Chapter 6: A Peek Beneath the Sheets
The afternoon sun poured through the silk-draped windows like liquid gold, spilling across the worn floorboards in great, lazy pools. Dust motes danced in the beams, drifting through the heavy air with the unhurried grace of tiny suspended worlds. The sickroom was quiet—truly quiet for the first time in days—and Jennie paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the cool brass of the handle, uncertain whether to step forward or retreat.
She had slipped away from tea.
It hadn't been difficult. Lady Manoban had been deep in conversation with the Duchess of Ashworth, their heads bent together over whispered gossip that required the appropriate amount of scandalized gasping. Kai had been occupied with his father, discussing estate matters with the kind of earnest devotion that made him so perfectly, predictably reliable. No one had noticed her rise from her seat. No one had noticed her glide through the corridors, her lavender skirts whispering against the marble like secrets.
But now, standing in the threshold of his room, she found herself frozen.
Leonid was asleep.
It was such a simple observation, and yet it struck her with the force of a physical blow. He lay propped against a mountain of embroidered pillows, his dark curls fanned out against the linen in wild disarray, his face slack with the deep, unguarded stillness of genuine rest. The sheets had slipped during his slumber, pooling around his waist and leaving his torso bare to the golden light. His chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep, the muscles shifting beneath his pale skin like water over stone.
Jennie's breath caught in her throat.
She had seen him injured, seen him bleeding and broken on the racecourse, but she had never seen him like this. Vulnerable. Unarmed. The sharp edges of his wit and charm softened into something almost boyish, the lines around his eyes smoothed away by the peace of unconsciousness. The bandage on his shoulder stood out stark and white against his skin, a stark reminder of how close she had come to losing him entirely.
And then there was the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the sheets.
Dark and thick, it began at his navel and arrowed downward, a silent invitation that made her stomach clench with a heat she refused to name. Her eyes followed the path, tracing it to the edge of the linen, where the fabric rose in a gentle, unmistakable curve.
Her mouth went dry.
She should leave. Every rational instinct screamed at her to turn around, to retreat to the safety of the drawing room, to pretend she had never seen any of this. But her feet refused to move. Her eyes refused to look away. The heat pooled low in her belly, spreading through her limbs like warm honey, and she took a step forward before she could stop herself.
The floorboard creaked beneath her weight.
Leonid didn't stir. His breathing remained deep and even, his lips slightly parted, the faintest shadow of a smile playing at their corners. He was dreaming, she realized. Dreaming of something pleasant, something that made him look like the boy she had first fallen for beneath the oak tree, before the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders.
She moved closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. The scent of him filled her nostrils—tobacco and clean sweat and something else, something warm and masculine that made her thoughts scatter like startled birds. She stopped beside the bed, close enough to touch him, close enough to see the faint scars that marked his hands, the prominent veins that ran along his forearms like rivers on a map.
Her fingers hovered inches from his skin.
She wanted to touch him. Gods, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to trace the curve of his shoulder, to feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her fingertips, to press her palm against his chest and feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. She wanted to lean down and press her lips to the corner of his mouth, to taste the sleep on his breath and the secrets on his tongue.
But she couldn't. He was Kai's brother. She was Kai's fiancée. The invisible chains of propriety bound her tighter than any rope, and to break them would destroy everything she had been raised to be.
And yet—
Her fingers drifted closer, trembling, her nails catching the light.
And yet.
"Like what you see, sunshine?"
The voice was rough with sleep, a low rasp that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Jennie's hand froze mid-air, her face flooding with heat so intense she thought she might combust on the spot.
Leonid's eyes were open.
They were dark and heavy-lidded, still clouded with the remnants of sleep, but sharp enough to catch every nuance of her mortification. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, the expression lazy and wolfish and utterly devastating.
"I—" She snatched her hand back as if burned, stumbling away from the bed. "I wasn't—I was just checking that you were—"
"Checking that I was what?" He shifted against the pillows, the sheets slipping a fraction lower, revealing the sharp V of his hipbones. "Alive? Awake? Still breathing?"
"All of the above," she managed, her voice coming out strangled. "You were very still. I thought—I thought you might have—"
"Died in my sleep?" He laughed, the sound low and warm. "I'm tougher than that, sunshine. It'll take more than a fall from a horse to kill me."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's not." She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to reclaim some semblance of composure. "I was genuinely concerned. You've been asleep for hours, and your mother said the laudanum might—"
"Might what? Send me to an early grave?" He waved a dismissive hand. "I stopped taking the laudanum this morning. It makes my head feel like it's stuffed with cotton."
