Valentine narrowed his eyes. “Such as?”
She didn’t look at him right away, which upset him slightly until she did, and the look she gave him was so maddening in its sweetness.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You do have that stern, sensible air about you. All structure and restraint and correct decisions.”
He blinked. “You make that sound unappealing.”
She shrugged, lips twitching. “Oh no. It’s very appealing.”
Valentine’s breath caught, very slightly.
“Commanding,” she added, softer now, as if mulling it over aloud. “A bit exasperating, perhaps. But that’s half the fun.”
He folded his arms. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m a mirror of discipline, and you find that entertaining?”
Her smile curved wider. “Well, someone has to be the dependable one. If we both chased after purple jars, we’d be completely ruined.”
Valentine scoffed under his breath, but there was no real heat behind it. She was doing it again, twisting sense into sweetness, tugging at the edges of his logic with her impossible charm. His smile waned as their eyes looked for far too long.
He could see her features soften too, her eyes steady on his. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him that way...like she saw past everything he tried to put up. Like she saw past his facade. Because that was all it was. An act he put up to push people away.
He hadn’t meant to lean in. But somehow, he had. So did she.
It was quiet, unbearably so. Abigail lay nestled between them, her breath soft and even. A little fist curled near her cheek. But Valentine barely noticed her now. His attention had shifted, drawn entirely to Cecilia’s presence on the other side.
Her eyes on him stirred something beneath his ribs. That silent, certain look undid him more than a thousand words ever could. His breath slowed, weighted by something he was certain that if he dwelled on, would steal all his composure. When her gaze flicked down, just once, to his mouth, the air seemed to thin around them.
He hadn’t meant to move, but he did. The shift was subtle, instinctive. He leaned slightly, eyes searching hers, not with hesitation exactly, but with caution. She didn’t retreat. She leaned too, like it was the most natural thing in the world to meet him in the middle.
His eyes dropped to her lips. He remembered, too clearly, the warmth of her the night before. The weight of her against him under the covers, the steady breath against his chest, the way her fingers had curled against his side as though she had been holding him in place so he did not escape. For the first time inwhat felt like years, he had slept without waking in a cold sweat, without dread curling under his skin.
They were only a breath apart now. He could feel the warmth of her…could smell the faintest trace of rose water from her skin. He could feel her breath mingling with his, and could already imagine the taste of her. But just before that final inch, before the space between them vanished completely, he stopped.
“Not here,” he murmured. “We’ll wake Abigail.”
Cecilia lingered, her lips still parted, her gaze steady. She didn’t move back at once. Valentine remained still for a moment longer, trying to slow the uneven rhythm of his breathing.
When Cecilia finally pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as she looked down at her fingers. “Would it be terribly forward of me to ask if you might want to spend the night together again?” she asked, catching him off guard.
Valentine didn’t speak.
She gave a quiet laugh, then glanced at him. “I mean, only if you weren’t planning to work anymore tonight. It’s just…I rather liked it. The cuddling. I slept well.”
He studied her for a moment but couldn’t resist smiling too. “All right,” he said quietly, nodding.
Quietly, they slipped out of bed. Cecilia leaned over to straighten the coverlet, tucking it more securely around Abigail’s small frame, while Valentine adjusted the corner she had kicked loose in her sleep. Abigail barely stirred, seemingly deep in sleep.
When they stepped out together and gently pulled the door closed behind them, they walked quietly to the east wing of the manor, to Cecilia’s room. As much as Valentine wanted to take her hand because it felt right in that moment, he didn’t.
Cecilia’s room was warm and faintly perfumed with lavender. She opened the door and stepped inside first, her hand trailing lightly along the edge of the doorframe. Valentine followed a moment later, quieter now, as though crossing some invisible threshold. She turned and gently closed the door behind them, then turned towards the bed almost immediately.
They reached the bed together, and when she climbed in, he followed, curling one arm around her waist as she pressed her back against him. She sighed, one hand reaching down to lightly rest over his. Valentine exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
Valentine had begun to think she might have drifted off when Cecilia stirred slightly in his arms. Her fingers traced slow, absent patterns over the back of his hand, and her voice came low, almost hesitant, as if she hadn’t meant to speak it aloud.
“Valentine?” she called him softly.
“What is it, Cecilia?” he asked drowsily.
