Charles couldn't seem to focus on the figures in front of him, and he'd been muddling through the accounts for hours. It was Sarah, he knew that. She'd been on his mind nonstop for weeks, but something had changed now. She became increasingly precious to him, and she seemed to slip further out of reach. It had been a week since she'd entered the study, and try as he might to convince himself that his solitude was what he'd wanted all along, he knew himself to be a liar. Sarah, her company and her friendship, had been the what made the study so sacred for sometime now. Her absence only reminded him of the distance between them.

"Charles?"

Charles' head snapped to attention at the sound of her voice, she was closing the door behind her now.

"I was wondering if you had like me to read," she stated all the way from the door that she'd just closed. She kept her distance from him still, then.

"No," Charles heard himself say in that commanding tone, "I have no time today," he finished gruffly, turning his attention back to the figures before him hurriedly. He waited for the sound of her exit, but it did not come. He waited for as long as he could, but then he was forced to look up, to know what she was doing now. Sarah was climbing the book ladder.

"Sarah!" he growled reproachfully as he leapt from his desk and went to stand at the bottom of the ladder, "Get down from there at once!" he commanded, still in that tone he knew she would not like. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he felt fear in his gut. Without waiting, Charles grabbed hold of Sarah's waist and pulled her off the ladder, her back landing against his chest. Why had it taken this woman to teach him what fear truly was? Not facing your own death, but watching the death of another. Charles tightened his hold on her waist at the thought.

"Charles!" she exclaimed a bit breathlessly before twisting her head around to scowl at him, "I was only looking for a book on China," she explained, a pout coming into her expression, and he longed to kiss her, to devour her.

"You offered me access to your study when I first arrived," she reminded him, but then her pout melted into one of shame, "I suppose I should not have presumed - now that- if you do not want me-"

"I gave you access, Sarah," he retorted more harshly than he needed to, "I do not go back on my promises," Charles growled, releasing her quickly and returning to his desk once again.

There was silence for several moments. When he looked up she was still searching, albeit with her feet on the ground. Did she think that he did not want her? had not he just denied her an annulment? Didn't that action alone express enough? But then he recalled how he spoken to her only moments ago. Guilt immediately assailed him.

"The books on China and India are on the second shelf," he added, trying not too sound harsh and begrudging.

She said nothing only moved to the section he'd suggested, perusing titles he was fairly unfamiliar with until one seemed to please her. Taking the book, she turned to the chairs before the fireplace and Charles dropped his eyes back to the figures in front of him once again.

He could hear each ticking of his own pocket watch, the crackle of the fire behind it's grate and each time she turned a page. It was maddening having her here, yet at the same time, all he wanted was her company. Calling himself a fool, Charles finally gave in and glanced up once again. She was sitting in her chair, her feet tucked up underneath of her, and the bright white sunlight illuminated her features. Sarah had always looked to him as if she belonged here, in that chair, in his arms, but there was something more now. Her golden hair no long hidden under a maid's cap, caught pieces of sunlight and was piled on her head reminding him of how long her braid had been the night he'd carried her down.

The memory of her lifeless form, squeezed at his lungs, he'd never been more terrified. He'd been tormented with nightmares ever since, waking to wonder if Sarah had died or not. Last night he'd been able to check for himself after waking from one such dream. Slipping through the dressing room that connected their bedchambers, Charles had taken comfort, and reassurance in the rise and fall of her breathing. Nothing had ever caused such strong paranoia in him before.

A smile came across her lips, she must've found something of interest in her book, and the temptation became too great.

"Will you tell me what you're reading?" he asked quietly, finding again that her mere presence had altered his stiffness.

He watched as she looked up from her book at him, her smile widened and it struck him that his wife was smiling at him. Not his housemaid, or his brother's betrothed, or his childhood love. His wife, Lady Sarah Amesbury, was curled in the chair that belonged to her, just in the place she belonged, and she was smiling at him.

"Come and see," she beckoned, and he was helpless. Leaving his desk, he came to lean over her shoulder, more interested in being close to her than anything a book could ever tell him.

"See their odd looking hats?" Sarah smiled, turning to look at him just as he came close, so that their noses brushed.

It was too much a temptation, and without hesitating, Charles pressed his lips to hers. She was soft and tasted sweet, and his- that thought only made him want her more. He felt her tense, and Charles knew that if he did not stop soon, he would frighten her away. What he'd told himself would be a simple kiss was quickly becoming much more, as his fingers twisted into that golden hair, and his thumbs brushed against her blushing cheek. He would never have enough of her, he knew, but he let out a growl and pulled himself away.

She was staring at him, with eyes huge with surprise and shock, her breathing had quickened and her cheeks were flushed. Charles brushed a thumb against the heat in her face as he released his hold on her entirely, and turned away from her.

"I apologize," he said, taking his usual seat across from her and rubbing a hand over his face. She only nodded, her face still flushed, and she couldn't seem to look at him, funny, since he couldn't seem to look away from her. They passed several minutes this way.

"Why the sudden interest in China?" he asked, attempting to sound conversational as his heart slowed its pounding. He waited for Sarah to say something, cursing his own lack of self-control. Until at last she looked up at him again, though still a little dazed and smiled shyly.

"Amelia said you would take me there, if I asked you to," she admitted, then she laughed at herself and covered her face with both hands. Charles understood his sister's true meaning and laughed as well.

"Do you wish to go to China, Sarah?" he asked after a moment, and she uncovered her face to appraise him.

"Could we go?" she asked coyly, and Charles grinned at her and gave a shake of his head and she smiled again, "Maybe London then?"

"So long as you do not go anywhere without me," Charles said, and then realized what he'd said was very true. Sarah's expression had gone quizzical and she was studying him. But his thoughts were too much for today, so instead he left his chair to retrieve their book of poetry from where it had been waiting for her return on the corner of his desk.

"Will you read to me, Sarah?" he asked, holding the volume out to her, but she was still searching for an answer he could not give her yet.

"You knew all along, how to read it for yourself," she said, but he knew there was a question in her voice.

"Tell me how else could I have kept you to myself?" he answered her, with a smile of his own. He saw now another question in her eyes, and it pained him. How did she not know what he felt for her? How would he show her? With another thought, Charles bent to touch her face once again, but this time settled for pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I'll call for tea."

♞