Chapter Twenty-Two
The house was quieter than it had been in days. The echo of music still clung to the high ceilings like perfume, soft, elegant, and fleeting.
Nicholas stood in the doorway of the drawing room, hands in his pockets, watching her.
Lydia.
She was still in the gown she'd worn the night before.
The blue silk clung and moved like water.
Her back was to him as she sorted a stack of notes.
Suppliers, commissions, letters of praise.
Candlelight flickered across her shoulders, catching in the soft curve of her neck.
The ribbon she'd tied in her hair had come loose, resting in her hand now, forgotten.
He’d never seen anyone look more… alive.
“You didn’t sleep?” he asked quietly.
She turned, smiling faintly. Her eyes were tired, but bright.
“Not after a night like that.”
He stepped into the room, crossing to her slowly. There was no rush or whirlwind of guests. No need for performance or propriety.
Just her and him.
They stood in silence for a moment, taking each other in.
“You were remarkable last night,” he said. “Not just composed, but commanding. The way they looked at you, like you'd always belonged in that room.”
Lydia laughed softly, looking down. “If only they knew.”
“I think they did,” he said. “And I think they respected you all the more for it.”
She looked up again, something shifting in her expression. The teasing had faded. So had the barriers. Her chin lifted slightly, as if she were about to issue a challenge, but her voice was soft.
“I want you.”
The words landed with quiet force.
Nicholas’s breath caught. Not because he hadn’t thought about her, he always thought about her, but because this time, she was choosing him. No bargains or games, just the truth.
He stepped closer.
“I’m right here,” he said.
Lydia didn’t move, but her gaze dropped to his mouth before returning to his eyes. It was all the invitation he needed.
He cupped her cheek gently, brushing his thumb across her jaw, and then kissed her, slow, reverent. This wasn’t the heat of an argument or the desperation of a dark hallway. This was something else. Something earned.
Her arms wound around his neck as she returned the kiss, deeper this time, her fingers threading into his hair. He drew her closer, his hand finding the small of her back, anchoring her to him. She fit there like she always had.
She moaned softly.
Nicholas pulled back just enough to speak.
“I want you like this,” he murmured. “Just as you are.”
He ran a hand down the side of her gown, over the fabric she had designed, chosen, sewn.
Her breath caught as his hands moved with care, lifting the skirts slightly, then smoothing them back down. Nothing rushed or careless. Just the sound of silk and the space between heartbeats.
She leaned into him, and he kissed her again, deeper this time, with everything he hadn’t said aloud.
With his hands on her waist, he slowly turned her around to face the long, gilded mirror that hung against the wall.
“You are the bravest, cleverest, most infuriating woman I have ever known,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You make me feel as if I can be the very best version of myself,” he continued. “Seen in ways no one has ever seen me before.”
Nicholas reached up and removed her hairpin, allowing her hair to fall in cascades down her shoulders. He dropped the pin on the ground.
Then he traced her bottom lip with his finger before running his hand down the side of her neck, touching her collarbone lightly as she gasped.
His hand moved down the outside of her bodice, lingering on her breast, and she pressed herself into him harder.
Her hand reached up to cover his.
She turned to kiss him, slowly at first, but then harder.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.
“I do not want you to stop,” she panted.
He turned her around, his hands working, slowly undoing the back of her dress, which he let fall and pool at her feet.
Then he untied the ribbon of her corset, allowing the soft satin to slip through his fingers. Her eyes were fastened on him.
As he removed her shift to reveal her breasts, he ran his fingers lightly over one nipple, then across her body to the other.
She shuddered softly, closing her eyes as he kissed the back of her neck.
“Lie down,” he instructed.
She moved to the couch, her eyes on him as he undressed, throwing his clothes to the floor.
He undid his pants slowly, meeting her eye as he pulled them off.
She exhaled shakily.
Then he joined her, laying her back carefully, her hair spilling across the velvet like ink. Her hands found his, and she guided him to her, breath catching as he kissed down the length of her throat.
Lydia’s voice was a whisper against his ear. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” he replied.
He kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her lips hungrily. He could smell the faded perfume on her skin.
“Touch me,” he instructed.
She slid her hand down over his chest, his stomach, and then further still. He was unsurprised by her boldness.
His kiss deepened, and he moaned.
Then he slipped between her legs as she pulled him downwards, guiding him into her. Her legs locked around him as he pressed himself into her, lightly at first.
“Lydia?” he whispered.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her cheeks flushed as he pressed further.
He reached for her breast, squeezing it softly.
She moaned, arching her back as she closed her eyes.
And they moved as one. No hesitation, no barriers, no second thoughts.
Every brush of skin, every whispered breath, was a conversation deeper than words. He touched her not like a possession, but like a privilege. And she met him with something fierce and open and whole.
Her hands slid into his hair, holding him like she was anchoring herself.
Time lost its rhythm. The room fell away.
And when the final moment came, when the world tilted and every thread of restraint unravelled, it wasn’t just sensation. It was surrender. It was thunder behind the ribcage. It was starlight behind closed eyes.
They came undone together. Not in fragments, but as something fuller. Larger.
Whole.
He held her through it, forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling, hands locked. Neither spoke. There was nothing left to prove. Nothing left to ask.
Just the echo of something real, still lingering in the spaces between their hearts.
Later, he carried her to his bed, not because she needed it, but because he needed her there. In the place that had been cold for too long. In the bed where he hadn’t slept beside anyone in years.
They lay tangled beneath the sheets, the fire casting soft light across her shoulder. He brushed her hair back and kissed the bare curve of her collarbone.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “I’m… better than warm.”
He smiled against her skin. And for a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, filled with the soft rhythm of breath and heartbeat and belonging.
Nicholas stared up at the ceiling, her head tucked beneath his chin. Something inside him had shifted, not slowly, not subtly. He wasn’t just proud of her. He didn’t just want her.
He needed her. Not for her dowry or status, but for herself.
He didn’t say it. Not yet. But the words stirred behind his teeth.
She brushed against him, pressing closer, and whispered, “I’d like to do that again.”
“Now?” he asked, smiling as he raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you tired?”
She shook her head, leaning in to kiss him. He kissed her back, smiling against her mouth.
“You really are a little tigress,” he teased.
“A tigress with an insatiable appetite,” she replied.
He chuckled, pulling the sheet over their heads.