He led her through the darkened corridor, past the room that had been designated as hers since their marriage began.
He opened the door to his bedchamber, and Rose hesitated at the threshold, not from fear but from the strangeness of crossing this final boundary between them.
Felix’s eyes questioned, giving her one last chance to retreat.
Instead, she stepped forward.
His bedchamber smelled of him—sandalwood and leather-bound books.
Rose sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Felix removed his waistcoat and loosened his cravat. She began to undress, her shyness abandoning her in the heat of her desire. There was something profoundly moving about these simple domestic acts, more revealing than their passionate encounter had been.
This was Felix, unguarded. He wasn’t the duke, nor the protector of wronged women. He was just a man.
When he sat down beside her on the bed, Rose felt the last of her resistance dissolve. His arm curved around her waist, drawing her against the solid warmth of his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.
“Sleep,” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough with exhaustion, and she was almost disappointed that he didn’t want more.
Rose closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing lull her toward dreams. The question that had haunted her earlier returned, softer now.
Can I love this man?
Could she believe in this complex, contradictory person who held her as if she might vanish with the dawn?
As sleep claimed her, Rose realized with distant surprise that perhaps she already did.
CHAPTER 15
The morning sun cast a honeyed glow through the arched windows of Carden House’s nursery. Felix paused just outside the threshold, not for lack of courage, but from the knowledge that this day was not truly his.
Inside, Rose was orchestrating a campaign of ribbons and lace. Lizzie, a small tyrant in her own right, squirmed in the crook of her arm, only half pacified by the promise of warm milk and Rose’s murmured assurances as Felix watched from the corridor. The baby looked more like a crème-puff than a child. The gown was stark white, its sleeves puckered with ruffles and lace and a long, trailing hem.
He’d commissioned the thing himself. At the time, the extravagance had seemed a shield against society’s scrutiny. Now, it felt like a truce between him and the child.
Rose smoothed a finger along the placket of buttons; her brow furrowed in the effort not to prick Lizzie’s skin. The baby’s wispyhair refused all attempts at taming, sticking up in uneven sprays as if to defy the gravity of the occasion.
Lizzie was, Felix thought, the only being alive who could look simultaneously furious and delighted at being the focus of so much attention.
“Hold still, my darling,” Rose whispered. “If you tear this dress, Felix will have my head.”
Felix let himself enter then, clearing his throat just enough to be announced. “Or I’d be quite jealous of her for doing so,” he purred.
Rose looked up, surprise softening the angles of her face.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile that was almost, but not quite, shy. “We arenearlyready.”
Felix approached the pair. Lizzie had noticed him and was batting at the air with surprising accuracy. He reached into his coat and drew out a velvet box, no larger than a goose egg, which he placed in Rose’s free hand.
“For the occasion. If the dress does not serve, perhaps a spoon will do.”
She opened it with practiced care. Inside lay a silver christening spoon, heavy and ornately worked, the design of a lily engraved at the end of the handle.
Rose’s thumb traced the shield, her lips parting in a small, involuntary gasp. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and Felix could almost hear the way her voice tightened at the edges.
“It was my mother’s,” Felix replied, watching her face more than the spoon. “Every child in the line has one. It’s supposed to bring luck.”
Rose closed the box and held it to her chest, eyes glimmering. Felix realized he’d made her feel something strong enough to spill.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s more than I expected.”
