If their trip served any purpose for Caroline, it was to stir something that ought not to have even been disturbed at all—her and Trent.

The kiss was not discussed that night it happened. Caroline drank too much wine after and fell asleep right away. They spent too much time with other guests after that because—as Caroline fervently hoped—it was the best way to transition back into their natural atmosphere.

On their last night at Birth, however, Caroline barely had anything to drink, retiring to bed early with her thoughts free to bother her. Her mission to spy on Albert was fruitless. If Esther had any grounds for her accusations at all, Caroline believed that attending another party such as this would never be a good idea to catch the crown prince plotting a coup.

As Caroline lay in bed, facing away from Trent, she could no longer help herself. They had tried to spend an entire day pretending as though the kiss never happened and it was a terrible idea. They were very terrible at it, her the most. She turned and faced him and demanded, "Why did you do it?"

He sleepily opened his eyes and looked at her over the pillow that she placed between them yesterday. "Did what? The kiss?"

Caroline was relieved that he was prepared to discuss it after all.

She nodded, desperate to search his eyes. But with only the moonlight to offer scant lighting, she could not read him.

"Why? Were you hoping to kiss Jane?"

"I am serious!" she said, slapping the pillow.

"Then you wanted a dip into the ocean?"

"Trent—"

"Carol, are you trying to ask if I felt something when I kissed you?"

Her heart paused in her chest. "Did you?"

"Believe it or not, I felt something even before it happened," he replied with a chuckle. Then his face and tone turned serious as he asked, "Did you?"

She sighed, blinked, and turned to face the ceiling. "Yes," she whispered.

Before she knew it, his hand had reached over the other pillow and went under her chin. He turned her head to the side so she met his gaze. "Can you imagine it now?" he asked.

She knew what he was asking, of course. She blinked, looking into his eyes. Her breathing became short as he raised on one elbow so he was now fully seeing her. His hand cupped her face and she shifted under the covers, restless. "Yes," she managed to answer, frowning up at him in confusion. "If you kiss me again, will things change?" she asked.

She saw him stiffen, and then he let out a deep throaty laugh. "If I kiss you, will it satisfy your curiosity?"

"Perhaps, yes, but I cannot be certain." Then she saw the look of amusement in his eyes and she glared. "You dare mock me."

"Why would I?"

"Because I am acting like a bloody fool, asking her best friend who also happens be her betrothed, the same man she never imagined to see other than as a friend and supporter, to kiss her because when he did yesterday—unexpectedly at that—she was...confused. Even until now, she is."

"Why would you be confused?"

Because I had a sample of what you can offer. And I may want it all to myself. She also wanted to ask if he felt the same—if he could find meaning in such a simple act as she did. Was it the same with the others? With his Belle?

And if so, did it mean that she would be like the others?

Caroline did not want that. She was his best friend. She had a special place in his heart. And if he started to see her as one of the others, she may never be able to settle with it. She had once been the other woman—one of many, in fact.

But what if he starts to feel something?

That would be an entirely different matter. He did not deserve her. She was a used doll, one ruined too many times by one man. If he ever felt something for her other than genuine friendship, it would be something that sprouted from pity.

It was one thing to know that he was willing to marry her out of honor, but it was another to start wanting to demand or even desire for something more from him knowing she had less to offer.

"I am afraid I cannot keep track of your thoughts, Carol," he said, voice deep and laced with amusement.

"No, I..." she faltered, shaking her head. "I am curious, confused... my thoughts are scattered I cannot pick up the pieces for an accurate assessment. I do not know—" she paused, frustrated. "Perhaps the kiss makes me think of—" His lips stole the rest of her words.

And this time, he was truly kissing her.

It was not just his lips pasted on hers—it was his mouth moving above hers, coaxing her, challenging any expertise she may have acquired. However, what she had learned about kissing men was not applicable now because whatever she learned from the past completely vanished, leaving her with nothing but the sense of wonderment and the excitement to learn all over again. And it was not just any man she was kissing—it was Trent.

