Chapter Twenty-Seven
Morning light spilled cheerfully through the tall windows of the Duskbourne library, turning dust motes into dancing flecks of gold.
Charlotte stood at the long mahogany table, sorting through a stack of correspondence that seemed determined to multiply, no matter how diligently she worked.
Cassian, for his part, was meant to be assisting her.
Meant to.
At present, he appeared far more occupied with mischief than organization.
“You are not even pretending to help,” Charlotte remarked, narrowing her eyes at him as she folded a letter and placed it neatly into a pile. “I have seen more earnest effort from baby Augustus when he attempts to eat his boot.”
Cassian lounged in one of the leather chairs, entirely unrepentant. “Boot leather is very compelling to a child. These letters, however, are unforgivably dull.”
She pouted. “They are only dull because you refuse to open a single one.”
“I opened one,” he objected.
“You read the address and handed it back to me.”
Cassian rose with a dramatic sigh and reached for another sheet. But instead of reading it, he raised a brow, tucked it behind his back, and stepped away from the table.
Charlotte froze. “Cassian Oberon, do not dare.”
He smiled that smile, the one that made him look younger, sharper, and entirely too handsome for her sanity. “If you want this letter, you must retrieve it.”
She stared at him, looking utterly yet playfully scandalized. “We are not children.”
“No,” he agreed solemnly, “but I suspect you are just as competitive as one.”
He turned, placing himself deliberately out of reach. Charlotte’s laughter escaped before she could smother it.
“You are impossible.”
“And you are avoiding pursuit,” he taunted.
Charlotte lifted her chin with mock dignity, circled the table, and made a daring lunge for the letter.
Cassian dodged her, swift and delighted, slipping between chairs as though evading her in this library were his life’s calling.
She nearly caught his coat before he pivoted again, entirely too nimble for a duke who claimed to be exhausted by paperwork.
At last, she cornered him near the hearth.
“Hand it over,” she demanded, breathless and laughing.
“Never.”
In response, she seized the nearest scrap of paper from the table and flicked it smartly against his shoulder. “There. Consider that your warning shot.”
Cassian’s eyes widened with playful outrage. “You assaulted me with stationery.”
“And I shall do it again,” she threatened, lifting another page.
“Charlotte,” he said, advancing on her with that wicked glint in his eye, “if you strike me once more, I will be forced to retaliate, and I assure you, I can be far more devious than you.”
She brandished the paper nonetheless. “I welcome the challenge.”
Their laughter echoed across the vaulted ceiling, dissolving the shadows that had haunted them only days before. The Edmund ordeal, the sleepless nights, and the bruised fears fell away.
Cassian stopped, the teasing slowly softening into something quieter. He stepped closer, close enough that she felt the warmth of him even through her gown.
“You laugh beautifully,” he murmured.
Charlotte, suddenly aware of her breath and the scandalous nearness between them, lowered her gaze. “I had nearly forgotten how.”
“Then we must ensure you never forget again.”
Cassian slid his hands to her waist, pulling her closer to himself. Her pulse was a wild, breathless flutter. His dark eyes searched hers as though he could read every hidden thought she had ever tried to bury.
“And I find,” he murmured, “that I want to be the reason you continue to smile… every morning, every day, every year we have.”
Her breath caught. One teasing moment had become something entirely different. He caged her gently between the hearth and his own body. His hands settled on her hips with a confidence that made her knees weaken.
“Cassian…” she whispered.
The teasing was gone. The laughter was gone. What remained between them was heat, raw and long denied.
He lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers in the faintest, most devastating ghost of a kiss.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.
She didn’t. Instead, Charlotte surged forward and kissed him.
The world dissolved. Cassian answered her with a hunger that stole the strength from her legs.
His mouth moved against hers with urgency and reverence both, as though kissing her was not desire alone but a vow.
She fisted her hands in his coat, pulling him closer, needing him nearer still.
Somehow, they sank to the library floor. She did not know whether he pulled her down with him or whether she took him there herself. All she knew was heat, and the press of his body, and the dizzying rush of being wholly, finally wanted.
