Before he could second-guess himself, Valentine rose from his chair. Each step up the stairs was brisk. He paused only once, outside her door, with his knuckles raised to knock.
He hesitated. Then he knocked.
There was a shuffle, the soft pad of her slippers. The door cracked open slowly. Cecilia stood there, in her nightdress, her eyes wide and surprised.
“I know you asked to be alone,” Valentine said quietly. “I tried to respect that. I truly did.”
He exhaled and took a step forward.
“But the longer I sat downstairs, the more wrong it felt. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with the look you have on your face right now, Cecilia. The truth is…” His gaze dropped to the floor for half a second before lifting to hers again. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone tonight. I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of you hurting behind a closed door while I just...wait.”
Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came.
“I think I should be with you,” he said. “If you'll let me.”
Cecilia looked down first, her lashes veiling her expression as her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. For a moment, Valentine thought she might refuse him, that she might retreat back into silence the way she had downstairs. But then she looked up, and the light from the hallway caught the faint shimmer in her eyes.
“I’m finding it difficult,” she said softly, “to accept that my relationship with Lucy is gone forever.”
Valentine’s brow furrowed, his stance softening. “Why do you think that?”
She stepped back into the room and turned away from him, walking slowly toward the hearth. The door remained open behind him, like an unspoken invitation.
“I didn’t see her,” Cecilia said, stopping at the mantelpiece. Her voice was steady, but the hurt clung to every word. “Not once. In the two days I stayed at Aunt Marianne’s residence, she never came to me. Not even to greet me, and I know she was there, Valentine. I know. Aunt Marianne lied to me.”
Valentine stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him.
Cecilia exhaled, one hand brushing over the mantelpiece. “I know I went there for peace. I wanted to do the right thing. But deep down, I really wanted to see Lucy. That was a major reason I was so eager to go. It bothers me. I’ve tried to make it not bother me. But it does. It bothers me a great deal that someone I love, someone I trust so much, cannot even look me in the face anymore.”
Valentine stared at her for a long moment. He had never heard Cecilia sound so defeated before, so raw, and something about it gnawed at him in a way he didn’t like.
“I don’t understand Lucy,” he said slowly, stepping closer to her. “I thought she didn’t want to marry me. Why would she and her mother take it this far when clearly, Lucy was very uninterested in this match in the first place? She really wanted a love match.”
Valentine took a step closer to Cecilia and cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I am so sorry, Cecilia,” he said again, softer now, almost reverently, as though the apology carried more weight than she could possibly know.
His thumb moved gently over her skin, just beneath her eye, tracing the faint path where a tear might have fallen had she let it. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted slightly into his touch, her own hand rising slowly until it found the firm line of his waist. She let it rest there, fingers splayed over the fine fabric of his waistcoat.
The room seemed to still. The moment stretched between them before he finally leaned in.
The kiss, when it came, was subtle. But it unraveled him all the same. His lips brushed over hers in a slow, thoughtful caress, as if he had missed what it felt like to kiss her. His mouth parted hers gently, and he pulled her closer to him. It wasn’t a kiss designed to possess her. It was one that asked permission.
And she gave it...
Cecilia sighed against him, just the faintest breath, as her hand slid a little higher, fingers curling gently at his side. Her heart fluttered wildly, but her body didn’t pull back.
If anything, she leaned into the quiet. Into the safety of his touch. Into the warmth of being seen and soothed without the burden of having to explain herself. Valentine’s presence in that moment felt like a balm she hadn’t known she needed until the ache in her chest slowly began to ease.
When he finally drew back, it was slow, almost reluctant. His breath mingled with hers, and though he didn’t move far, he murmured, “I should go. It’s not wise for me to stay.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine, colder than the night air drifting in from the window.
She blinked up at him. “No,” she said quietly, surprising even herself. “Don’t.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be alone,” she added, gentler this time, her fingers still resting at his side. “Not tonight. We could fall asleep together like the last time.”
“All right,” he whispered. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
