Chapter Eleven
Later that night, Maddie lay curled beneath the counterpane, her room lit only by the faint orange glow from the hearth, the fire reduced to embers now, whispering softly to the silence.
She’d taken down her hair. Her skin still felt warm from the heat of the kitchen, but it wasn’t just the fire or the drink that clung to her now.
It was him.
Sebastian.
She remembered the first time he’d let her feel his forehead for fever. The way he hadn’t flinched, even when her fingers brushed his hair.
Or how he’d once fallen asleep mid-sentence, mouth slightly parted, lashes resting on his cheeks like shadows.
That had been the night she stayed an extra half hour, just watching him breathe.
And the day he made her laugh when she was meant to scold him for not drinking his tincture.
Every moment had chipped away at her resolve until she didn’t know where admiration ended and infatuation began.
Her hands were restless beneath the covers, one curled around the other. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop tumbling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his. That amused tilt in his smile. The warmth in his voice when he said, “Please join me, Maddie.”
He’d called her Maddie again.
And somehow it had sounded more intimate than… a kiss?
She sat up, pushing the counterpane aside, and reached for the small wooden box she kept tucked inside her nightstand. Her fingers brushed over the worn leather as she lifted the lid.
Her etui.
Inside, nestled in velvet-lined compartments, sat her small brown vials—glass glinting like amber in the firelight.
She touched each gently, familiar with the feel and weight of every one.
The eucalyptus bottle rolled beneath her fingers.
Almost empty. She uncorked it, inhaled—sharp, cool, comforting.
But somehow, her support, her medicines, her oils and ointments didn’t hold the same comfort as his smile. His attention.
His touch.
The chamomile was nearly gone too. That soft, honey-sweet scent lingered on the air, reminding her of warm clothes and quiet evenings and the comfort of a hand held just a little longer than necessary.
Except that it struck her: Sebastian hadn’t needed her oils today.
He was almost entirely well.
Which meant…
No more excuses.
No reason for her to knock on his door with a prepared tincture or a satchel of remedies. No reason to linger in his room under the guise of care. No reason to touch his hand or hear the deep rumble of his thanks or… No reason to see him alone.
She was not the sort of woman men pursued.
She wasn’t the kind they ruined or even risked for.
And yet, when he looked at her like that, like she was the only thing in the world holding his gaze together, it felt…
possible. That was the trouble with longing.
It turned sense into fog and temptation into poetry.
She had always lived carefully. Quietly.
She had been told her heart was too soft, her mind too fanciful.
But Sebastian… he made her feel like softness could be strength.
Like her wildest thoughts might not be foolish at all.
She gripped the sides of the box, the leather cold beneath her palms.
It’s not proper.
Of course it wasn’t. She should never have spent so much time by his bedside. She should not have gone to the kitchen, alone, late at night. She should not have laughed with him. Let him touch her. Let him look at her like that.
But she hadn’t been able to help it.
She’d forgotten propriety.
She’d forgotten everything when he looked at her. The castle, the staff, the very air around them—it had disappeared. The world had narrowed to the glow of the fire, the scent of nutmeg, the sound of his voice.
And his eyes. So brilliant. So alive. So focused on her.
She snapped her lips together, suddenly aware of the cool air on her mouth.
Oh no.
She had longed to kiss him.
She still did.
I don’t even know how to kiss!
The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.
She hadn’t meant to think it so plainly, so openly, but it was the truth.
It had settled low in her belly and bloomed like something shamefully beautiful.
She wanted to know what his lips would feel like.
She wanted to tilt her face up, stand on tiptoe if she had to, and just feel him.
She imagined his palm cupping her cheek, steady and sure.
How he might tilt her chin up and whisper something.
Something that would undo her. Would it be slow?
Gentle? Or would he kiss her like he couldn’t bear to wait another second?
And if he did… would she melt? Would she forget the whole of the world the way she had by the fire?
Her lips parted at the thought. She curled deeper beneath the covers, torn between shame and a strange, dizzy kind of happiness.
His mouth, his hands, the sound he might make if…
Maddie shut the etui.
She couldn’t think about this. It wasn’t right.
And yet…
No matter how tightly she pressed the lid, no matter how she tried to calm her heart, the thought lingered. The memory of his smile. The smell of warm beer and spice. The gentle press of his thumb to her upper lip.
She’d never felt so seen. So wanted. So… deliciously undone.
And the worst part—the most dangerous, wonderful part—was that she didn’t want to forget.
Lying back against her pillows, she clutched the etui to her chest and whispered into the night.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
The words hung in the quiet like a secret meant only for shadows.
And Maddie, her heart aching with the truth of it, closed her eyes—and dreamed of egg-flip, firelight, and the way Sebastian looked at her like she was something worth breaking all the rules for.
*
The fire had dwindled to a low glow, its soft flicker casting long shadows across the stone walls of his chamber. Stillness had settled around him like a second skin. But inside, he was anything but still.
