She stepped back, just enough to lead him further into the room, and he followed without another word. The air between them pulsed with a fragile kind of intensity, and as she moved to sit at the edge of her bed, glancing back at him, Cecilia realized just how much she liked having him near her.
Once on the bed, Valentine held Cecilia close. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, his hand splayed around her upper body, trying to anchor her, perhaps himself as well, and her chest was nestled against his chest.
She hadn’t expected him to stay. Certainly hadn’t expected him to agree to cuddle with her, but the comfort and safety she felt in that moment was so precious, she didn’t want it to disappear.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. They just breathed together. Slowly. Evenly. As if they’d learned to draw in air only through the rhythm of the other.
But then, as though pulled by the gravity of grief, she whispered. “Sometimes I don’t know where the guilt ends and where I begin.”
Valentine didn’t speak right away. Instead, he drew her just a little closer, pressing his forehead lightly against the top of her head. “I know what that feels like.”
Cecilia blinked into the shadows of her room. She felt him exhale, his breath warm against her skin.
“Helena,” he added softly. “My late wife. We never loved each other. Truthfully, we barely knew how to be civil. My father made the match. He told me it was a good match that pleased both parties. Norman was right, I did everything Father told me to. Believed everything. Apparently, Helena was not a pleased party. Her parents were. She was furious about the match. She had dreams of traveling. She really wanted to travel. Instead, she ended up here. In Ashbourne. With me.”
“She hated this house,” he went on. “Hated the title, the duties, the formal dinners. She felt caged, and the worst part…” He paused. “I didn’t find out about her hatred on time. I only found out after she got pregnant with Abigail. I let her be caged because I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make her happy.”
Cecilia lifted her head and placed a hand on his cheek. “Valentine...”
He shook his head slightly. “I feel guilty every day. For not being someone she could love. For not setting her free. For keeping her in a life that never suited her, because it really never did. It was so obvious, why didn’t I see it? The truth plagued me ever since she passed.”
Cecilia swallowed hard.
He tightened his arm around her. “So I understand, Cecilia. I know what it is to carry a sorrow that isn’t entirely your fault but still feels like it is. I see you, and I want you to know,” His voice softened to a near-whisper. “I would do anything to take thatweight off your shoulders. To make you smile again. To remind you that you’re not alone in this.”
Her fingers brushed over his forearm where it lay around her, tracing the shape of his wrist, the curve of his knuckles, and for the first time in days, her eyes stung, not from sadness, but from the aching tenderness of it all.
“Thank you,” was all she could whisper back. “I’m sorry about Helena. You couldn’t have known if no one told you.”
Valentine shifted slightly behind her, stroking her hair as she peered at him. “I never thought I’d tell anyone,” he said at last.
Cecilia tilted her head slightly, allowing her temple to brush against his. “About Helena?”
“About everything,” he replied. “I guess something good came out of it. You called me Valentine,” he said lightly, his tone shifting.
She blinked. “What?”
“Just now.” His hand tapped lightly against her waist, teasing. “You didn’t say ‘Your Grace.’ You said Valentine. I take it, I don’t intimidate you anymore.”
Her mouth parted. “I did not.”
“You did. I heard it. Clear as day.”
“I was upset. It slipped.”
He made a mock-wounded sound. “So I only get called by name when you’re in emotional distress? Lovely. Why did you get to make a fuss about me calling you duchess, when you refuse to call me by my name?”
She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder, the corner of her lips twitching. “Would you like me to take it back?”
“Too late. You’ve said it now. Can’t undo it. In fact,” He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I might require you to say it again. Often. Preferably in softer tones. Maybe a whisper or two.”
Cecilia’s giggle escaped before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook faintly with it as she buried her face into the pillow, trying to smother the sound.
Valentine watched her with something like wonder. It was the most unguarded he had seen her in days, perhaps since they’d met, and something about that laugh, pure and breathless and utterly hers, sent a jolt of mischief through him.
“You’re really trying to muffle it?” he murmured, raising a brow. “That was a proper laugh, Cecilia. The sort that deserves celebration, given that you were completely sad a few minutes ago.”
She turned her face just enough to glance at him, her smile still lingering. “It’s late.”
