Chapter 76
I sat in silence beside Millicent. The clock had long struck nine, and two hours had since passed, yet she had not stirred. Not once.
She must have been utterly exhausted.
After the way I had taken her, after the way she had taken me, I could not blame her body for surrendering to sleep. She was thinner now, more fragile, and our night had been merciless.
I traced her features in the quiet, drinking in every detail. The smooth curve of her forehead, the way her long blonde lashes rested against her cheek, casting faint shadows in the morning light. Her nose led my eye downward, to her lips, once soft, now swollen, bearing the evidence of my own desperate need. Lips that I had bruised with kisses, that I had sucked and bitten.
She looked delicate.
So unbearably delicate.
Another hour slipped by before she finally stirred.
Yet, rather than wake, she merely shifted onto her side, her body curling slightly toward me, her arms slipping free from beneath the covers. The silk slid away, revealing the bare expanse of her back, the elegant lines of her shoulders, the rise and fall of her chest, marked with the evidence of my hands, my lips, my teeth.
What are we to do now?
A part of me wished I had never stepped foot into this room. That I had never followed that maid, never opened that door. Yet another part of me felt no regret at all.
And what of Kyle?
My husband.
The man who had found me at the very brink of death, who had pulled me back from the abyss. The man who had never once questioned my past, who had accepted me as I was without demand or expectation.
And I had repaid him with betrayal.
Because I loved this woman.
With one last lingering glance at Millicent, I reached for my cane, where it lay abandoned upon the floor, and forced myself to stand. The ache in my body screamed in protest, my legs trembled at the pain with each step, adding on to my limp.
The moment I opened the door, my breath caught.
Standing before me, just beyond the threshold, were two figures.
Kyle and Issac.
Issac stepped back, his expression carefully schooled into something unreadable, though his avoidance of my gaze spoke volumes. But it was Kyle who held my attention. His eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, the weight of sorrow and devastation written plainly upon his face.
He had been crying.
A suffocating silence stretched between us.
"I've been here since last night," Kyle said. "I followed ya here. Mr. Beltmore wouldn't let me open the door. I heard it. I know what happened last night."
I cast my gaze downward.
Kyle dropped to his knees before me, his large hands trembling as they seized my left one. Before I could comprehend his intent, he gripped it tightly, his desperation bleeding into every motion.
"Don't leave me, my love," he pleaded, his voice uneven. "I love ya. I know ya don't love me, but that's alright. As long as I love ya, that's enough, ain't it?"
My fingers quivered in his grasp. I had not expected this. The weight of guilt burrowed deep into my bones.
"Don't leave me," he begged again, shifting closer on his knees, his eyes frantic, searching mine for any semblance of reassurance. "Please, say ya won't leave me."
His gaze flickered past me, and I followed it.
Millicent was awake.
She sat upright in the bed, the silk sheets clutched to her chest, her golden hair cascading over bare shoulders. Her eyes, those striking crimson eyes, remained lowered, a veil of silence draped over her.
My heart clenched violently.
She had not spoken a word, yet her sorrow screamed louder than any plea Kyle could ever utter.
"Ann, love," Kyle's voice trembled, his fingers tightening around mine. "Please. I'm beggin' ya."
But I could not tear my gaze away from Millicent.
"Look at me, please," Kyle implored, giving my hand a gentle tug. "Tell me ya won't leave me."
A suffocating silence stretched between us.
"Isaac," Millicent spoke quietly at last. I could hear the slight tremble in it, though she masked it well. "Would you mind closing the door for me?"
Kyle's grip tightened as though he feared I would be ripped from him entirely. In one fluid motion, he pulled me past the threshold, stepping into the hallway just as Isaac shut the door, placing himself in front of it like a silent guardian.
"Let's go home, my love," Kyle said, nervously, urgently. He gave my hand another firm tug.
I resisted, my lips parting to speak. "Kyle-"
"It's alright, love. It's alright." His voice was too forced. "For now, let's just go home, yeah? How about we go ride horses? Didn't ya suggest that last time? Let's go do it." Another tug.
"Kyle-"
"Or," he interrupted, his words spilling out too fast, too eager, as if talking would drown out the truth. "How about we pack some food too? We can ride out somewhere nice, eat under the sky."
I followed absently, my body moving, but my mind still lingering behind that door.
When Kyle and I returned home, I led him to the drawing room. He had spent the entirety of our carriage ride in silence, dodging my gaze, pretending as though nothing had transpired.
I sat beside him, but he would not meet my eye. His hands rubbed together incessantly, his fingers twitching, betraying his nerves.
"Please, love," he murmured, his anxiety spilling into every syllable. "Don't leave me."
My chest constricted painfully. I had betrayed him, yet here he sat, looking as though he were the one at fault.
Memories of him surfaced. Kyle, who had always placed me first, who had given without hesitation. Kyle, who had tended to me even in his own sickness, who had still risen each morning to chop and sell firewood, ensuring there was food upon my table, ensuring I was always cared for.
This was why I had vowed to be decent for him. Because I had known from the very beginning that I could never be great.
But now, after last night, I could no longer even be decent.
My heart ached, my mind clouded with the unbearable weight of it. If I stayed with Kyle, what of Millicent?
Millicent had my son. A child who shared my blood, my very existence woven into his. My mind clung to the thought, grasping at it like a lifeline.
Kyle had no one. He had only me.
My heart fractured anew, my very soul recoiled at the thought of letting Millicent go.
I closed my eyes, steeling myself. "Please," I whispered, "allow me to properly atone for my indiscretion."
Kyle flinched, his hands flying up in frantic protest. "No need! No need!" His nervousness softened slightly, his expression caught somewhere between forced ease and desperation. "Everyone makes mistakes!"
I wanted him to hate me. To yell at me. To damn me for what I had done. But Kyle, sweet Kyle, was incapable of cruelty. His kindness was a blade against my throat.
My fingers curled against my lap. The words I spoke next came from a place so hollow, so fractured, I hardly recognized my own voice.
"I will not leave you."
The moment they left my lips, something inside me broke. A sob wrenched its way from my throat. Those words meant that Millicent and I would never be together. They meant that I would never hear Vincent call me mother.