“Your Grace, I must send for a physician,” she said, trying to soothe him, but he didn’t listen.
In one swift, disoriented motion, he pulled her forward, and before she could protest, she lost her balance and tumbled softly onto the bed beside him. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her against his chest with a fevered sigh, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Cecilia froze, eyes wide. Absolutely still.
His grip wasn’t tight, but it was comforting and unbearably warm. His breath was shallow against her forehead, and his hand at the small of her back. She stared at his chest, heart hammering, unsure what stunned her more. The heat of his skin, or the fact that she was starting to feel slumberous.
His breath was warm against her shoulder, the weight of his arm draped over her like a cozy, heavy blanket. Slowly, it dawned on her that she liked this. The closeness, the warmth, the gentle weight of him wrapped around her. She liked the feeling of being held, of someone cradling her as though she were something soft, something worth keeping close. No one had ever done that. No one had ever just... held her.
Now that she had it, she wasn’t sure she could let it go. Perhaps that was why her limbs refused to move, why her heart clung to the moment even as her mind warned her to flee. She liked it too much. Far more than she ever thought she would.
So, Cecilia stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to move, until his lips brushed near her ear.
“You smell good, Cecilia,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy.
Her heart jolted. It was the first time he had ever said her name.
His arm tightened around her waist, as his fingers flexed briefly at her hip. A dizzy, fluttering heat spread from her chest down to her stomach, and for a moment, she forgot entirely how to breathe. Was he awake? Did he know it was her? Or had her name simply slipped?
Cecilia opened her mouth, uncertain if she should say anything, but her voice slipped out, breathy. “It’s bergamot...and freesia. There’s jasmine oil in it too, just a hint. My maid mixes them into my washwater.” She paused, feeling suddenly foolish, like explaining herself might somehow settle her racing pulse.
Valentine let out a low, half-formed groan, and his head shifted, nuzzling closer to the crook of her neck. She could feel his breath fanning against her skin, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Then, just as swiftly, he fell still again, his body easing into hers.
Deep down, she knew that she could not,should not fall asleep there. It would be a mistake. An enormous, unforgivable mistake.
But his warmth was seeping into her bones, and the hush of the room felt like a lullaby. Her eyes slipped closed against her will. Just for a moment, she told herself just until her breath matched his.
She would deal with the consequences in the morning if he remembered. If he even cared. But she knew he would, and she knew he’d be furious.
Still, she allowed herself to close her eyes until sleep took her away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cecilia didn’t want to get up. Not yet.
For once, the morning felt soft, tranquil, as though the world outside could wait. A quiet birdsong filtered through the window, and to her surprise, she found it pleasant. Steady. Reassuring.
Cecilia smiled faintly and turned deeper into the bed, letting her fingers brush against the sheets. They were warm, smooth, and faintly scented…clean starch, cedarwood, and something drier, like old paper or ink. Unfamiliar. But very comforting.
Cedarwood?
A frown arched between her brows, as if her senses had betrayed her by enjoying it. She drew in another breath, slower this time. There it was again, not her usual lavender or the faint starch from Gladis’ overzealousness. This scent was deeper...masculine in a way.
Her hand moved without thinking again, grazing the sheet beside her, and that was when the wrongness settled fully. The fabric felt finer than hers. The mattress firmer. She stilled as her memory came flooding back.
Her heart jolted as her eyes flew open properly this time, in clear mortification. She sat upright at once, clutching the coverlet to her chest as if it might shield her from memory.
She was in Valentine’s bed.
“It wasn’t a dream?” she whispered.
She had been so excited about the book, so much so that she had decided to thank Valentine personally. A ridiculous decision, in hindsight, but it had felt harmless enough at the time. But then she had reached his door, knocked once, and when no answer came, she had peeked inside. He’d fallen asleep, fully dressed, stretched across the coverlet, brow furrowed in restless slumber.
She remembered hesitating, caught between retreating quietly and venturing further. But then he made a sound, not a word, just a low, muddled murmur, tangled in sleep. Another followed, barely audible, and the crease between his brows had deepened.
She’d only meant to check on him. But his hand found hers, curling around it in sleep. Without fully waking, he drew her down beside him. She had told herself that she would only stay for a few minutes…
Cecilia gasped as her eyes swept the chamber again. There was no sign of him. The space beside her was cold now, the sheets gently smoothed as if he had risen carefully.