His head tilted to the side, his mouth opening wider when she finally needed to breathe and opened hers, welcoming air and his kiss, giving her life and igniting new ones.

He was shamelessly exploring, never wary that he was making her drunk with the taste of wine in his tongue.

While their friendship had been naught but growing slow and steady over the years, a constant controlled relationship with mutual love and respect, their second real kiss was taking a dramatic shift from the first one they shared last night. It was furiously pushing Caroline forward despite her mind telling her she ought to go slow to think and analyze what was going on.

No, it was not letting her take reign.

Her hands unconsciously came to rest on his shoulders, the same reliable and broad shoulders that cradled her head whenever she was tired, or when she wept; and it seemed not enough so her arms pushed forward and wormed around his neck.

Caroline was acutely aware of the change in their breaths, the heavy, quick puffs. Her body, always comfortable with his, was responding differently as his hands ran up and down the sides of her waist, arching her back to press closer to him. She was aware of it all. But her mind could not fathom the why and how; the when and where. She was simply aware that she was kissing Trent and it was no longer child's play. It was real. So real, so raw, and most definitely not pure for it was everything good and dangerous.

Trent was never dangerous. He never did anything that would put her life at risk. Yet now, as he crossed over the pillows that separated them, as one of his hands came to cup the base of her head, his fingers raking and pulling strands of her hair, while the other carelessly traced her side, palms over her breast, her shoulder, back down to her breast and then her hips, restless as the kiss, fearless as their breathing, Caroline felt a certain kind of alarm.

This was unexpected, this kind of response to him.

And too sudden.

Why now? Why here? After all these years?

She fought the sensations that were beginning to cloud her mind. He was now between her legs, pressed against her, both of them still in their nightclothes. She fought the desire to be stripped of her garments, to feel skin, because if that were to happen, there would be no more time to think.

And so she kept thinking.

Why not yesterday, a year before, or even much earlier when she was still naïve? Why not before she met the man who brought her greatest joy and heartache? Why now when she was broken, tarnished? Why now when she could no longer take the courage to be with a man? And why him? Of all the men, why did it have to be Trent?

A whimper escaped her lips as his hand found the hem of her nightdress and his palm touched skin.

Her hips bucked against his while her fingers raked his hair, her elbows locked at the sides of his neck, over his shoulder as he devoured and she savored.

Rational thoughts were drifting away, replaced by his mouth, his tongue, his hands... his heat pressed against her. They have never been this close before and it was a wonder they could fit so well.

"Carol..." he husked in her ear, hand traveling higher under her dress, hips sliding and teasing, coaxing a heat that was becoming too much to bear.

At that moment, Caroline realized she wanted more.

And she panicked.

Without warning, she unwound her arms from his neck and pushed, weakly at first, then harder, still shaking with unspent desire and need—and also fear.

He leaned back, but not far enough, hips still pressing her against the mattress. His eyes searched hers. "What is it?"

He sounded like he was thinking he knew she had thought of something bad. And he was not wrong.

"Trent," she began, voice weak. She pushed him off her and he obliged, giving her enough space to slip out of bed. She paced in front of him while he continued to stare at her, utterly innocent and confused. And then she stopped and faced him. "Let us not marry, please."

⠒♣◆♣⠒

Trent let out an angry scoff. "Truly, Carol? After what we just did, that is all you can say?"

Her eyes glimmered with tears in the darkness and any hope that she was merely jesting slowly evaporated. "Why? What is it this time?" he asked. This was not the first she had tried to break away from their engagement. And fool that he was for her, he always found reasons to make her change her mind. "Is the kiss not to your liking—"

"No, I—" she interjected, breaking off as she paced on the floor again. "I quite very much like the kiss... I just..." she stopped, wiping the tears off her face in frustration.

"Caroline, you are not telling me something," he pointed out. He sat on the bed and brushed his fingers through his hair. "What is it? Why in bloody tarnation would you stop in the middle of a bloody good kiss and announce that you do not want to marry me after all? Come on now, tell me."

