Chapter 20
Twenty
Kitty barely made it up the stairs before the tremble in her hands gave way to a full-bodied shiver.
She pressed the heel of her palm to her chest, willing the thunder of her heartbeat to slow as she reached her door.
The familiar handle felt cold beneath her fingers, the brass smooth and ordinary against a world that no longer was.
Inside, she closed the door behind her with a soft click and leaned against it, eyes fluttering shut.
The quiet of the room wrapped around her like a shawl, soothing in its stillness but unable to erase the sharp memory of Grewin—his voice and all the vile things he had said to her.
The way he had said her name, with such easy cruelty tucked beneath the layers of velvet charm.
How no one—no one—except Norman, seemed to understand the danger Lady Mulberry put her in by inviting him.
Kitty’s spine prickled at the memory. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
But then—Norman.
Her heart gave a hesitant flutter. He had stood up for her.
Without hesitation, or doubt, going against his own family to protect her from him.
The room had gone silent the moment his voice cut through it, as commanding as it had been furious.
She had never seen him so angry—especially not on her behalf.
That look in his eyes when he turned toward Lady Mulberry, and then toward Grewin—protective.
Claiming. She had never anticipated this kind of reaction from him—hadn’t prepared for how it would unravel her.
The terror Grewin had ignited within her still clung to her bones, yet Norman’s response.
.. it did something dangerous to her composure.
Against all reason, it made her feel almost.. . almost loved.
She moved across the room with slow, deliberate steps, crossing to the vanity. Her reflection met her in the mirror, pale and sharp-eyed.
“You’re all right,” she whispered to herself. “You’re all right.”
And she was. She had survived it. Again. Because of Norman. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation she would have gone through if it wasn’t for him—his claim over her, his anger, his protectiveness—
A knock on the door broke through her thoughts.
Her shoulders tensed. Another knock, firmer this time.
“Kitty,” Norman’s voice came through the door, sending her pulse into a frantic rhythm. Her heart hammered so violently she feared it might crack her ribs. “May I please come in? Kitty?”
Kitty’s reflection stared back from the looking glass, her wide eyes betraying the shock thrumming through her veins. What is he doing here? After everything that had just happened, did he truly wish to see her?
She definitely wanted to see him—but she was the one who owed him gratitude. She was the one who felt…things, every time he was near her. Yet, for all her certainty about her own traitorous feelings, his remained frustratingly unclear.
Until now.
That reaction—the protective fury in his eyes, the barely checked tremor in his voice as he shouted at the entire room—spoke louder than any carefully worded confession. And try as she might, she couldn’t pretend not to understand.
She rose with deliberate slowness, her movements weightless as a feather. No answer came from her mouth—none could bridge the chasm between her thoughts and the action.
The door swung open beneath her trembling fingers before she’d consciously decided to open it for him.
Norman stood just beyond the threshold, his expression storm-dark, his cravat slightly askew as though he’d run a hand over it in frustration.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low but tight with emotion.
“Yes. Thank you,” she nodded. “You cannot imagine how grateful I am for…uh, for earlier.”
He studied her, as though he didn’t believe her. As though her simple answer could never be enough.
“Why didn’t you come to me immediately?” he asked, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Kitty felt her shoulders stiffening. “Come to you?”
“Yes,” he said, voice rising. “The moment you saw him. You should have walked away. You should have come straight to me.”
Her lips parted in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
“You let him approach you. You let him speak to you,” his eyes—that impossible shade of blue, sharp as winter ice—held her captive. There was no mistaking the anger still coiled beneath his controlled exterior, as palpable as the static before a summer storm.
But she wasn’t sure what—
“Let him—?” Her temper began to surge, swift and cutting. “Forgive me, but I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to exist in a room.”
Norman’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s not.”
“Do I? Because it sounds remarkably like I’m being scolded for not running into your arms the moment I was in danger. Besides, where were you? We were supposed to do the scene together—yet you couldn’t even be bothered to see me.
