“Says the man who never leaves.”
“Says the man who has made inertia a study. It is harder than it looks.”
The fountain’s rhythm—collapse and rebirth—matched the conflict in her chest. She drew breath. “I have made my decision.”
He nodded.
“I am keeping the estate. Not to spite Edmund or to play lady of the manor. I am keeping it becausethere is hope here. Because every time I look out, I see what it could be. And because I am unwilling to relinquish the freedom it grants me.”
His composure flickered, his mouth softening. “It is a good reason.”
She pressed on. “And I want you to know that I do not need you to stay. I never did. Your support in the hall was useful, and I am grateful, but this was never your battle. Your duty ended the moment we arrived. I do not need your protection. Or your company.” Her voice cracked, but she forced it through. “I can do this alone.”
The admission left her hollow, like something old had broken inside.
Maximilian’s focus sharpened. “I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want you to want me here,” he said, plain and bare.
She stared. Sunlight caught at his temples, his posture firm, a resolve that said he would stand a year rather than look away first.
The garden seemed to hold its breath.
Her chest ached with equal parts desire and fear. She did not know what his words meant, but neither did she wish to turn him away. Perhaps there was a measure of hope for them yet.
“Then stay,” she said.
“If that is what you want.”
She almost said yes. Instead, she offered her trembling hand. His grip was warm, steady.
He did not let go as he gazed into her eyes. “Lydia,” he said, low, “let us stop pretending.”
The old habit—deflect, defy, dismiss—rose and broke. She stepped into him just enough for her breasts to brush his waistcoat and lifted her face.
“I will,” she said, voice rough with truth. “I will stop pretending I do not want you. I will take what you offer, even if it is not honorable, because it is you.”
The vow cost her and freed her at once.
Maximilian’s breath left him. He framed her jaw, not a command but a question. She answered by closing the last inch.
The kiss was raw, defiant. It was the first honest thing of the day, and entirely theirs. He steadied her at the small of her back. The fountain splashed, and somewhere a bird forgot its song.
She kept her forehead to his, eyes closed, and whispered, “I want you.”
“Then you shall have me,” he said, lifting her into his arms and carrying her toward the house.
