Chapter Twelve
Early the next morning, with a fresh layer of snow blanketing the world outside, Sebastian stood by the window of his chamber, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders.
Though his nose remained a little stuffy and a dull ache lingered behind his brow, the worst of his illness had passed and with it, the dreary weight that had kept him trapped not only in bed but in his own thoughts.
Today felt… lighter.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the scent of burning oak curling into the room alongside the sharper eucalyptus from Miss Maddie’s salve.
She’d left it for him two mornings ago, along with her own blend of tea and an oil she claimed would help him breathe better.
He didn’t know if the remedies were to credit for his improvement, or if it was simply the memory of her voice, her hand brushing his as she passed him the steaming cup, the faint flush on her cheeks when their eyes met.
She had come without hesitation, walking into his chambers with tinctures, essential oils, and fresh herbal teas each day as if it posed no inconvenience. As if nursing him back to health was something she wanted to do.
No one has ever taken care of me like that.
Not personally, at least. Sure he’d been sick as a boy, but mother had always sent his governess or the servants for help.
Maddie… ahem… Miss Madeleine was different. Special. Precious.
Sebastian sipped the tea. The taste was odd—earthy with something floral, not unpleasant but not quite to his usual preference. He’d finished every drop.
Outside, the estate grounds shimmered in the pale morning light, the snow transformed into a sea of silver.
The frost on the glass windowpane sparkled like a thousand tiny stars, each one shaped delicately, intricately, uniquely.
He ran a finger down the edge of the window, watching the fog recede slightly beneath his touch, and thought—strangely—of the way Maddie had smiled when he’d offered her a taste of his egg-flip the other night in the kitchen.
That’s what her eyes looked like, he realized, staring at the frostwork. Bright. Alive. Not pitying, not shocked. Just… amused. Warm.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since.
He’d never been a man prone to illness. Or to helplessness.
But this cold had gripped him hard, rendering him a shell of himself for days.
The fever had taken his appetite, the aches had stolen his sleep, and worst of all had been the sensation of futility.
And yet… she’d stitched him back together with the golden threads of her heart.
Or so it felt at least.
But it was daring to presume that she’d felt the same.
Sebastian revisited their encounters. There was that time when Maddie had walked in, wrapped in her practical wool cloak, her hands full of unlikely treasures, and without making a fuss, had sat beside him.
Not once had she looked at him as if he were a burden.
Not once had she treated him with exaggerated gentleness.
She’d simply existed in the space with him, quietly making things better. Propriety didn’t matter. Humanity did.
That’s how wonderful she was.
Now, as he took another sip and let the heat work its way into his chest, Sebastian exhaled slowly and let his gaze drift over the horizon. The morning had that peculiar stillness only snow could bring. Even the crows had quieted. The castle grounds lay silent, white-dusted and untouched.
He should go out.
The thought struck him with unexpected urgency. For the first time in days, the idea of dressing and stepping outside did not seem a chore. His body still ached, yes, but something inside him had shifted. He no longer felt dull and feverish.
Sebastian set the cup down and moved to the wardrobe. He dressed slowly, carefully. His muscles protested when he bent to pull on his boots, but he didn’t mind. When he finally straightened, wool coat buttoned, gloves in hand, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
His reflection startled him.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, the stubble on his jaw darker than usual, and he still looked paler than he’d like—but there was something else, too. Something steadier in his eyes. Something determined.
Outside the corridor, the castle remained hushed. Most of the staff were still below stairs, preparing for the day. He took the stairs down two at a time, ignoring the way his chest tightened slightly at the exertion. The door to the east wing opened with a creak, and he stepped out into the cold.
The wind hit him first, sharp and clean, biting through his coat with its icy fingers and pulling at his breath. But instead of retreating, Sebastian inhaled deeply, the pine-sweet scent of the woods mingling with smoke and earth. His lungs stung with it. Alive.
He made his way down the familiar path leading to the stables, each step crunching in the snow. The boots left a trail behind him, the only footprints in an otherwise pristine landscape.
And then he saw her.
Maddie.
She was crouched at the far end of the gardens, wrapped in that same dark-green cloak, her hair tucked beneath a knitted cap.
