14. A Meeting by Firelight
S elene employed Marta as her lady’s maid, which was a great relief to Dorian. Every year it was an effort to keep her away from Jon on the allotted day, and he had failed more than once. He hoped that this year it would be easier.
Letters arrived in the masses from her friends and relatives a day later, all startled by the news of her sudden marriage. Dorian didn’t pry into the precise nature of them, but he could tell she didn’t like their contents.
Happily, she seemed to be settling into life at Ebonrose a bit better, and she seemed more than happy to dine with the rest of the household.
Dorian was pleased by this development, even though he rarely made it down for mealtimes.
Partly because he was buried under work and partly because he was unprepared by how much it hurt to see her here, laughing and chatting and being with the rest of his family .
It was a good thing. He knew it was.
He was also terrified of losing it.
Each night, as he passed Selene’s door on the way to his own, he thought about going in, of speaking to her, of trying to let her know him again, but each night his courage wavered.
Things could not be as they were, and if Selene found out how he truly felt about her…
well, it would disrupt the tentative peace she was building for herself.
She’d had enough change. She’d probably had enough of men and their wants and expectations.
No. It was better for the both of them if he kept his distance.
And yet, each night as he fell asleep, his gaze turned to the doors connecting their rooms, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to open them.
Dorian was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t hold onto that thought, knowing that it would pull him away from the moment.
It was a dream he had often: Selene—Luna—was in the garden, next to the midnight irises, with a baby in her arms. He could never see its face well, never knew if it was a boy or a girl, but it was his, and so was Selene.
“Won’t you dance with me? ” she asked him.
“In any life,” he responded.
“You haven’t danced with me in any of them.”
“In this one, I will,” he promised her.
Selene smiled, but she was already fading into moonlight.
He reached out to grab her, but she was gone.
Someone was padding around his office. Ariella? No, the footsteps were too light. Soren, maybe. It hardly mattered. He didn’t want to wake. The memory of the dream still curled around him .
With the lightest touch, someone removed his glasses, setting them aside with more care than he ever afforded them. Then, just as gently, something draped something over his shoulders. Wool, thin but soft, carrying the lingering scent of Luna.
Selene.
Dorian stirred faintly, drawn toward the warmth of it. The dream wavered, slipping between reality and memory, and he surfaced.
“Selene?” His voice came rough with sleep. “Is that you?”
She froze. “I’m sorry, I know you said not to come into your study, but the door was open, and I didn’t want you to tip over your candle—”
“No, no, it’s quite all right.” He pushed himself upright, stretching, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders.
The dream was gone now, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers.
“It’s not a complete ban, more of a ‘don’t come in without knocking’ or ‘try to limit interruptions while I’m working. ’”
He was glad he hadn’t been dealing with anything timeline-related as he fell asleep, however. His desk was only scattered with matters concerning the estate.
He rubbed at his eyes, still blurred with sleep. “What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.”
“Why are you still up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Right.” He hesitated.
“Shall we… get you up to your bed?” she offered.
He wondered what she would do if he said yes. Did she merely mean to follow him up, or would she guide him into his chambers, her hand on his back? Would she tuck him into bed like Ariella used to? Why did the idea almost excite him?
It was probably as much as he could expect from this version of Selene.
His stomach growled before he could respond. “Ah, maybe I ought to feed myself first.”
“I can get Rookwood to—”
“Don’t be daft,” Dorian scoffed, unable to summon more politeness when he was this tired and hungry. “I’m perfectly capable of sourcing something to eat.”
“Right.” She hovered, uncertain. “I’ll just… go back upstairs, then.”
A pause.
“Would you like some warm milk?” he asked before he could think better of it.
“…Come again?”
“Warm milk,” he repeated. “If you’re having trouble sleeping.”
“Oh! Yes, actually. That sounds wonderful.”
Dorian stood, and a shawl slipped from his shoulders, pooling onto the seat behind him. He frowned, reaching for it, but Selene moved faster, snatching it up.
“This is just—I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t want you to get cold, either, so…”
She wrapped it around herself again, as though to erase the evidence of her small kindness. Dorian studied her for a moment before shaking his head and reaching for his candle. He tilted the flame against hers, letting the light bloom between them.
He did not look at her again as they made their way down to the kitchens. It was too hard to look at her, to see Selene and not Luna, to see the girl he’d lost as well as the girl he loved.
To see the nothing in her eyes where something had once been.
“Sit,” Dorian instructed, motioning toward the wingback chairs beside the hearth. The fire had burned low, but the embers still pulsed faintly. Selene sank into the seat, curling into its warmth, while he set about heating the milk.
He was starving, but he ensured that she had a warm cup in her hands before he even thought to find something for himself.
When he finally sat, plate in hand, he ate without restraint, tearing into his food with little regard for decorum. It was only after several bites that he noticed her watching him.
“What?” he asked through a mouthful of bread.
She shook her head, eyes dipping to her milk. “Nothing. ”
He realised too late that she was probably surprised by his lack of manners—scandalised, even. She had probably never seen a nobleman eat like this before.
