Belle had been feeling better the last few weeks than she had in almost a year, but when she woke the morning after she'd watched Rhys pleasure himself, she could already tell it was going to be a bad day. She wriggled out of his embrace as carefully as she could so as not to wake him, and once she was safely ensconced on the far side of the bed and she could finally breathe around her fear, she started to really hate herself. She wasn't afraid of him. They'd had a beautiful night together and he had respected her boundaries and only touched her when she said she wanted him to and now she was going to be unable to be around him?
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to either her or Rhys. Rhys would want to hold her after that, and he was reliant on her for his mobility and company while his wrist was broken. He still had another three weeks before he was allowed to take the splint off, and until then she was his only real connection with the outside world. And she didn't want to be so affected by it anymore. She loved her husband; she wanted to be able to spend time around him and to be his wife without worrying about whether or not she would begin panicking if he looked at her. She hated this brokenness, she hated that they both had to be controlled by something someone else had done. It wasn't fair and she was so tired of fighting against it. She hated her weakness, she hated Nottingham, she hated.
The tears came hot and angry. They burned her eyes and made her skin itch, but it felt so good to be angry instead of afraid for once in her life so she let herself cry. She was trying not to wake Rhys, but eventually she felt his hand creep over and rest on her shoulder. He didn't push her, or ask her why she was crying, but even just the knowledge that he was awake and had seen her like this and was worried made her even angrier. He shouldn't be suffering because of this. He hadn't even been at the party, hadn't even been in London. She wasn't sure if he'd even ever so much as exchanged a greeting with Nottingham before her and now here he was, watching his wife cry because she had wanted to touch him the night before.
"I'm fine," she said and she felt him recoil a little bit at the snappishness in her voice. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying."
The bed shifted and he moved a little closer to her. She tensed in anticipation of his body coming to rest against hers, but he didn't get that close. Instead, he settled about six inches away from her and brushed her hair away from her face. Her face felt cooler as soon as the strands of hair she hadn't quite noticed were plastered to her face were gone. The tears finally stopped, though it was too soon. She still felt angry and sad, and now she felt hot and sticky and she just wanted to go back to when she had been happy and freenand the world seemed just and nothing hurt.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "It's nothing you did."
She uncovered her face for the first time since he'd woken up and looked at him. She knew her face had to be puffy and red, and the dried tears itched and just made her feel worse than she had before.
"It's nothing you did, either," Rhys replied sadly, climbing out of the bed, and for a moment she felt like crying again because she'd known this rejection must come at some point. Eventually he had to get sick of her problems - any man would, after all. She was ruined. Who could want her?
Belle was staring intently at the canopy above her head when she felt the bed move as Rhys rejoined her. She barely had time to think about what that meant when she felt a wet cloth being pressed into her hand and her tears started up again, only these weren't angry tears this time. She wasn't really sure what kind of tears they were, maybe just relief. Either way, he eventually took the damp handkerchief back and began to wipe her face with it. The first touch of it on her overheated and over-sensitive skin felt lovely. He was so gentle, stroking her cheek with the soft cotton fabric, and she felt like she was going to shatter from how kind he was being.
Once he'd finished wiping away her tears, she felt empty but strangely calm again. She still hated her bad days, and she would never forgive the man who had caused them, but there was a strange sort of peace to be found in her husband's acceptance of it.
"I don't think I'm going to be good company today," she admitted at last. "I'm sorry."
"There's no need to apologize," he replied. "You've been working yourself sick anyway. You should take a day off."
"But your arm," she said weakly, sitting up and trying to put on a brave face. "You need help."
"There are still servants," he said flippantly. "And it's only one day. I have plenty of work that can keep me occupied."
She didn't want to agree with him, because agreement meant that she had failed. She had wanted to take care of him, because that's what a wife did. If she couldn't take care of a grown man then what hope did she have of caring for a child? She hated the little voice in her head that was still clinging to the hope of children. Hadn't she decided already to make peace with that loss? She wasn't a fool; she knew how children were conceived and that could be entirely beyond her to ever do, and she knew Rhys wouldn't go along with it if she couldn't stay calm about it.
