The Case of the Season

Chapter Fifteen

Sherlock awoke the next morning more confused than ever. He quickly dressed and decided to walk to the boxing club. He needed to release some tension and hopefully banish these thoughts from his head.

But she was all he could think about.

He knew now that Robin was everything he could ever possibly want in a woman. She was smart, a wonderful author, and more observant regarding him than anyone he'd ever known. She was sweet, humble, kind, and so beautiful.

He'd never thought he would want anyone. He had certainly never thought he would want a wife. But he wanted her, and he could no longer deny it.

He wanted a real marriage with her. But he feared that if he asked for one, she would resent him forever. She didn't desire him that way, and he didn't want her to hate him for changing the terms of their arrangement when it was entirely impossible for her to back out of it.

The simple fact was that he was stuck. He had to marry her, or she'd be disgraced forever, and he would not allow that to happen. But he couldn't tell her the truth, either, because he wasn't willing to make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

He had made his own bed, and now he would have to lie in it. Sadly, as much as he wanted it to, that bed had no place for his wife.

As Sherlock despaired, Robin reclined in the sitting room at the Bridgerton house, turning the feathers she'd purchased for her hair at the market over and over in her fingers. Her mind was racing like it often did once she'd begun a new novel. She wished she could just lock herself in her room and write, but even here, where she had very few responsibilities, that wasn't really a possibility. Not if she didn't want to be discovered.

She thought about going to see Sherlock, but she both did and didn't want to. She was afraid that if she did, she might just tell him everything that she was thinking, and that would make their impending marriage very awkward.

He was going to be her husband. There was no doubt about that. Neither of them could back out now without damaging their reputations, and she knew that he wouldn't do that to her. He was too good.

Ironically, she had chosen a man who was perfect for her. He was wildly intelligent, a famous detective willing to let her work cases with him, and shockingly supportive of her wants and needs. He was remarkably thoughtful, open-minded, forward-thinking, and ever so handsome.

She couldn't have chosen better if she'd been trying to fall in love, though she'd never expected to actually fall in love. But she had.

She wanted him to truly be her husband. Even if he never wanted physical affection from her. She could live with that. She wasn't going to force him to do anything he didn't want to. Including have children. If he somehow miraculously wanted sex and no children, they could take precautions.

But she couldn't ask him for it. If she did it now, he might assume that she had been planning it all along, that she had trapped him into marriage only to try and demand more from him than he had ever intended to give.

They would be together for the rest of their lives. Maybe they'd live together, like she'd offered. Maybe they wouldn't. But she could never confess her true feelings to him.

She'd had the fleeting thought before, and now she knew. It was awful to be marrying a man she had feelings for who would never feel the same way about her. But there was nothing she could do about it.

She sighed heavily as Anthony and Daphne entered the room. They were dressed to go out.

"Where are you two headed?" she asked, just to have something else to think about.