Chapter 9

"I've been meaning to do this from the first moment I laid eyes on you," he heard himself say, as if there were no tomorrow and nothing they did would bring any repercussions. It was a moment that belonged solely to them.

Rose stared deeply into his eyes as they stood in front of each other, her hands gently resting on his shoulders. She wasn't talking. Not with her lips, at least. But her eyes were telling him all he needed to know.

"Rose…" he whispered her name in a way he had been yearning to do for days.

Her hand lifted to his cheek, gently caressing his scars. His insides exploded. His body longed to hold her in his arms. His manhood throbbed with desire for her. She was unlike anyone he had ever met before. He craved her touch, her sweet fragrance, the soft melody of her voice. Her lips beckoned him. He clasped his hands around her willowy waist, pulling her close, and pressing her heaving bosom to his chest. The very sensation of her body against him made him wild, his body exploding with sensations that made his mind whirl in a haze of passion.

"William…" he heard her angelic voice call out to him, and in that moment, he would have done anything for her. She leaned over closer, her lips mere inches away from his.

Suddenly, his eyes opened, and he woke up in his chamber. The early morning light filtered in trickles of sunlight through the heavy drapes. He lay still for a moment, trying to shake off the remnants of his dream. For that was what it was. Just a dream.

He rubbed his eyes, hoping against all odds that it was reality. But he knew better than to give in to that temptation. It had been a very long time since he had dreamed of a woman in such an intimate, inappropriate manner. The vivid images of Rose, her laughter, her touch, her presence lingered in his mind like a constant torment, reminding him of what he would never have.

Still, he was surprised by the intensity of the dream, especially since he had only just met Rose. However, what that dream awakened in him was unexpected and disconcerting. He felt as if he had spent every one of his twenty-eight years of life building up walls to protect himself from such feelings, from people in general, and now, in the span of only days, those very same walls seemed to be under threat.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down his racing thoughts. It's just a dream, he thought to himself. Nothing more.

He reasoned that the dream was likely brought on by the fact that Rose was nearby, under the same roof as him, which was a new and intriguing presence in his otherwise solitary life. It was natural for his mind to focus on her, given how much she had disrupted his usual routine. Shaking his head to clear it, he tried to stand up, but immediately realized that his back stiffened, refusing any motion.

He grunted against the pain shooting through his lower back, causing him to grimace and sink back onto the edge of the bed. His bright idea to move a bookshelf himself the previous day instead of having Mr. Hancock take care of it was paying off about as well as one would expect. He cursed under his breath, feeling the muscles in his back tense and spasm. The stubborn streak that had served him well in the military was now proving to be a double-edged sword. He had always prided himself on his independence and physical strength, but it now seemed those very traits were working against him.

He took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to relax the constricted muscles. He knew from experience that pushing himself would only make things worse. He needed to be patient and careful. He remained in place, breathing in deeply, then exhaling.

He had decided to wait it out until the pain had subsided, allowing him movement. Just as he resigned himself to that conclusion, a soft knock on the door echoed around him. He frowned, wondering why Mr. Hancock would be coming to him at such an early hour. Concern blossomed inside of him. Had something happened?

"Come in," he called out, his voice strained but composed.

The door slowly creaked open, and to his surprise, it wasn't Mr. Hancock at all. It was Rose. Immediately upon seeing him in bed, her eyes widening in shock.

"Oh, Your Grace, I'm so sorry for the intrusion," she stammered, quickly turning around to face the other way. "I didn't realize you would still be… in your bed."

He wasn't naked, of course. On the contrary, he was wearing a long, loose-fitting nightshirt that reached down to his calves, but in a lying position, that wasn't so. The plain, undyed fabric of the nightshirt was not transparent, although the silhouette of his body was clearly visible underneath, with his muscles protruding. Still, the circumstances of her unexpected visit left him feeling exposed to her eyes.

