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Franny

Franny stared blindly into the sage canopy of her four-poster bed, her mind a puddle of…nothing. What was she supposed to be doing? She glanced down at her dirt-stained shirt. Right, disrobing. Her fingers shook as she tried and failed to pop the buttons free. Fatigue had stolen all her strength, even the small buttons too much for her.

What they had just done…it had been a lot . And after an intense tennis match. She hadn’t realized how utterly draining it would be. Not just physically. To place that much trust in someone, to surrender so completely, was emotionally exhausting. Rupert had broken down his barriers and embraced himself, but she’d just done something similar. Let go of one-and-twenty years of being the only person who would fight for herself, protect herself. Let go of all instinct, unlearn survival, and replace it with trust—and doing that? It took effort. A conscious, deliberate act of surrender.

It had been liberating, shedding the weight of the ghosts she’d carried for so long.

It had been a relief , no longer needing to be the one in control.

It had been empowering, to claim control by choosing when to let it go.

Her door opened and the thud of footsteps sounded behind her. She turned and peered at her husband beneath heavy lids. Her lips tried to smile, but even that was too much effort. Mud was streaked down the side of his face, his curls even more disorderly than normal. A tremor shook through her, and in the next moment, she was in his arms.

“How are you feeling?” Concern coated his words.

Her lids hung lower, eyes barely open. “Exhausted,” she said faintly. “But in the best, most wonderful way.”

Rupert began working on her buttons. “Allow me, Franny.”

She didn’t even bother responding; just let him peel her shirt, breeches, and undergarments from her body. He wrapped her in a soft blanket and settled her in his lap in one of the armchairs by the hearth.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured into her hair.

She let her head loll back against his shoulder, her eyes sinking shut. She liked the sound of that. And just like in the ruins, she gave him her trust, gave up control, and let him take care of her. Was this peaceful glow of contentment what it was like to have someone? To not be alone any longer?

He lifted her hand to his mouth and paused. She lifted one heavy lid, gaze catching on the red marks wrapping around her wrists. And then her husband pressed his lips to the marks, over and over, as if he could kiss them away.

“Do they hurt?”

She gave her head a slight shake. “No. I love them,” she whispered. “It is like…with every mark you leave on me—each one infused with passion and desire and need—it heals the ones he had left behind.”

His arm tightened to the point of discomfort. But she loved it. Him. She nestled into him, and he buried his nose in her hair. “I’m glad,” he whispered, his words thick. And then he just held her, wrapped around her. Safe. And for the first time, Franny felt like she was finally where she belonged.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but all of a sudden Rupert was prodding her. “Franny, love? The bath is ready.”

“Mmmm?” She must have dozed off.

He let out a soft huff of laughter. “Let me help you bathe quickly, and then you can sleep.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, her words slurring. “But you are doing all the work, and I’m not opening my eyes.”

She peered at him and caught his smile before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Rupert carried her into the bathing chamber and helped ease her into the steaming water. Her breath hitched as her skin met with warmth, and then she melted into it with a satisfied sigh. Glorious. Absolutely glorious.

“Let’s start with your hair. After that, you can lie back and relax.”

She sat up for him, working with him as he wet her hair. He massaged the soap through the strands, the scent of citrus filling the air. He inhaled deeply and then chuckled softly. “So, that’s where the scent comes from.”

“Hmm?” It came out half question, half moan. Because his fingers massaging her scalp? She could get used to this. She quite liked this worship after their clashing.

“I could never place your scent. Tangy, almost citrusy, mixed with flowers and freedom.”

“You enjoy smelling me, do you?” Franny meant for it to come out saucy, but it only came out sleepy.

Rupert laughed softly again. “I enjoy doing quite a lot of things to you.”

He gently tilted her head back so he could rinse her hair. Then he helped her settle against the back of the tub, carefully running a towel over her tresses.

Water splashed, followed by the slick glide of soap. His strong fingers moved over her chest, then down to her belly. Gentle, unhurried. Nothing sensual, just pure tenderness. He lifted her arm next, running the soap over her skin in slow, deliberate strokes, working up a rich lather before following with firm, kneading fingers.

He repeated the process for each limb, her body melting with every touch, sinking deeper into relaxation. When he reached her feet and pressed his thumb into the arch of her foot, she let out a low moan. They might need to do this more often—him bathing her.

“I agree.” His voice had dropped, turned husky. Apparently, she had said that out loud. “But for now, you need rest. I’m going to take care of you, treasure you like you deserve, and then tuck you into bed.”

She deflated with a sigh. That sounded like perfection.