Her gaze dropped to his hands, clenched at his sides. She could see the faint scars across his knuckles, pale lines mapping a history of pain and release. Those hands had broken men. She wondered what else they might do.
Heat crept up her neck.
His hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his fingers through it, and his expression caught between determination and agony. He looked undone in a way she had never seen him. Exposed. Human.
Devastatingly handsome.
“I wanted to speak with you.” His voice came out rough, a rasp like iron over silk. “Privately.”
She stepped aside to let him enter, acutely aware of her own state of undress. The guest chamber was smaller than her rooms at Heatherwell House, the fire burning low, the candles casting soft shadows across the walls. She had been preparing for bed when the knock came, her hair loose around her shoulders, her dressing gown tied at her waist. The silk suddenly felt too thin, too revealing.
Edward moved to the center of the room and stopped. His hands clenched at his sides. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked as though every word he needed to say was lodged in his throat, refusing to emerge.
Sophia waited. She had learned, over these past weeks, that pushing Edward only made him retreat further. He needed space to find his way to the words he wanted to speak.
“I wanted…” He stopped. Started again. “Your father said…” Another stop, and a harsh breath. “I am not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Expressing myself.” He ran a hand through his hair, destroying what little order remained. “I have spent my entire life learning to hide what I feel. To present a mask to the world. To be what my father expected me to be.”
Sophia took a step toward him. “You don’t need to wear a mask with me.”
His eyes met hers. Something raw flickered there, something vulnerable and afraid.
“Thank you.” The words emerged on a breath. “For everything you have done. For Oliver. For the way you have cared for him, taught him, and loved him. You were trapped in this marriage, bound by circumstances beyond your control, and yet you have given him more warmth and affection than I could manage alone.”
Sophia shook her head. “You do not need to thank me. I care for Oliver. Deeply. He is Jane’s son. He is…” She paused. “He is family.”
Edward closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they burned with an intensity that stole her breath.
“I want you to be happy.” The words seemed to tear themselves from somewhere deep inside him. “Not because you are my wife. Not because of duty or obligation or any of the reasons thismarriage began. I want you to be happy because…” He struggled. “Because when you smile, I can breathe again. Because when you laugh, I want to be the cause of it. Because I lie awake at night wondering what it would take to make you look at me the way you look at Oliver, with that warmth, that openness.” He swallowed. “That trust.”
Sophia’s lips parted. She could not speak. Could barely breathe.
“I have spent so long building walls.” Edward’s voice dropped, raw and broken. “Keeping people at a distance. Protecting myself from feeling too much, wanting too much, losing too much. But you…” He stepped closer. “You make me want to tear them down. You make me want to be the kind of man who deserves to stand beside you. Who deserves to call you his wife.”
Sophia drew in a long breath, barely realizing how shakily it came out as she exhaled.
“I know I have made mistakes.” He stood before her now, close enough to touch. “I know I have pulled away when I should have reached out. I know I have confused you, hurt you, left you wondering where you stand. And I am sorry. I have been a coward. Too afraid to risk what little peace I had built, even for the chance of something more.”
She reached up and pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him.
“You are not a coward.” Her voice came out thick with emotion. “You are a man who has been hurt. Who has lost more than mostpeople ever risk having. And you are here. Standing in front of me. Saying things I never expected to hear.”
Edward’s hand came up to cover hers. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm, his lips warm against her skin.
“May I kiss you?” The question was barely a whisper.
She nodded.
He leaned in, and his lips found hers.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as though he feared she might shatter beneath his touch. His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. She tasted salt and heat and longing, felt the restraint trembling through him like a wire pulled taut.
Sophia pressed closer. Her hands found his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She wanted more. Wanted everything. Wanted to erase the distance they had maintained for weeks, the careful choreography of avoidance, the ache of wanting without having.
The kiss deepened. Edward’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him until no space remained between their bodies. His hands slid into her hair, tilting her head back, claiming her mouth with an intensity that made her knees weaken.
