She read the letter again, then folded it with reverence. “I am sorry,” she said, so softly he almost missed it.
Felix stood, closing the distance between them.
For once, he did not know what to do with his hands. He let them rest at his sides, but his voice was softer than she had ever heard it.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
She looked up, her eyes shining brightly, openly, like a permission into her very soul. “Yes, I do. I thought I knew everything about you, and I saw only what I wanted to see.”
So did I, he meant to say, but decided against it.
He reached for the letter, but as his fingers closed around the parchment, they brushed against hers.
The jolt was electric, a sharp, sudden spark that seemed to travel straight up his arm and settle deep in his chest. For a man who prided himself on his self-control, the physical reaction was galling. He didn’t pull away; instead, his thumb lingered for a fraction of a second too long against the back of her hand. Herskin was soft, deceptively delicate, yet the heat of it felt like a brand through his glove.
He found himself looking at the pale curve of her knuckles, mesmerized by the way her pulse jumped beneath the surface. It was a small, frantic beat, a mirror to the sudden, heavy thrumming in his own veins. In that brief contact, the air in the study seemed to thicken, heavy with everything they hadn’t said and the dark, inevitable pull he had been trying to ignore since the altar.
Rose drew her hand back, the movement quick and startled, as if she too had felt the current.
“I’ll keep this secret,” she said, her voice steadier now, though a telltale flush had crept up her neck. “I promise.”
Felix cleared his throat, forcing his hand to drop to his side and his mind back to the cold safety of logic. He clutched the letter, the paper crinkling under the renewed pressure of his grip.
“Good.” He nodded. “It would ruin Lizzie before she has even begun to live.”
They stood there in silence, surrounded by the hushed presence of old books and dust motes dancing in the shafts of late afternoon light. Felix became acutely aware of the space between them; they were far from touching but connected nonetheless by something fragile and new.
The distant sound of laughter from the ballroom filtered through, reminding them both of obligations waiting beyond this moment of unexpected truce.
She shook her head. “We must return soon,” she said and stopped herself, her hand at her mouth, as if there was something else she wanted to say but could not find the words.
“Yes,” he replied. He moved closer, just a half-step, into the cloud of her subtle perfume. “What is it?”
She swallowed; the delicate movement visible along the column of her throat. “I want to trust you. I do. But every woman in that room is waiting for me to fail.”
Felix felt his jaw tighten as understanding dawned and his protective instincts surged unexpectedly.
“Let them wait,” he said, meaning every word. “You are the duchess, now. They will bend to you, eventually.”
Rose laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t suit her. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is not easy,” he replied, thinking of his own battles in society, the whispers that had followed him since boyhood. “But it is possible.”
She looked at him. For the first time since their hasty wedding, he glimpsed something like hope in her face.
“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “But if you ever make me look a fool again, I will not forgive it.”
He smiled then, a real smile that felt strange on his face. “Duly noted.”
A knock came at the door, precise as a military volley.
“Your Graces,” the butler called through the wood. “The wedding toasts will commence in five minutes.”
She straightened her shoulders in a gesture he was beginning to recognize as Rose preparing for battle.
“Promise to dance with me at least once,” she demanded.
The request surprised him and sent a thrill of pleasure straight through his chest.
