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“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, setting the glass down sharply on the mantle. “What’s the matter with you, man?”
He thought he heard a noise from his chamber and instantly moved back to the bedroom, checking through the slightly open door to watch Marion. She was only rolling in her sleep, murmuring softly to herself as she pulled the blankets tighter around her. Simon sighed in relief, stepping back into the parlour.
She was safe. She was fine.
At that moment, he knew exactly what was wrong with him. Groaning, he went back to the window, touching his head against the cold glass, his forehead damp with the condensation. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, perhaps had not even anticipated or expected it, but being with Marion physically had changed something for him. She was no longer simply a wife of convenience who he lusted after, but a wife with whom he felt a deep connection.
Something had been forged between them in their most intimate moments. Simon was not sure he would ever fully understand it, but it felt as if it was beyond undoing. In fact, he felt as if he had unconsciously leapt from a great cliff and was now free falling, totally at the mercy of God, the elements, and of course, Marion herself.He was helpless in the face of it, and his heart raced with sickly panic.
“I cannot do this,” Simon muttered to himself, clenching his fist and thumping them lightly on the glass. “I cannot do this again.”
For most men, this sensation might be called falling in love, or at least into deep attraction, but for Simon it felt like danger. It felt as if his heart might burst with anxiety. His body was keyed up with so much adrenalin his legs shook.
He had loved Stella and she had died. When she had died, he had been broken, almost beyond repair. It was only by the grace of God he had survived it. Somehow, Simon knew that if he were to let himself love Marion and then somehow lost her, it would be an even more devastating blow. He would surely not make it through. Just the thought of it, of having to endure if something happened to her, of having to exist without her now, was so overwhelming he felt dizzy.
“I won’t do this again,” Simon muttered to himself. “It’s not worth it.”
Are you sure?a tiny voice inside him asked. He felt compelled to turn back to the door, pushing it open gently so he could continue to watch Marion sleep.
What pleasure might you have if you could love her with your whole heart? Make love to her truly? Know that she is yours, body, heart, and soul?
Simon felt a deep well of longing surge at the idea. How he wished he could clamber back in beside her without any worries or cares, walk blindly into the future without fear of disaster or loss. But he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. Not again.
“It’s not worth it,” he repeated quietly, as if to reassure himself. Yet he did not move from the doorway. Instead he stood, unable to leave her, unable to go to her, simply watching her every breath and being comforted by the fact that she was alive.
He already knew, deep in his soul, that if he lost her now, he would lose his mind.
Chapter Fourteen
Marion’s next few days were some of the happiest of her life. She woke on the first morning to the sound of a bath being run and the smell of fresh coffee permeating the room. She rolled over, her hand searching the empty bedsheets beside her, feeling for Simon, but her fingers only met more warm blankets. He had clearly already risen.
Marion sat up blearily, yawning loudly. Her hair, which she usually had Loretta braid carefully away at night, was a cloud of dark curls down her back. Her muscles were unusually sore. There was a light tapping knock on the door.
“Come in,” Marion yawned, expecting it to be Simon. She pulled the quilt up to cover herself in surprise when Loretta entered.
“Good morning, Milady,” Loretta said, keeping her head bowed as she set a tray with two coffee cups down on the nightstand, her face flushing as she stepped over Marion and Simon’s discarded clothes from the night before.
“Milord suggested I prepare a bath for you, Milady. I have done so in your chamber, if you would like?”
Marion nodded after taking a sip of coffee, savouring the strong taste of the rich blend that the Cook had learned was her favourite in the last few weeks.
“Here, Milady.” Loretta held out Marion’s own dressing gown, averting her eyes from her mistress’s naked form as Marion slipped out of bed, her bare skin cold outside of the warm blankets. She noticed how Loretta was flushed in her cheeks, as if she was embarrassed, but she also noticed a significant brightness in her eyes, and she looked at her mistress with considerable respect.
“In there, Milady.” Loretta gestured back towards Marion’s bedchamber, setting about retrieving Marion’s dress, stays, shift, and stockings from around the room with significant joviality and flourish.
Marion realised that in finally bedding Simon, she had won the ultimate approval of her lady’s maid, and perhaps every other servant in the household who would see that her true duty was to lie with him and produce heirs. She had thought that the entire company of the household knowing that they had shared their marriage bed for the first time would be humiliating or distressing to her, but actually she felt as if she was finally in her rightful place. She walked back through to her bedchamber in her dressing gown as if she were the Queen of England.
Loretta had arranged for the copper bath in the small chamber adjoining her bedroom to be filled with hot steaming water. Lavender and rose petals floated on the surface. Marion sighed happily, taking another sip of coffee and untying her dressing gown before stepping into the warm water and sinking below the surface.
For a moment, she luxuriated in the deep heat of the water, lifting the bar of lavender soap that Loretta had left on the side of the bath and rubbing it over her legs and arms. She then enjoyed the healing sensation of the hot water on the sore parts of her body and ducked her head entirely under the water, immersing herself in a silent, warm world for a moment. Then, above the quiet muffling of the water, she heard a burbled exchange:
“Morning, My Lord—”
“Where is my wife?”
“She is bathing.”
Then the sound of footsteps, and a shadow across the water. Marion re-emerged, gasping for breath and blinking as the water ran down her face. She looked up, expecting to see Loretta with a towel, ready to tell her that Simon was waiting for her for breakfast.