She moistened her lips. And then she closed her eyes. "I cannot—"

"Of course, you can. You can because you are the one who is making all the decisions here. Come on, tell me. Is it me? Can you truly not imagine me as a lover? Can you never imagine me as anything but your friend who—"

"Please, lower your voice—"

"I do not bloody care if the entire villa hears us," he hissed, jumping out of bed. He stood before her, hands on his hips. She looked away, arms folded before her, protecting herself from his wrath. "Make me understand, Carol. What could you have been thinking while I was kissing you? What could have brought this up?"

She looked up and met his gaze, picking up cues from his tone. "This is not about the kiss, this is about me realizing that I do enjoy the kiss and I might want something more in the future."

Trent let out an incredulous laugh, managing a curse in between. "Carol, it is understandable that a prelude for that something more is a kiss. And if you must know, I would be madly glad to give you more should you want it, which, I believe was something you wanted moments ago."

"But I cannot," she said, voice just above a whisper. "I cannot give you more."

With Caroline, there was always something more behind her words so he asked, "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Trent was not only angry, but he was also frustrated. She was deliberately not telling him something because she was afraid. "Carol, whatever it is, simply say it. I know everything about you, so do not think for one bloody second that—"

Her head snapped back at him and her forest green eyes looked different as she met his gaze. "Not everything, Trent. You do not know everything."

He stiffened. What in the bloody hell was she saying?

"Is it that bastard?" he tried to guess because, for some unknown reason, he could not read her thoughts.

"No, of course not!" she retorted in disgust.

"What then? Philippa? Carol, we will never forget her. She will always be remembered—"

"This is not about Philippa..." she interjected, her voice fading as a whimper escaped her lips. She walked to the window and into the moonlight. "This is about me never wanting another child..."

Trent sighed, trying to control himself. "Carol, Philippa will not be replaced. Her siblings will know about her. We will tell them about her."

"No, Trent," she said, voice stern. "I cannot have another child."

He frowned. She had jested many times before that he could always have his heir with another woman, and he had tried to play along with her crazy scheme by suggesting they might as well steal one. Never had he imagined that there was truth in her words.

When he failed to utter a reply, she turned to him, her face impassive. "I cannot bear another child because I cannot." As he stood there, motionless and confused, she clarified by adding, "Not because I do not want to, but because the experts said so."

"Who?"

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the pain was on her face—finally showing themselves to him. "The doctors. After the accident."

Trent's face crumpled. "And you deliberately hid this from me?"

She swallowed as a shiver ran through her. "I hid it from everyone." While he processed the information, muttering a "Good God, Caroline..." she continued by saying, "Which is why we cannot marry. I am of no use to you."

He glared at her. "Now, that is unfair of you to decide."

She shook her head. "If we are to marry, Trent, you will be a loving husband. I know you will. You will be wonderful and I will start to be miserable because I will not be able to give you and myself something we want." She lifted her hand when he opened his mouth to speak. "You will say you will not care if we bear one or not, but I will. I will, Trent. I would want a child. And in my longing for one, you will suffer and so will our marriage—our friendship."

He stared at her in utter disbelief. He wanted to say she was being selfish. But was she? She was thinking of what she could inflict on him in the future. Her fears may not be true to him, but for her, it was as real as air—invisible but undeniably there. The pained look on her face was enough to tell Trent that her fears were strong and had grown throughout the years.

He let out a silent curse. How could he have missed it?

She was not the dense one, after all, he thought.

He watched her, unsure of how to proceed.

He was both angry at her and hurting with her for he should have been there when she found out she would never be a mother. He should have been there to dampen the fears.

He could tell her now that he loved her, that it was beyond friendship, that he was willing to risk it. But how could he confess now? He had his reason why he was waiting.

There was no way in bloody hell he would confess something as big as love when he was bedding another woman for the Circus.

And if he confessed now, he was certain it would merely confuse her further. They shared two kisses and she was now declaring she could not marry him because of a fear that he should have known all along. At the moment, he was more afraid of what his confession could push Caroline Comhar to do. Bloody hell, anything he could say to her might merely feed her determination.