The first time Belle had ever made a choice about her future had been when she chose to marry Rhys. It had been the only time anyone had ever asked her what kind of life she'd like to have, and sometimes she wondered if she'd even have said yes if it hadn't been for the novelty of that. And here he was again, putting her in control and offering her whatever she needed to feel safe and happy. It comforted her and made her feel guilty all over again. She was about to insist she didn't need to take the day by herself when he spoke again.
"Take Grace out," Rhys said with a smirk that told her he thought he had a trump card. "Don't you need new clothes?"
"No," she replied. "I don't."
"Books?"
"I still have plenty."
"Furniture?"
"I don't want to go out!" she snapped, regretting it instantly when she saw the startled look on his face.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to push."
"No," she replied. "I shouldn't have snapped, you're just trying to be kind."
He didn't reply, and she wasn't sure why she'd even shouted, but suddenly she couldn't stop talking about it.
"I'm just so angry," she said. "At you and him and my father and cousin and everybody and I know it's irrational because you didn't have anything to do with it, but I hate everyone all the time, even people I love. And I don't know how to stop hating. And I don't know if I want to stop hating because sometimes it feels like the hate is the only thing keeping me together."
She felt like she was choking on bile as the words spewed out of her, but she couldn't keep them in anymore. It wasn't even something she'd been aware of thinking most of the time, but as she said it she knew it was the truth and the relief of that poison finally being outside of her left her shaking with relief.
It took a long time to bring herself to look over at where her husband was still sitting and watching her. He didn't look angry, and she wasn't sure what that meant. She should apologize and take it all back and explain what she'd meant, but she couldn't. She was still shivering and her heart felt lighter now than it had in months.
"I know, sweetheart," he said, reaching his hand out and setting it on the blanket next to her without touching. "I know the hate. There are times that will be the only thing that keeps you from completely falling apart."
Of course he'd understand; she felt a little ashamed that she hadn't thought of that. Rhys would know how she was feeling better than most people, because he'd been in the same situation - he'd grown up in an even worse one, actually. Somehow, that thought didn't exactly comfort her. She didn't want her hurt, but now that she was, she wanted to wallow in it. The idea that it could have been worse was anathema to her.
"I don't want to be like this," she finally whispered. "I didn't use to be like this."
He nodded, and his lips twisted into a grimace that she was pretty sure was supposed to be a smile.
"No one chooses to feel this way," he said at last. "And I certainly don't expect you to not be angry."
She nodded, and after a few more moments of silence she finally climbed out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She'd call Jefferson to come help Rhys and then try to figure out something to do to keep herself occupied the rest of the day. She had a lot to think about after this conversation with her husband, and somehow none of it made her feel any better.
Gaston had been in America for nearly two months, and the only woman who'd actually held his interest in that time was Ruby Lucas. He was reaching a point where anything besides an offer of marriage would be considered incredibly poor form, and he'd shown her such preference that he wasn't sure if he'd have much luck with any of his other options. Beyond that, though, if he had to choose a wife she was definitely the one he wanted. She was perfect in all but one respect: she had her own life in New York, and he didn't know if she'd be willing to give it up to go to England.
His life meant that he had to be back home. That was where the estate was and he had tenants whose well-being he would be responsible for at some point. To relocate overseas was a completely unthinkable abdication of his responsibilities to those people and to the title itself. However, he understood that Ruby had her own responsibilities as well - her business depended on her. Normally, he wouldn't have even been concerned about it. If she were like most women, she would jump at the opportunity to marry into a title, but Ruby Lucas was most certainly not like any woman he'd ever met in his life. He was fairly certain that giving up the business was going to end up being a reason for her to say no.
The truth of the matter was that if he wanted to marry her, he was going to need to come up with a compromise before he even asked. The problem was, how could he possibly compromise when there was an entire ocean in the way?