"Then how are you sleeping?"
"I'm not." He grinned, and something wicked flickered in his eyes. "I was pretending. Wanted to see what you'd do when you thought I wasn't watching."
The flush deepened. "You absolute brute."
"Guilty as charged." He shifted, patting the empty space beside him. "Now come here and stop hovering like a nervous hen. You're making the room feel crowded."
"I'm not hovering."
"You're hovering. There's a word for what you're doing, and it's hovering."
"I came to check on you, and clearly you're fine, so I'll just—" She turned toward the door, but his voice stopped her.
"Jennie."
Something in his tone made her pause. She looked back over her shoulder, and found him watching her with an expression that had lost all traces of humor.
"Stay."
The word hung between them, fragile and heavy all at once.
"I shouldn't."
"Since when do you do what you should?"
It was a low blow, and they both knew it. He was referencing the racecourse, the way she had ridden out after him despite every rule of propriety, the way she had held his hand in the aftermath while the physicians worked to stem the bleeding.
She turned to face him fully. "You're impossible."
"And yet you keep coming back." He held out his hand, palm up, an invitation she had refused a hundred times before. "Stay. Just for a little while. The silence in this room is suffocating, and you're the only person who makes it bearable."
Her resolve crumbled like ash in the wind.
She crossed the room slowly, each step feeling like a surrender, and settled onto the edge of the bed. He didn't move to touch her, didn't reach for her, but his presence was a constant, magnetic pull that made her acutely aware of every inch of space between them.
"I'm worried about you," she admitted quietly. "You nearly died, Leonid."
"I know."
"I don't think you do." She looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his hand trembled slightly as he adjusted the pillows. "You could have bled out before anyone reached you. You could have—"
"But I didn't." He said it simply, without bravado. "I'm here. I'm alive. And the reason I'm alive is because you came for me."
"I would have come for anyone."
"Would you?" His head tilted, a question in his eyes. "Would you have raced across the field, heedless of your skirts and your reputation, to kneel in the mud beside anyone else?"
The question struck her like a physical blow. She opened her mouth to answer, to offer some deflection, but the words wouldn't come.
"You stayed," he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You stayed when everyone else left. You held my hand when the pain was so bad I couldn't see straight. You whispered to me, kept me grounded, kept me here."
"I couldn't let you go."
"I know." He reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist, light as a feather. "That's why I asked you to stay. Because I know that when you're here, I'm safe."
The words wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She looked down at his hand on her wrist, at the contrast of his pale skin against her own, and felt something shift irreparably inside her.
"Leonid—"
"I know." He released her, settling back against the pillows with a sigh. "You're engaged to my brother. You're going to marry him, and have his children, and live the life you were born for. I know all of that."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm selfish." A rueful smile crossed his face. "Because I want these moments, even if I can't have the forever. Because the thought of losing you entirely is worse than the thought of never having you at all."
Her throat tightened. "That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." His voice was soft, almost gentle. "But it's the hand we've been dealt, and we have to play it as best we can."
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong from the garden. Jennie stared at the pattern on the bedspread, her thoughts spinning in chaotic circles.
"I should go," she said finally. "Your mother will notice I'm missing."
"Let her notice."
"She'll come looking for me."
"Then let her find you." His eyes caught hers, dark and steady. "Let her find you here, and let the rumors fly. Let them whisper and speculate and wonder what could possibly make a proper young lady spend so much time in the sickroom of her fiancé's brother."
"You're reckless."
"Always have been." He grinned, but there was no humor in it. "It's one of my more endearing qualities."
She shook her head, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "I'm going to go."
"Jennie."
She paused, halfway to her feet.
"Thank you." His voice was quiet, stripped bare of pretense. "For coming for me. For staying. For making the silence bearable."
Her heart ached. "You don't have to thank me for that."
"I know." He closed his eyes, and the tension seemed to drain from his body. "But I wanted to."
She stood there for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way the sunlight caught the edges of his dark curls, the faint smile that lingered on his lips. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
It was brief, barely a brush of lips against skin, but it was enough. His eyes fluttered open, and the look in them made her pulse quicken.
"Get some rest," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be back tonight."
"You don't have to."
"I know." She smiled, soft and secret. "But I want to."
She turned and walked out of the room before she could change her mind. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to her racing heart.
In the sickroom, Leonid's smile widened. The warmth of her kiss lingered on his skin like a promise. He closed his eyes, and for the first time since the accident, sleep came easily.
But in the corridor, Jennie was already counting the hours until she could return.