Chapter 15 #2
Kitty stepped back, and the cold air rushed into the space he left behind. “I see,” she said, even though she didn’t. Her tone was cool, distant, and she hated herself for it. “Is this where you remind me that our marriage is meant to be in name only?”
His eyes closed for a moment, jaw flexing. “What we did yesterday—what just happened—it shouldn’t have.”
Kitty’s stomach dropped. She felt like someone had poured ink into her chest, dark and spreading.
“I thought—I thought you wanted—” She stopped herself and shook her head, cheeks burning. She shouldn’t have admitted even that much. “Never mind. You’ve made yourself clear.”
Norman’s brows drew together, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Kitty—”
“No,” she cut in, the bitter taste rising in her mouth before she could stop it. “Do you regret it? Last night? Kissing me now? Was it all some misplaced sense of chivalry?”
His face twisted. “That isn’t what I said.”
“You said it was wrong.”
“It is wrong,” he snapped, though there was no heat to it. “You deserve better than to be toyed with. I didn’t mean to—”
“To what?” she demanded. “To make me feel like I was finally seen, only to withdraw the moment it frightened you?”
The color in his face darkened slightly. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment, but she didn’t care. She was spiraling now, fury a thin veil over her aching pride.
“Or is this about Cynthia?” she continued. “Is she more suitable for this arrangement after all? You know, to carry on your family’s precious legacy, as your father would have wanted?”
She didn’t truly believe her own words but saying them aloud made the anger feel real—solid enough to grip onto while everything else spun around her. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment, willing the dizziness to pass.
Norman stepped toward her again, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “This has nothing to do with Cynthia.”
“You say that, but the man who kissed me isn’t standing here now.”
He said nothing.
Silence.
And in that silence, she tried so hard not to care.
Not to wonder what she had done wrong. Not to replay yesterday’s memories, not to flinch at the idea that he had only come to her bed out of duty, or guilt, or loneliness.
That maybe he hadn’t wanted her at all. That maybe she had misunderstood everything—again.
She dropped her gaze, and for the first time, her voice sounded small. “Are you sorry you saved me that night?”
He didn’t answer right away. The pause felt unbearable.
Then, softly, “Are you still trying to break the engagement?”
Kitty’s eyes snapped up to his.
And there it was. The question neither of them wanted to ask because the answer had shifted in the quiet hours, when no one was watching.
“I don’t know anymore,” she whispered.
He looked at her like he was afraid to breathe.
Neither of them moved. The church seemed to hold its breath too.
Then—footsteps.
Kitty heard them first—the crunch of gravel outside, then the faint chatter of voices approaching.
One of them was unmistakable—Jane’s lyrical, unfiltered enthusiasm filling the otherwise solemn air.
Panic rose in Kitty’s chest. She saw Norman stiffen, then quickly smooth the front of his coat. His face snapped back into that carefully unreadable expression, but his eyes—his eyes—were wide with alarm.
“Oh no,” Kitty breathed. She took a quick step back from him, and then another.
He didn’t stop her this time.
Jane’s voice grew clearer. “—absolutely gorgeous, Richard! Look at those windows—do you suppose the inside is just as grand?”
“Why, Jane,” Richard chuckled, ”there’s only one way to settle this—we ought to enter.” The ancient oak doors groaned in protest as they swung inward, their iron hinges screaming as a flood of golden sunlight erupted through the opening.
There, framed in the arched threshold, stood Jane and Richard—one radiant with barely-contained energy, the other as inscrutable as the church’s shadowed corners.
Jane entered first, her boots clicking against the worn stone floor. Her gloved hand still rested against the door as if she might fling it wider.
Richard followed at a more measured pace, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the doorframe. The sunlight caught the silver threads at his temples as he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the shadowed pews with deliberate calm.
Kitty’s breath snagged in her throat. The sudden light burned her eyes—or perhaps that was the traitorous heat pricking at their corners. Her fingers, which had been clutching Norman’s coat only moments ago, now fluttered uselessly at her sides.
Every practiced phrase, every polite deflection dissolved on her tongue, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of her still-thundering pulse.
Across the nave, Jane blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Then—with a furious intake of breath that echoed off the rafters—her lips curved into a grin sharp enough to draw blood.
“Well!” Her voice rang out, bouncing off the stone walls with merciless clarity. She made no attempt to conceal her disapproval.
“This is cozy.” Richard’s gaze flicked between them, questioning. “Care to explain what you two are doing here? Unchaperoned?”