Her grandmother seemed cautiously in favor of the match, at least. Mrs. Lucas had been dropping some subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints that she'd prefer it if he were to propose sooner rather than later. Granted, he wasn't sure how much sway the older woman had on her granddaughter's choices, but it was nice to know he had an ally in the matter. He liked that Ruby knew her own mind and made her own choices, but it did make the entire prospect a just that little bit more nerve wracking. How was he even supposed to propose, anyway? The last time had been so simple - they'd both known it was coming and it had merely been a matter of putting on a good show about how much he admired and loved Belle. He did admire and love her, but he had come to realize that it was an entirely different feeling to the one he had for Ruby and he had no idea if Ruby even felt the same or if she was humoring him. The first day they'd met, she'd told him she didn't plan to marry. There was no way she could have given him a better warning to not propose than that.
And yet here he was, traipsing through Central Park with her, bright and early in the morning. The fashionable people weren't out and about yet, so he didn't even have an excuse for being there beyond that he simply liked her company and wanted more of it.
"This has always been my favorite time of year," Ruby said, barely looking at him for how fixated she was on the russet colored leaves of early fall.
"Has it?" he replied. "Any particular reason?"
She shrugged, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He loved that she was so engaged and enthralled by the world around her - even something as mundane as the changing of the leaves seemed more special.
"For one thing, the weather is delightful," she said. "Not too hot and not too cold. But I like the changing colors. The way the leaves turn from green to all kinds of oranges and golds and reds. I don't know why, I just find it very relaxing. I also like the smell of it and the crunch of the leaves when you step on them."
"Fair enough," he said. "I'll concede the point. Autumn is the superior season."
"I'm glad you've accepted that," she said, looking at him for the first time. "It will greatly improve you as a person compared to whichever other season you preferred. It was probably summer, wasn't it?"
"Not at all," he said, relishing the way her lips quirked in surprise. "I would have said my favorite season is Christmastime."
"Christmastime?" she parroted. "Well now I'm intrigued. I wouldn't have thought you the sort to prefer the cold weather and being homebound."
"See, that's where we differ," he said. "I've always thought of it as being a warm season."
"The weather in England must not be nearly as bad as what we're used to here," she said. "Because for me, Christmas is all snow and ice."
"It's similar at home," he replied. "But that's only when you're outside. When you're inside, though, the fires are all kept up all the time so it's plenty warm - especially in that moment when you first come in from the cold and you feel absolutely frozen and then you step into a warm parlor and your fingers thaw and your cheeks warm and it feels strangely safe. Like it doesn't matter what happens outside because you're warm and with people who you love. Plus the smell of cinnamon and pine from all the decorations and then the food. Oh my goodness, you've never eaten until you've had a Christmas dinner at my home."
"Well, now you've halfway changed my mind," she said. "But then, your Christmases sound much different than mine."
"They don't have to be," he said flippantly, hardly realizing what he was saying until it was out.
Ruby turned to him with shock in her eyes, and she looked like a vision standing there with the falling leaves fluttering through the air around her. One of them had caught in her hair without either of them noticing, and he had the strongest urge to reach out and take it out - and he knew then that it was too late to back out now.
"Marry me," he continued. "Marry me and come back and we can have the same Christmas."
She still seemed startled and she didn't answer him right away.
"I know I should say more," he continued even though he shouldn't keep talking. "I'm supposed to make my case and explain why I think it's a good match, but I don't think I can say anything to convince you in either direction. So...will you marry me?"
He hadn't expected her to fling herself into his arms in tears or anything like that, but he also hadn't quite expected the sad smile that preceded her looking away.
"I'd wondered if you were going to ask," she said. "But you know what my answer has to be."
"If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked.".
"I can't leave," she replied. "And you can't stay here. So my answer has to be no."
"Surely there must be some compromise," he said. "We can work something out."
"How?" she asked him, beginning to walk again. "I can't just pop over to England for the weekend."
"So then we won't," he said, following her. "We spend summers in New York and winters in England. It's wet and drafty, but the leaves are beautiful. You'll love it."
She still didn't look convinced, but she seemed to be wavering.
"It's not that simple," she said.
"Why not?" he asked her. "There are telegrams now and we can find someone you'll trust with the day-to-day business of the steel company and there are stewards already at home."
