Page 117 of Malady

She huffs a laugh, reaching up to unfasten the buckles of my cloak before pushing the heavy wool from my shoulders until it falls to the floor with a thoroughly undignified thud.

“There,” she murmurs, resting her hands against my chest. “That’s better.”

I slip my hands around her waist, finding the knot of her apron strings at her back. “May I?”

She nods, and I loosen the ties before drawing the apron away and laying it across the chair. By the time I turn back, her fingers are already working at the fastenings of my doublet, which I shrug from my shoulders as she reaches for the hem of my linen shirt. She draws it upwards, her knuckles brushing against my stomach as I raise my arms to help her, and a moment later both garments lie in an untidy heap beside my cloak.

Her hands return to my waist, but instead of drawing me closer, she spreads her palms against my bare skin and slowly moves them upwards. One thumb catches upon an old scar beneath my ribs, following its uneven course before travelling higher towards my chest. I swallow, my breath growing rather shallow as she takes her time examining me, and settle my hands against her hips to give them something to do.

She grows so quiet that I begin to worry, especially when her fingers come to rest on another scar beneath my collarbone.

“Is something the matter?” I ask.

“No.” She looks up at me, her expression softening into a smile. “Not a bloody thing.”

She lays both hands against my chest, spreading her fingers over the skin before moving them towards my shoulders.

“You’re beautiful,” she says quietly.

Before I can answer, she leans forward and kisses my chest, her hands slipping around my ribs as she moves up towards my collarbone, pressing little kisses against my skin until my own words falter on my tongue.

“Ophelia,” I murmur.

“Mm?”

“You are making it rather difficult to think.”

I loosen the lacing at the front of her bodice and ease the neckline aside, pausing to kiss the newly exposed skin. She shivers beneath my mouth and draws me closer, her fingers settling at the nape of my neck as I follow the gentle slope towards her collarbone.

“I’m rather fond of you, you know,” she whispers.

The words have barely left her mouth before her eyes widen.

“Oh, bollocks,” she stammers. “I hadn’t meant to say that. Well, I did, obviously, but I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out, and now you’ll think I’m expecting you to say it back, which I’m not, so⁠—”

“Ophelia.”

“—and I know we’ve only known each other a few months, but⁠—”

I cannot help smiling as I take her face gently between my hands, bringing her explanation to a halt.

I know I have loved before, though so much of my former life has been lost to me that I can no longer recall the people to whom that love belonged. It is a peculiar thing, to be certain of having felt something and yet remember so little of it. But here stands Ophelia Harrow, her clothes half-undone and her blackened hands resting against my chest, looking terribly anxious about an affection I have been growing more conscious of with every passing day.

“My lovely girl,” I murmur, brushing my thumbs gently over her cheeks. “I am rather fond of you too. More so than I believe I shall ever possess the words to explain.”

She catches my wrist and turns her face to press a kiss into my palm. “Then don’t,” she murmurs. “You can just kiss me instead.”

She rises to meet me, winding her arms around my neck as her lips part beneath mine.

We stumble backwards together, far too occupied with one another to notice where we are going, until her shoulders meet the timber wall with a dull thud. She gasps against my mouth, and I start to pull away, concerned I have hurt her, but her fingers tighten at the nape of my neck, and she kisses me again before I can ask.

With an arm around her waist, I turn my attention to the corner of her mouth, following the curve of her jaw with my lips until I reach the delicate skin beneath her ear. She tips her head back against the timber with a quiet sigh, her fingers moving gently through my hair as I kiss my way down her throat towards her collarbone.

She squeals when I lift her beneath the thighs, then laughs breathlessly as she wraps her legs around my waist. The movement pulls at her injured leg, making her wince and tighten her grip on my shoulders, but a little soulglimmer through the damaged muscle soon eases the discomfort, and she leans down to kiss me again.

I carry her into the adjoining bedchamber and lower her onto the mattress, where she pulls me down with her, her hands wandering over my bare back and lingering upon the old scars as we kiss. Between us, we manage to loosen the last of her laces without spending too long apart, until I can finally pull the garment free and toss it over the side of the bed.

Oh—what a lovely sight she makes, lying amongst the rumpled bedclothes with her hair spread across the pillow. Her breasts are full and soft, her belly beautifully rounded, and delicate silver lines run across her skin, following the generous curves of her hips and thighs. I pass my hands over her waist, tracing those little marks with my thumbs before reaching for the ties of her linen drawers.