“Is that it? Because I had no idea where you were. Even if I had considered running to you—which, for the record, I did not—you’ve given me no reason to believe you care what happens to me—as long as the scandal doesn’t involve you, that is.”
“Kitty—”
“Don’t. I am a grown woman. I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”
His gaze sharpened, and something in it made her pulse thrum faster. “You’ve made it rather clear, haven’t you, that you and I are meant to keep our distance? You practically carved a line between us with your coldness, and now you’re upset I didn’t cross it?”
“You misunderstand—”
“No, I understand perfectly. You only wish to be near me when it suits you—when you can play the hero and chastise me for not being sufficiently helpless.”
Norman took a step forward, his brow furrowed. “Is this another one of your schemes? Were you hoping for scandal? Hoping I’d make a scene, so the engagement would fall apart and you could be rid of me once and for all?”
The words landed with the weight of stones.
She stared at him. How could he not understand? He was the one who had been hot one minute, cold the next—and yet she was the one breaking the engagement?
When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before, but steadier too. “How dare you.”
Norman blinked.
“You think I would jeopardize your sister’s happiness? Her future? Do you truly believe I care so little for you—or for her—that I’d manufacture something so vile, so humiliating, just to be rid of you?”
He didn’t answer at once. That flicker of uncertainty in his eyes gave her the breath she needed to go on.
“I have done everything in my power to avoid making a scene. I have swallowed my pride, I’ve bit my tongue until it bled. I’ve endured snide remarks and sideways glances for the sake of peace. For Eleanor. For you.”
“It’s hard to trust you,” he said, almost helplessly. “You’ve opposed me from the very beginning.”
She laughed, bitter and brittle, as the words stung her chest like venom. “Because you were smug and arrogant and insufferable. You walked into my life with a list of rules and no room for who I actually am.”
Norman took a breath, then let it out slowly. His voice dropped. “I’ve tried to stay away.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I have tried, Kitty. To keep my distance. To be proper. Controlled. Cold, as you say.” He gave a low, unamused laugh. “But you—you have made it impossible.”
The room tilted slightly. She pressed her palm to the edge of the vanity to steady herself.
“I would walk into a room, and I’d know you were in it before I saw you. I could hear you in a crowd, I could feel you when you were near. And it drove me mad. Still does,” by the time he finished speaking, he stood breathless, fists clenched—knuckles white with the force of it.
She said nothing. It didn’t make any sense. How could he—?
Was it even possible he felt the same as her?
He looked at her, and the silence seemed to stretch between them like a taut string ready to snap.
His gaze pinned her in place, stealing her breath. She couldn’t look away—she didn’t even want to.
“I tried,” he whispered, almost to himself. Then, without warning, Norman stepped forward and kissed her.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t cautious. It was every bit as unguarded as the look he had just given her.
His mouth found hers with a kind of quiet desperation, like he had been holding back for far too long and no longer had the strength to pretend. It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.
Kitty’s breath caught as her back met the vanity behind her.
One of his hands settled against the wood near her head, the other gripped her waist as if anchoring himself there.
The contact lit a match beneath her skin.
Her fingers, useless at her sides, slowly found their way to his coat, grasping the lapels as if to tether herself to the moment.
There was heat in the kiss, yes, but something else, too—a tremor of a feeling too long buried. His mouth moved against hers with startling certainty, and she felt herself answering with all the hunger she’d hidden under manners and obligation.
His tongue brushed hers, coaxing, and she let out a small, involuntary sound that made his grip on her tighten.
She had thought about this. Dreamed about it. Woken breathless from half-forgotten imaginings.
But this—this was nothing like the rehearsed fantasies. This was raw and alive, thrumming in her bones. When his mouth left hers to find the curve of her jaw, then lower still to the tender skin beneath her ear, Kitty gasped and tilted her head instinctively, heart pounding.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.
Instead, her hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her reply came out barely a whisper. “Don’t.”