Coward. You’re being a complete coward.
“Hugo?” Her voice stopped him at the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Are you… are you happy? With how things have changed between us?”
Happy? I’m terrified and exhilarated and completely out of my depth. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about you, and it’s driving me half mad.
“Yes,” he said simply because it was true even if it was incomplete.
“Good.” The smile she gave him was soft, genuine. “So am I.”
So am I. As if this is enough for her. As if she doesn’t need more than I’m giving.
But as Hugo retreated to his dressing room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be enough forever. That eventually she’d want words he wasn’t sure he could say, promises he wasn’t certain he could keep.
Because caring this much means risking everything. And I’ve never been good at risks when it comes to matters of the heart.
Through the thin wall separating them, he could hear her moving about the bedroom, preparing for sleep in the space they now shared. His space that had become theirs without any formal discussion or agreement.
She just… moved in. Brought her things, arranged them next to mine, acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
And I let her. More than let her—welcomed it, even as it terrified me.
Because having her here, in his private sanctuary, felt both like coming home and like standing on the edge of a precipice.
She’s under my skin now. In my thoughts constantly. And I don’t know how to protect myself from that.
Or if I even want to anymore.
The sounds from the bedroom had gone quiet, suggesting she’d settled for the night. Hugo finished his own preparations mechanically, his mind still churning with everything unsaid between them.
Tomorrow I’ll try to find the words. Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to explain what she means to me without admitting how completely she owns my peace of mind.
But as he finally made his way back to their shared bed, as he saw her sleeping form curled on what had become her side, Hugo suspected tomorrow would bring the same reluctance that had silenced him tonight.
He slipped into bed beside her, careful not to wake her, and stared at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally claimed him.
And in his dreams, he found the courage he lacked when awake.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The carriage wheels hit a particularly vicious pothole, jolting Hugo against the padded seat hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“Christ,” he muttered, steadying himself. “Remind me why we couldn’t simply send our regrets?”
“Because Cassandra is one of my dearest friends,” Sybil replied, though something in her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced by her own reasoning. “And because this is our first public appearance as a… properly married couple, not just pretense.”
Properly married. Such a delicate way to refer to the fact that we’re now sharing a bed.
“Besides,” she continued, adjusting her gloves, “it’s only one evening. How terrible could it be?”
Anthea, seated across from them in the hired carriage, let out what could charitably be called a snort. “How terrible indeed.”
That doesn’t sound promising.
“Anthea,” Sybil warned.
