An unexpected feeling

chapter 7

The next morning I woke up earlier than usual, my mind still tangled in last night’s kiss. For several long minutes I lay there, staring at the ceiling, before I finally forced myself out of bed.

I walked to the tall mirror in the corner of the room and stood in front of it—really looking at myself for the first time in a long while. A stray lock of hair fell across my cheek; I tucked it behind my ear and slowly turned, studying my reflection.

“Rose, what are you doing?” I whispered to the girl in the glass. “Stop it. He doesn’t care about you.”

With a sharp exhale, I turned away and headed to the bathroom.

After freshening up, I made my way to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water and took a few leftover cookies from the tin. Sitting on the high stool behind the kitchen cabinet, I nibbled slowly, but my thoughts drifted right back to him.

Why did he kiss me? Does he actually see me as a woman… or was it all just a game? I have to know. I have to talk to him today.

“What are you thinking about, child?” Madam Maddie’s gentle voice cut through my reverie.

I startled, nearly dropping the cookie.

“Madam Maddie! You scared me.”

“Sorry, dear. You looked so far away. Are you all right?”

“Yes… I’m fine,” I said quickly.

“Good. It’s time for house chores. We need to clean up and start cooking for the workers.”

“Right. Of course.” I paused, trying to sound casual. “Um… is Sir Lucius still at home?”

“No, he left very early this morning. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing at all.” I flashed a wide, toothy smile. Inside, though, I was fuming. That jerk. He ran away before I could even say a word.

A few hours later, we had finished preparing and packaging the workers’ meals. We climbed into the carriage and set off for the farm. As we rolled along the dirt path, I spotted him—Lucius—emerging from the large washing trough where the sheep had just been bathed. Water glistened on his bare, broad chest; his shirt hung open, revealing the dark hair and powerful muscles beneath. It was the first time I’d seen him like this—so raw, so commanding. My breath caught. In an instant, my mind flashed to him kissing me again. I imagine him lifting me effortlessly in those strong arms. Get a grip, Rose.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even when he noticed my stare. For a moment, our gazes locked. He held it, something unreadable flickering in his expression, then abruptly looked away—almost shyly—as the carriage continued past. A small, secret smile curved my lips. I leaned back, lost in my own thoughts.

When the carriage finally stopped, we stepped down. Lucius was already at the wooden farmhouse built to provide shade from the blazing sun. Maddie handed me a can of food and nodded toward him.

“Go give this to Sir Lucius, dear.”

My heart leapt. At least we’ll have a moment to talk.

I walked toward the shelter, clutching the can. He was rinsing his upper body with clean water, using a small cloth to wipe away the sweat and dust. The muscles in his arms and back shifted with every movement.

God, he’s beautiful.

He glanced up as I approached, then reached for a towel and began drying himself.

“Your food,” I said, holding out the can.

“Thank you. Just leave it there.” He nodded toward a rough wooden table beside him.

I set it down, hesitating. “Um… I—I wanted to talk to you.”

He paused, then pulled on his shirt but left it unbuttoned. “What is it?”

I swallowed. “About last night.”

He went still. After a long moment he finally met my eyes, his expression guarded. “What about last night?”

“You kissed me.” My voice came out softer than I intended. “Why?”

He stepped closer—close enough that I could smell the clean water and faint soap on his skin.

“Don’t tell me it bothers you.”

“No, it doesn’t. I just… I just want to understand.”

“Look.” He exhaled roughly. “It was nothing, okay? I just needed to be sure of something. That’s all it was.”

He started to walk past me.

“But—”

“But what?” He turned back suddenly, his hands closing gently but firmly around my upper arms. “It was nothing, Rose. Just forget it.”

His voice wasn’t harsh—more like a quiet plea wrapped in resolve.

“Rosemary! Where are you?” Madam Maddie’s call rang out across the field.

We both froze.

“You should go,” he said, releasing me.

I nodded once, throat tight, and walked away without looking back.

The carriage ride home felt longer than it should have. I kept replaying his words, the way his fingers had lingered on my arms just a second longer than necessary.

It was nothing.

Maybe he believed that.

I wasn’t so sure I did.

At Home

By the time darkness had fully settled over the house, there was still no sign of Lucius. Madam Maddie and I had just finished our quiet dinner when she rose from the table, ready to retire.

“Is Sir Lucius not coming home today?” I asked, a note of concern slipping into my voice despite myself.

“I don’t know, dear. Sometimes he stays out very late… or doesn’t come back at all.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Alright, child. I need to rest now.” She gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder and shuffled off toward her room.

The moment her door clicked shut, a wave of relief washed over me. I was free for the night—no arrogant glares, no sharp words. Grinning, I dashed into the grand living room, spinning and swaying to music only I could hear. I twirled until I collapsed laughing onto the oversized sofa chair, chest heaving.

As my breathing slowed, my gaze drifted upward. There, framed on the wall, was a large portrait of Lucius. His name was etched boldly beneath in elegant script.

Lucius Blackwood.

I stood and stepped closer, studying him. In the photograph, he looked younger, softer—almost gentle. The image captured him in a grand ballroom, dressed in formal attire, his expression calm and composed. Nothing like the man I knew.

I reached out, fingertips brushing the frame. “You jerk,” I murmured, half-laughing, half-sighing. “Look at him.” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe I was actually missing him. Why had that kiss shaken me so badly? It was just a kiss, Rose. Get over it.

Later that night, after my bath, I opened the wardrobe drawer and pulled out a short, lightweight white nightgown I hadn’t noticed before. It was delicate and pretty—soft cotton that flared gently from the fitted bodice over my breasts, skimming down to mid-thigh. Who owns all these clothes? I wondered, slipping it on. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against my skin.

The hot water in my room had stopped working, so I grabbed the big kettle to return it to the kitchen. The house was silent as I padded barefoot down the hallway.

Then I turned the corner—and froze.

Lucius was there, stepping into the kitchen from the opposite direction. Shirtless. His jeans hung low and unbuttoned at the waist, as though he’d just finished his own bath. Water still glistened faintly on his shoulders and chest. He hadn’t been planning to come home tonight—or so I’d thought.

His eyes widened when he saw me. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze traveled from my face to my lips, then lower—taking in the thin nightgown that left little to the imagination. I instinctively clutched at the hem, trying to tug it down toward my knees, but it was useless. The fabric clung and floated in all the wrong places; my body felt utterly exposed under his stare.

“S-Sir… you’re home,” I stammered. “I thought you weren’t coming back today.”

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I just came to drop off the kettle. The hot water isn’t working in my room. I’m so sorry—I’ll go now.” I tried to slip past him, heart hammering.

But his hand caught my waist, firm and warm, halting me in place. He turned me gently to face him. My palms landed against his bare, hairy chest for balance. The contact sent a jolt through me.

“Where did you get this dress?” he asked, a slow, almost hungry smile curving his lips as his eyes dropped to my mouth.

“In… in my drawer,” I whispered, my hands trembling against his skin.

For a long, charged moment, we simply stared at each other—locked in place, neither willing to break the hold. The air between us felt thick, electric.

Then, abruptly, he released me.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, stepping back.

“It’s okay,” I managed, voice barely audible. “I’ll go now.”

I hurried away as fast as I could without running, feeling the weight of his gaze burning across my back the entire way. It made me feel naked, vulnerable, alive in a way I didn’t understand.

I burst into my room, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed, chest rising and falling in deep, unsteady breaths. My mind replayed every second of that encounter—the heat of his hand on my waist, the way his eyes had darkened, the almost-apology that hadn’t quite reached his voice.

What was happening to me?