They walked the length of the East Wing in silence, their footsteps muffled by the threadbare runner that stretched down the corridor of the largely unused section of the home. Jillian’s fingers rested lightly on his arm, so lightly that he could barely feel the pressure, and yet the contact seared him like a brand. He remembered the warmth of her against him in the dark, the way she had unconsciously curled toward him seeking heat, the soft sound she’d made when she drifted into uneasy sleep. He remembered the moment—far too clear now—when he hadwanted to lower his head and press his lips to her hair simply because it was there.
He forced himself to banish the memory. There was only the present, only the consequences, only being faced with the uncomfortable knowledge that he wanted her. Desired her. And that they would now be forever linked, possibly against her wishes. It wasn’t the natural way of things, not the finding the person you wished to be with, courting, building an attachment. They were simply being thrust into it together after years of public verbal skirmishes which had only served to pique the curiosity of all those around them.
When they reached the main hall, the updated gathering awaited them—not a crowd now, but a small cluster of family members and guests who had appointed themselves guardians of propriety. Henry stood at the center, his expression grim. Helena hovered protectively near the hearth, watching Jillian with deep concern. The aunts occupied a settee, wearing expressions of triumph so blindingly self-satisfied that Miles wished briefly for a stray spark from the fire to leap out and give them something else to focus on.
He released Jillian’s arm with quiet reluctance, stepping forward in calm formality. “I know what must be done,” he said, directing the words toward Henry but ensuring every witness heard them. “I will offer for Lady Jillian at once.”
A small murmur rippled through the room, the kind that always follows the pronunciation of fate.
Jillian stiffened beside him. “Miles?—”
He turned toward her with as much gentleness as he could muster. “It is the only way.”
Her eyes glistened in a way that made his stomach clench. “We might explain,” she said, though even she sounded unconvinced. “We were tired, cold, locked in an unused room?—”
“Alone,” he supplied softly. “For hours.”
Her lips parted as indignation warred with fear, but she found no further argument.
Henry inclined his head. “It is the only appropriate course.”
Lady Beatrice clapped once, softly but victoriously. “Just as the house intended.”
Miles ignored her entirely.
He looked only at Jillian.
And in her eyes he saw something that twisted him in ways he could not fully name—fear, yes, and humiliation, but also a desperate kind of hope that she was fighting to hide.
Hope that he was not offering from duty alone.
Hope that he might feel… something else.
Something more.
He wished, with a sharp ache, that he could tell her then. That he could confess how the evening had cracked open every preconception he had carried, how holding her had felt less like obligation and more like inevitability, how something inside him had shifted in the darkness—a shift he could neither deny nor fully understand.
But this was not the moment.
This moment was a chance to salvage dignity and not provide more fodder for everyone else’s entertainment.
“For my part,” he said, addressing the room though his gaze never left Jillian’s, “I will speak with Lady Jillian privately at once, if she will permit me, to ensure we are in agreement regarding the… future.”
Jillian swallowed, then nodded faintly. “Very well.”
Helena stepped forward, her voice gentle. “We will allow you privacy in the morning, after you have both rested…. For now, the both of you need a meal, you need rest, and you need a moment far from prying eyes to gather yourself.”
Miles inclined his head. “Thank you.”
Only when the room collectively recognized that the night’s drama had concluded did people begin to disperse. One by one, lanterns dimmed and doors closed, leaving Miles and Jillian in a reluctant, fragile peace that felt almost worse than the chaos.
She turned toward him once more, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do not decide anything tonight. Please.”
He nodded slowly. “I promise nothing will be settled hastily.”
She gave him a searching look that sent heat skimming beneath his skin. “Then… goodnight, Mr. Fairfax.”
He bowed. “Goodnight, Lady Jillian.”