"I… just wanted to see if you were up so I could say goodbye," she told him, still with her back turned to him. "Seeing that I left without any word the last time. And also, I wanted to see if your back was feeling better."

"As you can see, it is not," he said, clearing his throat as he spoke, oddly pleased at her thoughtfulness. "Which would be the reason why I wouldn't be able to see you off."

"Oh," she said without thinking, turning around to face him once more. "Is there anything I can do? Perhaps adjust your pillow so you are more comfortable?"

He was acutely aware of the inappropriateness of her being in his chamber alone in such a vulnerable state, so early in the morning. He could feel the awkwardness in the air and sought to ease it. "There's really nothing to be done about it, Rose," he said, in a calm but firm voice. "It'll pass. This is not the first time I've faced this, as I already explained."

Rose looked at him with concern, her hands lingering for a moment before she withdrew them. "Are you certain?"

He managed a faint smile, appreciating her kindness even as he felt the strain of maintaining propriety. "I just overdid it yesterday. I shouldn't have tried to move that bookshelf on my own. Please, don't worry yourself over me."

"But you should at least stay warm, Your Grace," her soft voice answered. "May I cover you up?"

He glanced down, realizing with a new wave of mortification that he had obviously thrown off his covers during the night. The nightshirt provided some modesty, but he felt acutely exposed. The realization that this had happened while he was dreaming about Rose only deepened his embarrassment.

For a moment, he was too stunned to respond. Rose, however, seemed to take his silence as agreement and moved to adjust the covers. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and he noticed a deep blush coloring her cheeks. The sight of her obvious discomfort only compounded his own.

As she tenderly draped the blanket over him, William struggled to find his voice. "Rose, you really don't have to—" he began, but his protest was weak and half-hearted.

She managed a small, reassuring smile, though her blush remained. "It's all right, Your Grace. It is no trouble."

William felt the warmth of the blanket as she gently tucked it around him, her touch both soothing and unsettling. He was acutely aware of the tension between them, an unspoken acknowledgement of the impropriety of the situation. He knew that she shouldn't have been with him like that, but he refused to let her go. Just a moment more, he told himself, enjoying that strange sense of comfort in her presence and in her genuine concern for his well-being.

That was when he lifted his gaze and looked at her. Her eyes widened, refusing to look away. They remained like that for a while, neither of them speaking, neither of them willing to break the silent magic of the moment. Finally, she took a step back.

"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I can't help but worry about you, Your Grace. Being a healer is in my blood."

The simplicity of her statement struck a chord deep within him. It was more than just concern. There seemed to be genuine care in her voice that went beyond the bounds of duty. Yet, as much as he wanted to believe there was something more, he forced himself to be pragmatic. She was a healer, after all, and it was simply in her nature to be compassionate and caring. He shouldn't be reading anything more into it.

He smiled back, but before he could say anything, she continued. "I'd best go home now. When should I come back?"

"Tomorrow morning would be fine," he replied. "A carriage will be waiting for you at seven."

"Thank you," she said. "I will be here tomorrow then… goodbye."

"Goodbye, Rose," he said, waiting for her to close the door.

Once he was alone, he exhaled deeply. Despite his rationalizations, a part of him yearned for her concern to be more personal, more intimate. It had been so long since anyone had shown him such unguarded care and tenderness. The dream, the tension, and now her words had stirred sensations he thought he had long buried.

He tried to shake off the longing that was taking root in his heart. He couldn't afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment, especially not now. Rose was there to help around the manor, and he needed to set clear boundaries… for his own sake.

As he slowly lay back against the pillows, pushing through another onslaught of pain, he found it increasingly difficult to convince himself that her words were merely a reflection of her professional duty. The warmth of the blanket and the lingering sensation of her touch only seemed to make the storm of his thoughts even worse.

He closed his eyes in an effort to rest and let the pain in his back subside. That would pass soon enough. But the emotional ache would be much harder to dispel. Her kindness had left a mark on him, one that he wouldn't be able to forget easily.