“And thank you for telling me about your progress with Pamela and speaking to her about her mother.” Her fingers gently stroked his chest. “Your honesty… it matters more than you realize. I do not wish to pry so I will not ask you to tell me about her mother either.”
Raph’s gaze rose slowly to meet hers. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes, all the thoughts he had left unspoken. “It was necessary to speak of her.” But he said no more.
“What were you thinking about earlier on?” Camelia asked softly, tracing his chiseled chest with the tip of her finger.
“My sister.” His voice cracked.
Camelia froze and searched his expression. “You have never spoken much of your sister. ”
Raph hesitated. The hard edge of his control wavered, and he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot recently.”
“I’m sorry, do you miss her?”
“Yes, I always miss her. But… it’s like a part of her is always around.”
“I understand. I felt the same about my mother, too.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Raph questioned why he felt like he was betraying Josephine.
“What was she like?” she asked.
“Josephine? Well, she was very much the same as Pamela. They shared the same talents, the same eyes, and the same laughter. Even their silence is similar.”
Camelia stilled against him.
“Are you all right, Camelia?” He rubbed her arms.
“Yes, but—” She stopped abruptly, and her brow furrowed in thought.
“What is it that troubles you?” Raph prompted.
“Are there any other secrets you’re hiding from me?” she asked quietly.
His jaw clenched, and so did his heart. “Nothing more than you ought to know. Well, not yet, at least.”
Camelia’s breath caught, and Raph feared that understanding dawned on her.
“Raph…when did Josephine die?”
The silence that followed was thick. At last, he released a breath, brittle and measured. “My sister died sixteen years ago.”
The words settled between them like winter frost. Camelia’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the sheets and slowly pushed herself up. Raph knew that she was beginning to put the puzzle pieces together.
“Camelia—”
“What… what are you saying, Raph?” She wrapped the bedsheet around her and stood nervously at the edge of the bed.
The coldness of the space between them enveloped him.
“I did not lie to you. I simply had to protect Pamela from the truth.”
“But what is the truth?” Camelia’s voice was thick with sad curiosity. “Just a few carefully chosen crumbs here and there is not enough for me anymore. Allow me to carry your burdens with you, for once.”
Raph’s jaw flexed. “Camelia?—”
“Please, Raph.” She reached out to his clenched fist and looked up at him with eyes filled with unshed tears. “I am not just the Duchess of Brentmere. I am not Pamela’s riding instructor, or a title you wear to silence the ton. I am your wife.”
Raph turned his gaze to hers and saw the fiery defiance he had grown to love and adore.
