And they were going to be married.
Tomorrow.
To aid in her recovery, they had decided to postpone the ceremony for one week’s time. But even that reprieve had steadily waned.
After that, she had no doubt, her ability to keep him at a comfortable distance would only be even more complicated, if not impossible.
“How are you feeling?” he asked solicitously.
“Well. Why are you here, Anglesey?”
“To keep you company,cariad.” His gaze was intent on hers. “Am I not permitted to visit my wife?”
Was it wrong of her to savor the sound of his deliciously deep baritone using that word to describe her? Likely, yes. But she was weak-willed and foolish and abysmal at choosing a man to love who would not crush her poor heart to bits.
“We are not married yet,” she was quick to point out.
“A mere formality.”
“My mother would be most displeased were she to discover you in my chamber with me.”
He winked. “I promise not to tell her.”
“You certainly have all the answers, do you not?”
All the answers and the magnetism that never failed to draw her to him. She wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around her, those sensual lips claiming hers. For the first time since that awful night when she had spied him with the widowed countess, her body thrummed with desire for him again. That, too, was dangerous.
His grin faded, his countenance turning serious. “Not all the answers. At least, not the answers to the most important questions.”
“And what are those?”
“How to win your trust again.” His gaze was earnest and warm, burning into hers with an intensity that seared. “How to earn your love.”
Love?
It was the first he had mentioned the word, at least in regards to herself. Hearing it now from those sinful lips as he stood, so serenely handsome at her door, made her stomach pitch in a queer rush of delight.
She wetted lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Why should you wish for those answers, my lord?”
He cocked his head, considering her. “You called me Zachary before. Won’t you again?”
Zachary.
It was on her tongue.
How she longed to say that name again, to give him what he wanted, to surrender.
But Zachary was the man she had fallen in love with. The man who had made love to her by the little falls, who had worshiped her in the library. He was the man who had won her heart already, and she did not dare reveal any of that to him. Or call him by his given name. Doing so felt far too familiar. Besides, he had not answered her question, had he? Rather, he had deftly skirted around it, turning his query to her.
“Perhaps,” she said instead of capitulating, before relenting by allowing enough space that he could enter her room. “You may as well come inside. The longer you linger, the higher the probability someone shall see you there.”
“I hardly think the scandal could be any greater than those we have already made,” he said, but he crossed the threshold just the same.
As he did, he brought with him the hint of his scent, citrus and musk, along with the lingering crispness of the outdoors. She wondered if he had been riding. Where he had gone. And then she told herself it did not matter. She needn’t concern herself with the intricacies of his day.
She closed the door and slowly turned to him. Her wound still pained her when she moved with too much sudden haste. Particularly in her sleep. But fortunately, no infection had set in, and she was feeling vastly improved.
Healed on the outside, if not on the inside.
