Chapter 317: A Little Glimpse

Maximilian pulled Catherine closer against his chest.

A smile curved his lips as he breathed in her familiar scent. Her hair was still damp, and he frowned faintly at the thought of her catching a cold. He reached for the towel nearby, intending to dry it for her, but Catherine only made a sleepy little sound and nuzzled closer into him, her cheek settling against his chest as though she had no intention of letting him go.

He stopped.

The towel could wait.

For a moment, he simply held her.

He wondered if she had fallen asleep, but when he brushed the damp strands away from her shoulder, he felt her stir.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Catherine’s lashes fluttered.

Maximilian already knew the answer, or thought he did.

He could still remember every little thing from earlier—the way she had clung to him, the soft sounds she had made against his shoulder, the way her fingers had tightened around him whenever the intensity became too much.

He remembered every whispered I love you, every breathless utterance of his name, every moment when she had looked at him with such complete trust that it had nearly undone him.

He had never imagined that being loved could feel like that; like being trusted with someone’s whole heart.

Catherine opened her eyes just enough to look at him. A sleepy smile touched her lips.

“I like this.”

Maximilian’s heart gave a quiet, painful squeeze.

“This?”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. “I want to do it many more times.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Many?”

She smiled wider. “With you.”

Something warm spread through him.

“For the rest of my life.”

A quiet chuckle escaped her, as though she were embarrassed by how openly she had said it.

But Maximilian couldn’t laugh. How could he when he could feel how sincere she was?

Catherine’s expression softened. “You made me feel loved,” she whispered. “Protected. Safe.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “You showed me a little glimpse of what our marriage could be.”

Her smile became almost shy. “And I’m glad we’re married. Properly.”

They’ve consummated their marriage, and now they were married in every sense.

Maximilian stared at her. For several seconds, he couldn’t speak. Then a tear slipped silently from the corner of his eye.

Catherine blinked. “Maximilian?”

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. She had no idea how much those words meant to him. He had wondered whether he could be the kind of husband she deserved, whether he could make her feel safe, whether she would ever look at their marriage and see something worth keeping.

And now she was looking at him as though she had already given him the answer.

“I’ll strive to live up to the standards you have for me, Love,” he said quietly. His voice thickened. “I love you.”

Catherine’s eyes softened. “I love you too.”

He kissed her forehead again. Then he gathered her against him, holding her as though he could somehow protect this moment from ever ending.

Eventually, their breathing slowed. Catherine fell asleep first. Maximilian followed soon after, his arms still wrapped securely around her.

For a while, the room was completely still. Until, sometime in the middle of the night, Catherine woke.

She blinked sleepily. Something was different… Something warm, something decidedly… distracting.

She slowly realized Maximilian had shifted closer in his sleep, his arm curled around her breasts, his face buried against the curve of her shoulder. His warmth pressed against her back, and the sleepy fog in her mind vanished rather quickly.

Catherine stared into the darkness. She really ought to go back to sleep.

She had been asleep for all of… She glanced toward the window. A very respectable amount of time. Probably.

Maximilian stirred behind her. His lips brushed her shoulder. Catherine bit back a smile. This man was going to be the death of her.

She turned in his arms.

His eyes opened almost immediately. For one sleepy second, they simply stared at each other. Then his mouth curved.

“You’re awake.”

“So are you.”

“Unfortunately.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Unfortunately?”

His smile deepened. “I was having a very pleasant dream.”

Catherine moved closer. “Was I in it?”

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips. “You are now.”

Her heart fluttered. She kissed him.

And whatever intention either of them had possessed of returning peacefully to sleep disappeared rather quickly.

The night was not quite finished with them yet.

—–

Samantha turned off the shower and stepped out, still a little dizzy.

She had drunk enough to make the room tilt pleasantly around her, but not enough to forget that she did not want to crawl into bed smelling like alcohol. At least, she had enough dignity left for that.

She had tried. She really had.

She was happy for her aunt. She was. But she also wanted to scream.

Her aunt might be her father’s sister, but she was younger than Samantha. And somehow, she had managed to get married before her.

How was that fair? Why couldn’t she find happiness too?

Happiness.

The word immediately brought him to mind.

That infuriating man in his prim, perfectly tailored suit, sitting with his legs crossed like some Regency gentleman while looking at her as though he were secretly longing to devour her.

Those eyes…Those yearning, deceptive eyes.

Liar.

Fraud.

“Die, Fudgie.”

She leaned toward the towel rack. Her fingers were almost there when her foot slipped.

“Oh—”

Her stomach dropped.

For one horrifying second, Samantha was certain she was going to die naked on a bathroom floor, which was a particularly undignified way for a woman to meet her end.

Then a dark figure appeared in front of her. An arm wrapped around her waist.

Samantha froze.

The hand against her bare skin was unmistakably a man’s. Her alcohol-fogged mind took approximately one second to process that fact.

Then panic arrived.

She grabbed the nearest object she could reach—the glass soap dispenser—and swung it toward the intruder’s head.

The man caught her wrist.

And Samantha looked up. Her blood ran cold.

Fitzgerald… Of all people.

The very man she had believed was her first love. The very man who had apparently been deceiving her from the beginning.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did you even get in?”

Fitzgerald did not answer, because he wasn’t looking at her eyes. He wasn’t even looking anywhere near her face.

His gaze had dropped.

Samantha followed it. Her eyes widened. He was staring at her chest. At her very naked, very exposed chest.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Fitzgerald knew he should look away. He genuinely did.

But it had been a long time since he had been this close to a woman, and Samantha was hardly just any woman.

She was the woman who had intrigued him enough to make him contemplate the tedious, inconvenient and messy business of coitus.

And now she was standing naked in front of him.

His body had apparently reached a conclusion his mind was still desperately trying to negotiate with.

He wanted her. Very much.

Samantha saw the realization on his face. Her humiliation transformed instantly into outrage.

“Oh, you—”

**Thunk**

The glass dispenser connected squarely with his head.

Fitzgerald staggered.

Samantha snatched the towel and wrapped it around herself.

“Get away from me, pervert!”

He pressed a hand to his forehead, a thin strip of blood dripping down his forehead.

“I was catching you.”

“You were staring at me!”

“I was.”

The admission stopped her. Fitzgerald looked at her. His expression was maddeningly calm.

“F*ck you, Fudgie!” she screamed and lunged at him, not minding the towel dropping to the wet floor.

Fitzgerald’s lips curled into a smirk.