He kissed her again and again, deeper, slower, then desperate once more. He lay her down, grabbing one of the pillows from the chaise lounge for her head. His tenderness almost made her chuckle, but the heat of the moment prevented her from doing so.
Desperately, he pooled her skirt around her waist, unable to wait a single moment. The need to feel him inside of her was immense. Although she was new to lovemaking, she felt that each time, she wanted him more, if such a thing were even possible.
Desire took hold of them both as he found her wet heat ready for him. Her hair pins now lay scattered on the Axminster, and as she looked deeply into his eyes, she knew that she could not love him more.
She gripped him tighter, demanding more of him. Her lips crashed against his, love merging with desire in a glorious sensation that was seizing her completely. This was what she wanted, what she yearned for: to be completely and fully his, mind, body, and soul.
He kept taking her, claiming her deeper and deeper, and she became mindless with desire. Her body clenched around him, feeling him throbbing deep inside of her, as ecstasy rocked them both into oblivion.
They breathed loudly together, drinking in each other’s air, while she felt his heart pounding. She had never experienced such a rush of emotions, sensations, such a pinnacle of delight that made her dissolve in his arms. He bucked against her, filling her with his seed.
When he pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t mind. She watched him with an adoring gaze, always managing to find a new tenderness about him, about the man who didn’t even know what tenderness was.
Suddenly, he cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. “Charlotte… I... love you.”
Time stopped. She stared at him, with her lips parted and her heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. Cassian now cupped her entire face in his hands, and there was no shield left in him. There was no distance and no mask, only truth.
“I love you,” he said again, steadier this time, as though he needed her to feel it to believe it. “All of you. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it, if you let me.”
Tears stung her eyes, and they were impossible to hold back. She framed his face with both hands and kissed him once more. Letting her heart speak through the softness of her lips. When she drew back, her voice trembled, but her certainty did not.
“I love you, Cassian, entirely and helplessly. And I think I did long before I dared admit it.”
A shaky breath escaped him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her as though she were something both precious and powerful. They stayed there on the library floor, tangled together. The shadows no longer felt heavy. The silence no longer felt cold.
Charlotte finally exhaled in peace. This warmth, this devotion, this love was theirs. And it had finally been spoken.
***
It was several weeks later that Charlotte returned from the physician in town. Her hands lay clasped tightly in her lap, though she could not keep them still. Excitement fluttered in her chest as though joy itself were trying to take flight inside her.
Pregnant.
The word felt unreal, sacred, terrifying, and wondrous all at once.
A child. Their child.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, where new life had already begun.
The physician had spoken gently, smiling as he offered his congratulations, and Charlotte had smiled back, though tears had threatened to spill.
She could already imagine Cassian holding a tiny hand, or resting his palm against her growing belly, or lifting their son or daughter into the air with laughter in his eyes.
By the time the carriage pulled into Duskbourne’s courtyard, she was nearly trembling with the warm anticipation of sharing the news.
She found Cassian in his study.
He stood by the desk, sorting through estate documents, not noticing her at first. At the sight of her, his expression softened until he truly looked at her. She must have been glowing or nervous or too breathless by half, for his posture straightened immediately.
“Charlotte?” he asked. “What is it? Are you unwell?”
She shook her head, suddenly shy. “No. I am…” Her voice faltered. This moment mattered. She drew in a steady breath and stepped toward him. “Cassian, I have just come from the physician. He has confirmed something I suspected these past weeks.”
His eyes searched hers. She could see concern, curiosity, and a shadow of fear.
Charlotte reached for his hand. “I am with child.”
Cassian’s hand went cold in hers. His expression changed. She expected to see joy, not horror and anguish. His posture stiffened. His jaw clenched, and he appeared almost angry.
“Cassian?” she asked softly.
He took a step back, letting go of her hand.
“I… see,” he said at last. His voice was flat.
Charlotte blinked, confusion now slicing through her earlier joy. “I thought you would be pleased. Or at least,” she swallowed, “something.”
Cassian ran a hand through his hair, turning away from her as though he needed distance simply to breathe. “It is… a great responsibility,” he managed. “There is much to think about, much to prepare. I need time.”