She was tending to something at the base of a stone wall, her gloved fingers brushing frost off the stems of a hibernating plant.
There was nothing particularly extraordinary about her posture or movement, and yet Sebastian stopped as though struck.
She hadn’t noticed him. That was what did it. That she moved so freely, so confidently, when she believed herself unseen. That she was out here at all, when she could have been warm in the kitchens.
He approached quietly, but not to startle her, only to delay the moment when she would look up. He didn’t know what his face would reveal. He didn’t trust himself not to reveal everything.
“Maddie,” he said finally, his voice lower than intended, roughened by disuse.
She looked up at once, a smile already forming. “Sebastian!”
And just like that, the world seemed warmer.
“You shouldn’t be out here. You’re barely recovered.”
He shook his head, stepping closer. “I needed air.”
Her gaze scanned his face, pausing just a moment too long on his mouth. She was worried. He saw it in the way her brows pinched slightly. In the way her gloved hands fidgeted with the folds of her cloak.
“I’m quite recovered. Truly.” He hesitated, then added, “Thanks to you.”
She didn’t answer immediately, just stood and dusted snow off her knees. When she looked at him again, her cheeks were pink, and not from the cold, he suspected.
“It was nothing,” she murmured.
“No.” He stepped closer, feeling something solid and sure beneath the words. “It was everything.”
The snow crunched softly between them. The space was small now. Not quite close enough to touch. But enough that the warmth of her breath mingled with his in the frigid air.
Maddie glanced away, her lashes brushing her cheek. “I only brought what anyone would have. You’d have done the same.”
“Not everyone would have come.” His voice was quiet now, steady. “And not everyone would have known what to bring.”
She didn’t answer.
Sebastian reached out, gently lifting one of her hands. Through the glove, he felt the shape of her fingers. Small. Strong. Real.
“I missed you,” he said.
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. Wide. Shining.
“I didn’t go anywhere,” she whispered.
“You did,” he said, his thumb brushing the top of her glove. “You didn’t stay after you brought me tea. And the castle—my chambers—felt empty without you.”
And that’s when he realized it.
My heart is empty without you.
Something shifted in her expression. The kind of vulnerability one tried to hide but failed to—just as he had failed to ignore the ache of her absence.
“I only stayed away because I thought—” She shook her head. “Because I thought you needed rest.”
“I needed you,” he said simply.
The words hung in the air between them, misting in the cold.
She didn’t smile, not yet. But her hand tightened in his, just a fraction.
And Sebastian knew, with more clarity than he’d known anything in a long time, that this was what he’d been waiting for—not just the lifting of a fever, or the clearing of his head. But this. The feeling of being seen. Of being cared for. Of wanting something enough to reach for it.
“I’m glad you’re better,” Maddie said softly.
“I am.” His gaze didn’t leave hers. “And I think… I’m only just beginning to feel like myself again.” But I will never be the same without you.
A gust of wind rushed over them then, stealing her cap from her head. Her hair tumbled out in soft, dark waves, and she laughed—startled, shy, lovely.
Without thinking, Sebastian caught the cap mid-air and stepped forward to replace it. His hands brushed her hair, and she stilled.
When he met her gaze again, she wasn’t smiling.
She was waiting.
He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. But he leaned close enough that she would know he wanted to.
And close enough to know she wanted it, too.
*
The snow clung to every branch like silken ribbons, and Maddie, standing in the pretty rose garden with frost melting into the hem of her cloak, had never felt so aware of every inch of herself.
She wasn’t cold.
She should have been. After all, the nippy wind danced past her ears and tugged at the strands of hair escaping from beneath her cap, but inside, she burned.
She could feel the heat rising through her chest, warming her limbs, her fingertips, her throat.
It had everything to do with the man standing just a few feet away, looking at her as if she were the reason spring returned each year.
Sebastian.
He’d recovered. Mostly. His eyes still held a faint shadow, and the red flush on his cheeks was certainly due to the morning chill, but his mouth curved with the ease of someone no longer fighting to breathe. He looked alive again. Gloriously, handsomely alive.