He was all chaos and storms.
Sebastian leaned back in the large, high-backed chair before the hearth, his boots kicked off and discarded somewhere near the bed.
His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, yet still he felt too warm.
Stifled. Like he’d walked straight into the heat of the kitchen again.
Or maybe it was memory that made him sweat now.
Maddie with froth above her lip.
The feeling of her skin beneath his finger as he swiped it away.
And the way she had looked at him…
Like he mattered in a way that no one had ever made him feel before.
Maddie.
He let her name tumble silently through his mind, the sound of it… almost magical. Too intimate, perhaps, and yet—he had called her that. Softly. Almost daringly.
Maddie.
He exhaled and tilted his head back against the chair, eyes drifting shut. He could still see her in the kitchen. The way the firelight danced in her hair, the way she held that cup with both hands. And then she’d looked at him, just over the rim. Lips parted. Foam on her mouth.
That had undone him.
That picture had landed somewhere near his ribs and refused to let go.
A muscle jumped in his throat. He swallowed hard. It had been nothing—on the surface. A simple touch. But warmth had transferred to his finger and still it burned.
He shifted in the chair, dragging a hand down his face.
It should not have meant anything. It should not have happened. But it had. And now… now his blood wouldn’t quiet. His thoughts wouldn’t still.
He pushed up from the chair, pacing.
He wanted her.
Not just the curve of her mouth or the scent of her skin or the feel of her fingers. He wanted her. Her voice, her mind, her spirit. The way she’d argued over the smallest things. The way she’d tried to hide her smile when he teased her. The way she just… existed.
He stopped at the edge of the bed, gripping the post as if it might balance him.
It didn’t.
Not where it mattered.
His mind betrayed him, conjuring her again.
Not the prim Miss Maddie with her vials and her lectures, but the one with firelight in her eyes.
The one who leaned in close and smelled like crushed herbs and soft linen.
The one who looked as if she didn’t yet know what it was to be kissed but was thinking about it.
Sebastian pressed his palm flat to his chest. His heart was still there, still pounding. That was something, at least.
He dropped onto the mattress, elbows to knees, and pressed his hands to the back of his neck.
What the devil had happened tonight?
She’d crept under his skin, that’s what. Not with intention—he didn’t believe that for a moment—but simply by being.
He wanted to touch her again. Properly. Deliberately.
He imagined it: her breath catching, the slight tremble of her fingers, the softness of her mouth beneath his.
Would she sigh? Would she make a small sound of surprise before melting into him? Or would she press close, greedy and unknowing, and make him forget every bloody rule he was supposed to remember?
He groaned and dropped back onto the bed, one arm flung over his eyes.
It was not proper.
It was not wise.
And yet—
And yet…
And yet.
He would break rules for her. Had already broken a few.
He had not meant to want her. Not like this. Not in ways that kept him awake and aching. Not in ways that filled his nights with heat and his days with distraction.
But tonight had undone him.
Because it hadn’t just been desire. It hadn’t just been hunger.
It had been comfort. Companionship.
The sense of being seen.
She had looked at him as if he wasn’t a burden or a patient or an obligation. She had looked at him like a man.
Like her man.
The realization came suddenly and sharp, as if it had been waiting just beneath the surface.
He sat up slowly.
The firelight reached the edge of the bed, golden and flickering. He stared at it. Then reached for the blanket, fingers closing into the folds.
He could still feel her here in his room, his chair, his breath.
Sebastian pressed his fingers to his lips. As though that could transfer the sensation of hers over.
A kiss by association.
A beginning.
A promise.
And he wanted to see it through.
He wanted to unpin her hair and watch it fall. He wanted to see her cheeks flushed not from embarrassment but from pleasure. He wanted to taste her sighs and count her freckles and make her forget every lesson in propriety she had ever been taught.
His breath shuddered out of him.
If he kissed her, he would not stop at just one.
He would kiss her until she forgot her own name and whispered his instead.
He would kiss her until the fire died and came back to life.
He would kiss her until there was nothing left but the two of them and the ache they’d carried alone for far too long.
But she wasn’t here.
And maybe that was the only thing saving them both.
Sebastian leaned back on the pillows, staring up at the beams overhead.
She would return to her chamber. She would bury herself in blankets and the memories she was probably trying to forget.
But he wouldn’t forget.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
He closed his eyes, letting her image fill the darkness. The way she had looked up at him. The shape of her mouth. The hesitant desire in her gaze, barely disguised.
She wanted him too.
He was certain of it now. And that certainty was the most dangerous thing of all.
He lifted one hand to the air above him, watching the firelight catch on his fingers. Then slowly, he closed it—
As if holding on to something precious.
As if she were already his.
And in a whisper meant only for the shadows, he said, “I’m already yours.” A secret promise sent into the dark. And Sebastian, heart thudding and body far too warm, let himself dream of herbs and firelight.
And the girl who made him want to break all the rules.