"This is silly," she said quickly. "I'm too old to believe in fairy tales, and so are you."
"I'm not offering you a fairy tale," he replied. "I'm asking you for a compromise."
"You're asking for my heart," she shot back. "I've been there before, you know."
"I know," he said. "And I don't expect anything from you. I like you, though. I think you have a lot to offer, but I think I have a lot to offer you as well. Just give me the chance."
She seemed to consider him for a moment, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat as she turned grey-green eyes on him and sized him up for a moment that felt like an eternity.
"Okay," she said finally, a smile beginning to tug the corner of her lips up. "Let's give it a try."
It took a second for him to realize what she'd said, and then all at once it hit him and he couldn't control the happy laugh that escaped him. She'd actually said yes.
Belle hadn't been sure she would even be sleeping in the same bed as her husband that night until nightfall came and she was standing at the foot of his bed in her nightgown. She'd been afraid he'd call attention to her level of upset that morning, but he didn't. He just went about his own routine and joined her in his bed. Sleep came slowly, but it did come eventually and she woke up the next morning feeling so much better, but also a little embarrassed about how she'd felt the day before. It felt so ridiculous, and she knew that she hadn't had any reason to be so upset - it was hard to remember that in the heat of the moment.
That whole day went better than the one before. Her mood was lighter, and she was able to return to her routine that day and then the next as well. She didn't touch him, though, nor did she ask him to touch himself again. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject again, and she was scared to try if she was being honest.
Still, no matter her fear, by the third day Belle was becoming desperate for his touch again, though. She missed the warm feeling she got from touching him, and she missed the connection to another human being. She'd never been closer to another person than she was to Rhys, and it was the loss of that feeling that ultimately drove her back into his arms the third night.
Laying there in the middle of the night and feeling his fingers on her arms - so delicate and so loving - that finally her courage got the best of her.
"What did you mean the other night?" she whispered into the darkness.
"What did I say?" he asked her, stroking his fingers along the length of hers.
"When you touched yourself for me," she replied. "And said you could show me what it felt like."
"Oh," his voice took on an odd quality as he took in the meaning of her words. "I meant that I could touch you the same way."
"Could you do it now?"
She heard him hiss at the question, but his head was pressed against hers and she felt him nod.
"You'll tell me to stop the second you feel uncomfortable?" he whispered.
"I will," she promised. She didn't want to need to make that promise, but she knew why he'd asked her to make it.
"May I touch you?" he asked, letting his breath ghost over her neck and sending shivers down her spine.
"Yes," she gasped.
"Is there anyplace you don't want me?"
"No," she said instantly. "I know you won't hurt me."
He nodded again, and then his good hand was moving up and down her arm and she tried to focus on that, on the way his fingers made her skin tingle wherever they touched her. After a few more moments his hand moved to brush his fingertips across her breasts. It was just the slightest touch through the cotton of her nightgown, but he'd never touched her there - no one had ever touched her there so gently and she had expected that it would bring the memories flooding back, but instead she just felt the shock of awareness that her husband was touching her so intimately. His hand then travelled down to her waist and he dragged his fingers up and down her side to her hips and then back up to her breasts and there was that warm buzzing feeling again. It was intoxicating and she felt lightheaded and giddy, as though she'd had a bit too much champagne.
"Pull your nightgown up for me, love," he whispered and she did as he asked, arching her back and bunching up the fabric underneath her hips. Doing this part herself helped keep her grounded and served as another reminder that he wasn't going to hurt her. If Rhys had any faults as a husband, it had always been that he was too gentle with her. He'd never hurt her, and she needed to focus on that.
Once she was exposed, the scariest part was over. From here, she could close her eyes and let it happen. She just had to remain calm, that was the most important part.
His fingers ghosted across her, but then instead of touching her firmer he sat up and tossed the blankets aside before moving down the bed.
"Scoot up a bit," he whispered.