This was no longer one those moments when she would try to subtly suggest they should not marry. Tonight, at this moment, it seemed that she had finally made up her mind.

Trent had to tread carefully.

So, what was he to do with this? With her?

He was certain he could not lose her.

"You are free to court any woman you want and marry her—have her children. Let us forget this night and simply stay as friends."

Her words sent an angry ring to his ears. He glared at her.

She dared suggest something like that!

He was certain that he could not just be friends with this dense woman. She could not just share that kiss with him and kick him to the side!

"I need a bloody drink," he said instead, grabbing his coat, afraid to say anything that would hurt her, or him, or worse, start a fight that would ultimately lead to an undesirable outcome. "This is not over," he told her. "We will discuss this in a setting where we can both scream and curse at each other because I believe that's what it will take for me to consider even the slightest idea of not marrying you."

He saw the desperation in her eyes before he left the bedchamber, never to return until later when they had to go home.

⠒♣◆♣⠒

Their trip back to Brierwell was quiet and powerfully tense.

Caroline swore that she would have preferred jumping out the door a few times during their journey.

Trent was different. Their fight the previous night was different.

He was truly angry—no, furious, although he tried to deny it when she attempted to ask. His mouth said no, but his eyes screamed yes.

The one short stop they had along the journey was spent separately. She dined inside the restaurant while he spent the entire time with the driver inspecting the carriage, making certain that no carriage mishap would delay their journey, thus he could finally deposit her in Brierwell and leave to put as much distance between them as he possibly could. So he could think before their eventual talk.

Questions ran around her mind the entire time. She wanted to voice it out, but aware of what he was feeling, she chose to be silent. Good Lord, she could no longer even say anything about anything to him now?

Why were things changing too drastically?

She knew why. She knew because she had been trying to avoid this for seven years.

For a long time, she had been trying to convince herself that she would be fine without a child for she was certain Trent would always accept that he could not have one with her once he found out. For years, she had been fine with her secret, having forced herself to accept the fact that the accident was her fault and that was why she lost Philippa even before she could even bring her out of this world. She had also come into terms that her daughter was the last, all on her own without anyone's support.

But because of what happened at Birth, because of what she shared with Trent, something in her was awakened. A desire for him and what he could offer.

She had never thought or even considered it that she may have the desire to want more and to give him everything in return.

Yet she did not have everything. What she could offer him was nothing but pieces of what remained. He would claim he would have whatever she could offer, but that would never be enough for her because there was not even enough for herself to begin with.

Trent left as soon as she was delivered in Brierwell. His words were curt but caused her dread. "Rest well. We had a long journey. And we will have that talk, Caroline," he had said before climbing back into his carriage to leave.

After learning that her parents had returned to Coulway with Camila, she hastily changed into her riding clothes. In no time, she was back at the cabin, back at Philippa's tomb, intending to talk to her child, complain about Trent and the useless journey to Birth, make plans on how to tell Esther that her brother was nothing but a reckless yet clever crown prince that may or may not lead Sutherland into complete devastation in the future, and also complain more about how she may have just ruined her relationship with Trent. But she found that she could not even speak to her dead, unborn child.

She realized that she was exhausted.

After an hour of sitting under the tree, staring blankly at the dancing wildflowers outside the fence, wondering if she was even making the right decisions, Caroline stood and brushed her hands together.

"Well, if he wants to talk, we shall," she said aloud, attempting weak determination, albeit a weak one. "I shall conserve my voice for there will definitely be screaming and swearing. I will analyze my rebuttal for I am certain he will prepare for it. I have to get into his mind so I can come up with a defense," she continued as she took two steps. "I should consider composing a speech if I lose to him, should I not? And I must think of what to say to him if I win—"

The attack was swift and effective.

A blow to the back of her head, a cloth over her mouth, an arm around her waist, catching her before she fell to the ground.

The cloth was not necessary for Caroline had lost her voice, her consciousness drifting away with the words she never got to utter. The last she felt was the intense pain and the confusion of what was happening as someone lifted her off the ground. The last she saw was Philippa's tombstone upside down.