“Because when I visited her bed—” His voice broke, and her gaze shot to his face, still directed at their hands. The muscles in his face contorted in waves, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
He glanced at her, his blue eyes broken, shattered. “Do you know what it is like to know your touch repulses another? How it gnaws away at you, erodes you from the inside out. Because youare so bloody desperate for any sort of connection, intimate or otherwise.” His fingers dug into the blanket, hand curling beneath hers.
“She…she agreed for no other reason than that was what a wife ought, with grim acceptance. Because I selfishly wanted more children, even though we already had an heir and spare and a daughter. I swore if she didn’t get with child after that visit, I would be happy with having just one daughter. There was no way I could put either of us through that again.”
“Turns out, I didn’t need to,” he choked out, his voice as jagged as broken glass. When he finally continued, his voice shook. “She ended up pregnant, and nine months later, both she and our second daughter died in childbirth.”
Felicity’s lungs stalled.
He turned to her, and pain blackened his deep-blue eyes, bled from them in the form of tears. “I will never forgive myself.”
Oh, Ash. No.Her heart fractured for him. And now she understood. Not what he struggled with, not how he felt, but the reasons behind the essence of who he was.
“Ash, your wife’s death was not your fault. It was a horrible, horrible, tragic accident. One you had absolutely no control over.”
He turned away from her, his throat muscles clenching. “I did, though,” he said thickly. “Because if I hadn’t demanded one more child, she would still be here. My children would still have their mother. Winnifred would still haveher life.”
“It is not a crime to want a family,” she said softly. “If your wife and daughter had survived, do you not think she would have been happy to have another daughter?”
His lips rolled in. “I suppose,” he finally said with a defeated shrug. “She loved nothing in her life more than her children. But pregnancy, the labor, the healing afterwards—it was incredibly grueling on her.”
“So, if it wasn’t for that, she would have wanted more children?” Felicity prodded.
His forehead lined. “I want to say yes, but she would still have had to bed me.”
Yes, what a chore that was. “I will admit, I have trouble understanding why that would be…as I have first-hand experience with just how extraordinary it is to be with you in that way.” She tried to infuse reassurance in her squeeze of his hand, in the surety of her tone. “The problem wasn’t you, Ash. I am sure of it. It was the situation you two were forced into.”
Unfortunately, that evoked absolutely no reaction.
“Perhaps she had preferred women. Or perhaps she had been raised to be ashamed of the sexual act. It is constantly drilled into women how sinful sex isunlessit’s for procreation. That desire is a sin.” Her eyes followed a tear slowly trailing down the sharp line of his jaw. “Or perhaps it was scars from being forced into marriage,” she whispered. “Into breeding at the age of sixteen, something that I can only imagine was immensely traumatizing. But itwasn’t you.”
She gently took his face in her hands and smoothed away the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I ache for you both. For what you were put through. For the unfairness life dealt you. But her death was not your fault. That was another unfairness life handed you. Childbirth comes with risks, whether both parties desired the child or not. And based on what you told me of your wife, I think if the fates had been kinder, when she held your daughter in her arms, she would have thought it was all worth it.”
Another tear leaked free, and she leaned forward and brushed it away with a kiss. A shudder wracked his frame, and he blew out a long, slow sigh.
“I cannot say I forgive myself, but thank you, Felicity.” He pulled back and captured her with his stare. He swallowed, slow and labored. “Your words help,” he croaked out hoarsely.
And for now, hearing that felt like she had just been handed the moon. She couldn’t imagine enduring the trials life had put him through.
“I think I may have something that might cheer you up. I have a gift for you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You do?”
She smiled and waggled her brows, trying to infuse some lightness into the heavy moment. She dug inside the basket at her side and pulled out what she had been searching for before she hurt her ankle in the wood of Willow Grove. After Ash had left her—completely breathless and dizzy from his kiss—she had gone back in search of the perfect rock to add to his collection.
She rubbed her thumb over the smooth stone and held it out to him. It was oblong and flat, almost flat enough to be a skipping stone. But it was ebony black with white and gray striations running through it.
He took it and stared at it, much smaller in his palm than hers. The silence grew between them, and a light heat prickled over her face.
“I had thought it might be a nice addition to your rock collection,” she said hesitantly. Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea. How did one decide on a new pet-rock? Was it odd to just choose a random one? Was there supposed to be some significance behind the choice?
A sad smile curved his lips, and he turned the rock over in his hand, brushing his fingers over the smooth surface. He glanced at her. “It is perfect,” he whispered. He leaned over and dusted his knuckles over her cheekbone. “As are you.”
He was very close now. Inches. His towering frame blocked out the sun’s rays, but she felt anything but cold.
His nose brushed against hers. “You are painfully perfect.”
His breath coasted over her lips, warm and inviting. And real. The man, the feelings, the moment. Real.