Belle had no idea what was going on, but she would trust him if that's what it took, so she moved up the bed until her shoulders were propped up on the pillows and her head was against the headboard. Rhys put his hands under her knees, propping them up and pulling them apart and she resisted the urge to clamp her legs back together. She had asked for this, she could stop it whenever she wanted, and she was curious about what he'd offered.
It felt strangely disconnected with him so far away from her, but it was so far removed from her experiences before that it made it easier to forget and to focus on what he was doing. His left hand was massaging her inner thigh gently and she felt so lost, now. She was aching for him to do more and to touch her and she wasn't sure why or how, she just wanted more from him. Rhys shifted a bit and she became aware of his arms snaking under her bent knees to loop around her hips. She felt his breath on her mound all of a sudden and it shocked her.
Belle gave an embarrassing yelp of surprise, and he stilled immediately.
"Belle?" Rhys' voice drifted up to her from below. "Stay with me, sweetheart."
"I'm okay," she replied instantly. "You just startled me."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No," she said. "I trust you. I was just surprised."
"Tell me if you need me to stop," he reminded her.
"I will," she promised. "But I don't want you to yet."
He didn't reply; instead he blew a stream of air onto her and she shivered at the sweet sensation of it. This was entirely new and she liked it. She almost jumped out of her skin again when she felt the flat of his tongue against her but she settled down immediately when his lips came around something and bursts of light lit up in her eyes. Nobody had ever told her that there were parts of her that would feel like that, and it struck her as abominably unfair that he had known of this place on her body that nobody had ever told her of. He kept his hands on her hips, and she was grateful for that because it meant that her squirming in pleasure didn't dislodge him from what he was doing. His mouth had moved now, and she had no idea exactly what he was doing just that the warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly reaching a fever pitch. She hadn't ever known she could feel like that.
Rhys' tongue was moving at her entrance and she heard herself whimpering because what he was doing just felt so damn good. Her breath was coming faster and suddenly it felt like she was having one of her episodes. She was losing control - and that's what ultimately had her telling him to stop.
Her husband was disentangled from her immediately, and then she had her head against his chest and she was trying to force her breathing to settle into a normal level. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her body was screaming at her to let him finish what he started, but she just couldn't. If he'd gone on longer she didn't know what would happen, and she was scared to let him make her lose control like that.
"Hush, sweetheart," Rhys cooed into her hair. "I'm here. It's okay. It's all okay."
Belle nodded, willing herself to believe him because there was no reason for him to lie to her. The madness that she'd felt when he was touching her had settled some and she just felt empty and unfulfilled. She didn't know what she wanted, she just knew she wanted something else. She wanted him to start again and she wanted to go over that precipice she'd felt. She wanted to be able to lose control, but she was terrified to do so. Control had been taken from her, and it had been a struggle to regain it. How could she really trust herself to recover again if she lost herself?
At least she didn't have to explain it to Rhys. Somehow, he seemed to understand what she needed and he just wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back softly up and down until she finally relaxed enough for sleep to come for her.
"Thank you," she mumbled drowsily. "It felt nice."
"I'm glad you liked it," he replied.
"Can we try again tomorrow?" she asked before she could second-guess herself. She wanted to try, she wanted to learn to lose herself. She wanted to see how far she could go, and this was the only way she could think of to do that.
"If you feel up to it," he replied. "Take your time, sweetheart. We have all the time in the world, and you don't have to prove anything to me."
Well, no, but she had something to prove to herself; she wanted to conquer this last fear. She didn't say it, though, because she knew what he would say. He'd tell her she was being unreasonable with herself, and she knew she was but that didn't mean she wanted to admit it yet. So instead, she snuggled further into his chest and let him soothe her to sleep.
Belle woke the next morning feeling better than she had in ages. She'd confronted the thing she feared the most, and she'd enjoyed it. Perhaps she'd panicked by the end and they hadn't been able to complete the act, but she'd tried and ultimately, wasn't that the important part? She felt nothing like the morning after she'd watched him touch himself. Instead she felt alive and stronger than before. This wouldn't be a bad day, and she was filled with something that felt suspiciously like hope at this newest progress.
She could do this, and she would do it with her husband.