She should have said something. Anything. But her voice caught in her throat.
She wanted him to move closer. Just a little. One step. Two. That was all it would take for her to reach him. To feel his coat brush against her skirts. To know if his breath still held the scent of the tea she’d made with trembling fingers the night she had walked to the castle in the storm.
She stepped forward.
Just slightly. Barely a shift in the snow.
It was the boldest thing she’d ever done.
Her heel hadn’t even left the ground, but she’d moved. Toward him. And heaven help her, she couldn’t take it back. The air between them felt charged now, shimmering with possibility. Every inch of her skin tingled with awareness, as if her body already knew something her mind refused to admit.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who reached first. She was the quiet one. The thoughtful one. The one men noticed after they’d flirted with everyone else. But Sebastian wasn’t looking past her. He was looking at her.
And oh, how she wanted him to meet her halfway.
To close the space she couldn’t quite bridge alone. To see her, truly see her, and choose her—not because she was proper or pleasant or conveniently nearby, but because something in him couldn’t bear the distance.
Just two steps, she thought.
Two steps, and I’ll know.
The distance between them seemed to shrink, and her heart surged with wild, silly hope. Come closer.
He didn’t speak. Not right away. But his gaze flicked downward—to where her boot had moved. And then his eyes lifted again, slowly, to her mouth.
Her lips parted on instinct. She didn’t know if she was about to speak, or if she was already imagining the feel of his mouth against hers.
The silence stretched between them. And still, he didn’t look away.
The moment trembled.
Somewhere behind her, a window creaked open. Maddie stiffened.
The sound came from the castle, just behind the hedges, one of the ground-floor windows of the east wing. She didn’t need to turn to know what it was: someone opening a shutter, slowly and carefully, as if they didn’t want to be seen.
They were being watched.
Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t move.
If they were watching, they could watch. Let them. I’ve been thinking of this for days.
But it felt like a lifetime culminating in a moment.
She let her gaze drop to Sebastian’s mouth. If someone wants a show, she thought wildly, then let them see what it looks like when a woman loses her breath entirely.
He took a step forward. Then another.
And then he was in front of her.
His hand reached out, not urgently, but with the reverence of a man about to touch something precious. His glove was warm from his pocket, and when his fingers curled around hers, something inside Maddie gave way.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “For being so wonderful.”
She swallowed. “As I said, it was just tea,” she whispered. “And some medicine. Nothing.”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I didn’t mean those things.” Her breath hitched, but he spoke again, “I meant you.”
Her fingers curled instinctively around his. The weight of those three words settled into her chest like a velvet cloak—heavy, warm, and far too beautiful to bear.
“You’re wonderful, Maddie.” His thumb brushed along the side of her hand. “And beautiful.”
The word landed like a spark against dry parchment.
“And so very sweet.”
Her knees very nearly gave out. The wind wrapped around them, but she didn’t feel it anymore. Not really. Not when her whole body was leaning toward his.
He stepped closer. His body almost touched hers.
Just a breath away. Her gaze lifted to his eyes.
They were so dark and so warm, crinkling slightly at the corners as he smiled, and dear heaven, that smile.
The boyish tilt to it, the way it melted the last of her defenses. Her lungs forgot how to fill properly.
And then he leaned in.
Slowly. Intentionally. As if he wanted her to feel every moment before their lips met.
His breath mingled with hers, and she swayed toward him.
She didn’t stop herself. Didn’t try.
She wanted him to teach her. And she most of all wanted to know what he felt like. His lips. His touch.
Her heart beat so fast she was sure he must hear it. Every part of her ached for him to kiss her. She could already feel it—what it would be like. His mouth firm but tender, his hand lifting to cup her jaw, the press of him, finally, gloriously—
She trembled.
His nose brushed hers.
Closer.
Closer.
Please, she thought. Please kiss me.
And then followed footsteps. Crunching over the snow just behind the hedges.
Maddie froze.
They weren’t passing by. They stopped. Then came the voice—sharp, loud, unmistakably scandalized.
“Madeleine!”
She flinched.
The voice rang across the garden like a bell cracked in frost.