“Good morning.” Cedric’s sleep-roughened voice in her ear. His hair was tousled, and the pillow line creases on his face that only deepened when he smiled. “How was your rest?”
Color rose in her cheeks. “Were you watching me sleep?”
“You look like an angel when you sleep,” he murmured. He was lying on the side of his unblemished face, but she did not care that his devilish face was staring at her as she saw beyond the scars.
Her eyes were warm. “It sounds like you are going to say those sonnets I once dared you to sing me.”
He snorted and turned on his back. Rubbing his face, Cedric gently sat up with the sheets pooling at his waist. He was silent for such a long time, she got concerned and sat up too, taking the sheets with her.
“Are you all right—” she paused. “Why do you not look happy?”
His head snapped to her, his brows lifted. “What? God no. That could not be any further from the truth. It's— last night was not overwhelming for you alone.
Ariadne’s heart leapt painfully, fiercely, at his gaze. She could not look away, could not resist the vulnerability that shone in his gaze. It startled her, the contradiction of it.
Cedric was a force of nature; a man known for his command, his resolute will, his formidable reputation, and yet before her, he seemed laid bare, as though she alone might see the hidden truth of him.
“You don’t know how much of a box you’ve put yourself in when you’ve convinced yourself that you are better off alone.” He said hollowly.
Her face fell. “Because of the fire?”
“No,” he gave her a look. “Because of the betrayal I suffered by a woman I’d believed myself in love with. Now, I realize I did not know what love was.”
She frowned. “You’ve never been with someone….in all that time?”
“No,” this time, he looked confused. “No, why?”
“Because I—” she shook her head and slipped out of the bed, grabbing her discarded wrapper from the floor and quickly donning it. “—just— just wait here.”
He slid a leg out from under the covers, confusion tight on his face, “Ariadne, what are you talking about?”
“Just give me a moment, please.” She said while leaving the room, she dipped into her room to don a loose frock before heading to her drawing room.
In her haste to look for the cards, she did not care if a few books and letters fell to the floor. When she finally unearthed the cards from the drawer, the stale scent of that putrid perfume surged into her nose. Grimly, she fished the new note out from the stacks and took all three back to Cedric’s room.
He was dressed in a loose pair of trousers and was belting a robe when she walked in. “What was that about?”
“These,” she handed him the cards. Taking a seat, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I received those cards and I—I didn’t know what to do with them. They felt… too real.”
Cedric’s brows creased as he read through them. “Ariadne…” he waved the open letters. “I do not know who sent these.”
She hesitated. “You’ve never had a mistress?”
“No.”
“Not even someone secretly in love with you?” She asked.
He went down on one knee before her and took one of her hands in a firm grip. After a moment, she wrapped her fingers around his. “I swear to you, I do not know this woman. There was one time, only one, when I felt desperate enough to go somewhere for…company.”
It took Ariadne a hair longer than she should have to grasp his meaning, and when she did, a twisted pit formed in her stomach.“I—” her eyes dropped to the floor, the very same place her heart was. “I see.”
“I went back alone and untouched,” he admitted. “The woman was so repulsed by me that I screamed in horror. I never tried again since.”
“How long ago was that?” She asked.
“Five to six years ago, give or take,” he said. “And there is no chance this person—” he waved the letters. “—that his person is that courtesan. Last I heard, she is married and is a madam now.”
Taking the last unopened letter,
