavy, tears and the absence of food all day had left her limbs leaden, but she pushed herself up, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and shuffled the few paces across the room.
She stood before the door without opening it, palm flat against the warm wooden panel, and rested her forehead against it, closing her eyes as if the wood itself could steady her.
“Kate…” Her name came again, lower this time, almost pleading.
She let out a long, shaking sigh.
“I don’t wish to speak with you,” she whispered. “At least not today. Can you… can you give me more time?”
Silence answered her at first.
Then, on the other side, a heavy sigh.
“All right,” came his reply.
Kate heard the smallest of the sounds, as if Jason had leaned closer to the door, or perhaps rested against it the way she was doing.
The thought that only this thin panel of wood separated them, that they were both pressed against opposite sides like mirror images of longing and hurt, made her chest tighten unbearably.
“But… please, do try to eat something,” he added then, and his voice sounded closer to Gina’s natural tone than to Jason’s usual baritone. “You haven’t had a bite all day.”
The concern in Gina’s voice disarmed Kate momentarily.
Here she was, the real person behind the illusion, still caring.
Even after she had rejected her so roughly the night before, even after she had looked at her with horror and confusion and sent her away.
Still worried about whether Kate had eaten.
Kate’s hand pressed harder against the door, fingers splaying across the warm wood as if she could reach through it.
“Food doesn’t appeal to me,” she whispered. “I… I don’t seem to have the will for it.”
Another pause.
Kate imagined Gina on the other side, debating what to say, how much to push. When the words finally came, they were almost unbearably tender.
“Then promise me you’ll try tomorrow. Just… try.”
Kate felt as if her throat was being scraped; tears threatening again though she’d thought herself emptied of them. She couldn’t bring herself to answer, couldn’t promise something she wasn’t certain she could give.
“I’ll let you rest,” Gina said finally, and Kate heard the defeat in those words, the resignation of someone who knew when to retreat. “Have a good night, Kate.”
She heard Gina’s footsteps as she left, slow, reluctant steps, as if each one cost her something in return.
Kate tracked the sound down the corridor, her forehead still pressed to the door, while listening until the noise faded completely into the silence of the house.
And with each fading step, she felt her resolve to stay away weakening, felt something pulling at her to open the door, to call out, to not let this person—whoever they truly were—disappear down that hallway alone.
When the hush returned in full, Kate kept her hand against the wood a heartbeat longer, feeling the phantom vibration of those retreating steps in the floorboards beneath her feet.
She whispered so low it was barely audible even to her own ears, “Good night, Miss Moore.”
Jason’s steps echoed softly along the polished floorboards as he walked toward his chamber.
Each footfall increased the distance between him and his wife in a way that felt devastating, not exactly because of the physical space that separated them, but because of the emotional chasm that had opened between them, deep and seemingly unbridgeable.
When he reached his chamber, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, his movements heavy with defeat. The room felt too large, too empty, the air itself oppressive.
Once fully within, he reached for the brass handle and turned the key in the lock. The click was final, a small but definitive barrier separating him from the world outside, and from Kate.
He pressed his back against the wooden door, his eyes closing briefly as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
His hands went to the front of his coat, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
Each one that came undone felt like releasing an enormous weight.
With a long, heavy sigh, he shrugged the coat off, letting it fall onto the bed in an uncharacteristic heap.
Then he reached for his shirt, working the buttons with a sudden urgency. He was halfway through unfastening it when a sound froze him in place.
A soft knock against the door.
His heartbeat stuttered.
“Jason?” Kate’s voice, muffled through the wood but unmistakably hers.
Jason’s breath left him in a ragged exhale. For a moment, he couldn’t move or even think. He was frozen right there unable to do nothing.
“Jason? Are you there?” Kate called again, firmly this time.
This took him out of his stillness. With trembling hands, he began fastening the buttons again, closing what he could. The fabric still gaped slightly at the chest, revealing the edge of the binding beneath. It would have to do.
He crossed to the door, every step weighted with dread and a sudden, desperate, and irrational hope. When he opened it, just a fraction, Kate stood there, framed in the dim glow.
She was wrapped in her nightgown, and a shawl was draped loosely over her arms, clutched close as if for comfort or protection.
Her hair tumbled in messy waves around her face, uncombed and wild from lying in bed all day long.
Her features were pale, drawn, worn from the day’s tears.
But her eyes, though rimmed with red and shadowed beneath, were clearer now, burning with a terrible resolve.
“I changed my mind,” she said softly, her voice hoarse. “I… I do have something to say.”
Jason swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He opened the door wider and stepped aside, his hand still gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “Come in.”
Kate crossed the threshold with slow, careful steps. She walked to the hearth and stopped before the fire, staring into the flames. Her hands tightened on the fabric around her shoulders as though to anchor herself to something solid.
Jason shut the door quietly and leaned against it, uncertain of what to do with his hands, his body, his very presence in this room with her.
Neither spoke.
The fire crackled and popped, the only sound in the suffocating silence.
Kate still had her back to him, her shoulders stiff under the blanket. Jason simply waited patiently.
After what felt like a long minute, she sighed deeply.
“I won’t reveal your secret.”
The words were simple, stated plainly, but they were enough.
Kate closed her eyes, her head dipping slightly as if the admission had cost her something.
She said nothing more.
Jason tried to process what he had just heard.
“What…?” he asked.
Kate took another long breath and turned slowly to face him. When their eyes met, hers were bright with unshed tears but her gaze was steady, unflinching.