Excellent job, Dorian. What a perfect way to charm the girl.
He swallowed his mouthful. “Are you happy with Marta?” he asked. It was easier than discussing anything serious.
Selene startled, almost as if surprised to be addressed. “Yes, very.”
“That’s good.” He swallowed another piece of cheese. “And... your room? It’s to your liking?”
“It’s very comfortable.”
It was a painfully polite answer, and Dorian struggled not to wince. “It’s outdated,” he admitted. “You don’t have to be so polite, you know.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Selene exhaled. “You’ve done me a great service,” she said finally. “Don’t think I’m unaware of that. I couldn’t possibly repay your kindness with ungratefulness.”
“You don’t need to be grateful,” Dorian insisted. “I won’t pretend to fully understand your reasons, but you were clearly in a difficult spot that you should never have had to be in in the first place. You shouldn’t have to be grateful to someone just because they got you out of it.”
Selene swallowed. “Then what am I supposed to be?”
To this, Dorian had no answer. He had no idea what Selene ought to feel, and no idea what he ought to feel, either.
He didn’t want her to be grateful. He wanted her to be happy.
He had no idea how he might feel if the positions were reversed—how could he?
He couldn’t think of a single scenario where he’d have to marry someone for protection and depend on them afterwards.
He finished his mouthful. “Ebonrose is your home now,” he told her.
“I want you to be comfortable here, if such a thing is possible. We can find room in our budget to decorate your room however you wish. And do not thank me for that. You’d be doing me a favour, updating the place, and you are mistress here. Do with it as you will.”
Selene looked down at her lap. Doubt flickered across her face, as though she didn’t quite believe him.
Dorian suspected she was right to be sceptical—there wasn’t much room in the budget for renovations, and they both knew it.
But there was something else in her expression, something more than practicality.
“What do you want from me?” she asked suddenly.
Dorian put down his plate. “Come again?”
“You must want something—someone always wants something—”
Of course he did. He wanted her to live, and be safe, and be happy. He wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything else in the world. But he couldn’t explain that to her in a way that made sense.
And he didn’t want anything from her—nothing that she wasn’t freely, willingly offering, with a heart as welcome and ready as his own.
But he knew that was unlikely. He’d been lucky to be with her once. It likely wouldn’t happen again. Not to this Selene, who hadn’t known the Duke’s unkindness, who hadn’t gripped onto the first person who was offering her any.
She would never have been with Dorian without those circumstances. After all, she’d never noticed him before. She wouldn’t again. Not in the ways he wanted to be noticed.
“Not me,” he said firmly. “I promise you.”
She studied him, but he wasn’t sure she believed him. “You say I’m mistress here, that this is my home, but you don’t want marital relations. I’m trying to understand why. Are we going to live like this forever, strangers in our own house, exchanging empty pleasantries when we meet in the hallway?"
Dorian felt heat creeping up his neck. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her in that way—Gods, how he did—but the idea of her feeling obligated sickened him. And if they lay together, there would be no turning back. He didn’t mind that.
He knew she would.
He took a slow breath before answering. “If we... er, consummate the marriage, then neither of us will be able to marry again,” he told her. “You’d be trapped here forever.”
Selene had been prepared for that, he realised. Perhaps she’d assumed it was inevitable. But she hadn’t considered that she might have another option. He hated the idea that she’d thought he would force the matter. How little she knew him.
How unkind the world was for her.
She was silent for a moment, the realisation settling in. If they didn’t consummate the marriage, they could seek an annulment later. It couldn’t happen yet, of course—not while the Duke still posed a threat—but if he married, if he died …
Then Selene would be free.
“You’d... grant me an annulment?” she asked at last.
“If that’s what you wish.”
She hesitated. “And... and in the meantime, we’d be... what? As familiar as cousins?"
He bit his lip, suppressing a smile. He already had a cousin. He could never feel about Selene as he felt about Ariella. “How about friends?” he offered.
“Friends,” she echoed. A regrettably small word for what she was to him. “Then, as friends, we really should make an effort to get to know each other better. I understand that you’re very busy, but maybe... maybe we could make an effort to share at least one mealtime together?”
Dorian considered it, his gaze lowering to his plate. “That seems reasonable.”
Selene let out a breath. “Good,” she said. “Breakfast, then?”
He tilted his head. “You strike me as someone who rises late.”
“You strike me as someone who doesn’t sleep at all.”
That startled a laugh from him. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “Lunch, then. Dinner, if for whatever reason I can’t make it.”
There was a weight to the agreement, and he feels something change between the two of them, like they are setting the foundations of something .
Selene reached for her cup, her fingertips brushing against the rim, and the movement caught his attention. His own hand rested on the armrest, fingers curled slightly. He resisted the urge to take hers.
She reached out softly, the tips of her fingers skimming the back of his hand, a barely-there touch. He turned his palm instinctively, a silent question, an opening. She almost pulled away, but he didn’t move.
He couldn’t manage ever moving away from her touch.
For a moment, she let her hand rest there. “Goodnight, Dorian,” she said at last, drawing back.
“Goodnight, Selene.”