Time.
The word stung more than a shout would have.
“You are not happy,” Charlotte whispered.
He closed his eyes. “I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.” Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it.
Cassian exhaled in a breath that was long and strained. “Charlotte, please. I am trying—”
“To what?” she asked. “Feel nothing?”
He turned then, and the torment in his eyes was unmistakable, but it was not the kind that welcomed comfort. It was the kind that shut doors. Charlotte knew that look. She had seen shades of it before, when the past crept up on him and stole him away from the present.
He spoke with heavy effort. “I need… a moment alone.”
And though the words were measured, they struck clean through her. Charlotte looked at him, at this man she loved, who loved her, and yet now seemed oceans away when they should have been the closest.
“As you wish,” she said quietly.
She left the study with her head held high, but her steps grew unsteady the moment she was out of sight.
In the corridor, she pressed a hand against her stomach again, not joyful now, but protective. She understood Cassian carried ghosts. But for the first time, she feared those ghosts might steal something from them she could not bear to lose.
Charlotte barely remembered the walk from Cassian’s study to the front steps.
Her vision blurred, her throat burned, and her heartbeat crashed against her ribs like a desperate fist. By the time she reached the entrance hall, she could no longer pretend composure.
She only knew she could not remain there.
Her carriage had not yet been dismissed. The footman stood beside it, awaiting further instruction.
“Your Grace?” he asked, startled by her haste and pallor.
“Take me to Hawthorne House,” Charlotte demanded. “At once.”
He hesitated only long enough to bow. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Within moments, she was inside the carriage, the door shut behind her.
As the wheels lurched into motion, Charlotte pressed both hands to her mouth, fighting the sob that broke through anyway.
She had imagined Cassian lifting her, spinning her, perhaps even kissing her with laughter in his eyes when she told him the news.
She had pictured joy, but instead she had seen fear and withdrawal.
By the time the carriage stopped in front of Hawthorne House, Charlotte’s eyes were raw, and her heart was aching so fiercely she thought it might split. The butler ushered her inside without question and sent for Lydia at once.
She appeared moments later in the drawing room. One look at Charlotte’s face and her expression changed to alarm.
“Charlotte, good heavens, what has happened?”
That single question undid the last of her composure. Charlotte rushed forward, and Lydia caught her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. The dam broke. Charlotte wept against her shoulder, clinging to her as though she might drown otherwise.
When at last the sobs quieted, Lydia guided her to the settee and poured her tea with gentle hands.
“Tell me,” Lydia urged. “All of it.”
Charlotte wiped her cheeks and drew a shaky breath. “Lydia… I am with child.”
Lydia’s gasp was delighted. “Charlotte, that is wonderful news! Why are you—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing at the conclusion. “What did the Duke say?”
Charlotte stared down at her clasped hands. “He… did not say much at all.”
Lydia waited.
“It was as if I had delivered a burden instead of a blessing,” Charlotte whispered. “He went still. He stepped back from me, Lydia, as though I had frightened him.”
“Oh, Charlotte.” Lydia reached for her hand.
“I know he loves me,” Charlotte continued, her voice on the verge of breaking.
“I know it. But he shut himself off as if joy itself were a danger, as if my happiness were something he could not bear to touch.” Tears spilled again.
“He used to come to me with passion, with warmth, with desire. And now, when I give him the greatest joy I ever could…” She swallowed.
“He looked at me as though I had doomed us both.”
Lydia squeezed her hand tightly. “You have done nothing wrong. Cassian’s reaction is not a reflection of you nor of this child. It is his fear speaking.”
Charlotte closed her eyes. “But how am I to raise a child with a man who flinches at the idea of loving it?”
Lydia pulled her into another embrace. “You will not face this alone. And Cassian will have to face his past if he wishes to deserve you and this baby. But for now, rest. Let yourself feel what you feel. You are safe here.”
Charlotte leaned into her, exhausted and unravelling. She had a right to want joy and a right to demand a future not haunted by ghosts.
And if Casian truly loved her, he would have to prove it.