Not home like Wolvesley. All bustle and chatter and gaiety.
Home in a steadier, more contented way. Somewhere she felt safe. Somewhere she could be entirely herself.
Although right now, Adam was looking at her with concern in his green eyes.
“Esme?”
“I’m sorry.” She put a hand to her heart, aware she had been daydreaming.
“I said should I ring for wine? Or refreshments?” They were standing by the fire, and Adam’s hand was hovering by the bell rope. “You should eat something,” he added.
“I could not face it,” she said sincerely. Concern for Jonah’s welfare mixed with her heightened awareness of Adam meant that her appetite was much diminished. “I had some bread and cheese not long ago.”
She recalled her time in the solar and Jonah’s poems which had so evocatively described this altogether new rush of feeling. This peculiar blend of excitement and contentment which made her want to do… all sorts of things.
She wanted to lean into his hard, strong body and feel his arms closing around her.
She wanted to kiss him.
She wanted… so much more! A twisting sensation deep in her core almost made her forget why they were here in the great hall; and why Adam was gazing at her with such anxiety.
Jonah.
Now that she had talked the situation through, Esme couldn’t help thinking that her earlier alarm was a trifle embarrassing. Caused, mayhap, by a long day of loneliness and a mind that tended toward exaggeration. Afflicted though he was, her brother was a grown man. Well-used to looking after himself.
But if she said as much now, Adam would waltz back off to his chamber, leaving her alone.
She seated herself in the tapestried chair and smoothed her skirts, realizing a beat too late that she still wore Frida’s cloak. “I will take some wine,” she suggested, glad that Adam would be distracted by the bell rope whilst she tugged the unflattering cloak from her shoulders.
“Let me take that from you.” He scooped up the cloak and laid it on the window seat, stirring memories of the time they had sat here and played chess. “I know you are still concerned for your brother; but try to take comfort from what the groomtold us. His horse is steady, and Jonah is an experienced rider. He is unlikely to come to harm.”
Esme tugged at a crumpled sleeve, trying to organize her thoughts. She did not wish to exercise deceit or hysteria. But she did want Adam to stay with her.
“You are right, of course.” She smiled at Jennifer as the maid carried in a pitcher of wine and two goblets. “But even the steadiest of horses can spook. And even the most accomplished of riders can fall.”
He nodded. “’Tis not common though.”
She took a sip of rich wine as she considered this. “You do not think so? ’Tis lore in our family.”
Adam frowned at her over the rim of his goblet. “Lore that even accomplished riders can fall?”
“Most certainly.” Esme sat back in her chair and cradled her wine. “My sister Frida was unconscious for three days after a fall from her own horse.”
She was gratified to see genuine interest in his face. “I did not know that.”
“’Tis why her hair is now silvery white. She hit her head and her hair was shaved.”
“And the hair that grew back was white,” Adam finished for her, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his dark curls. “I have heard of such things, but never before seen them myself.”
Esme took another mouthful of wine, finding it did much to restore her spirits. “If it were not for a fall from a horse, I would not be sitting before you now as Lady Esme de Neville.”
That got his attention.
Adam placed his goblet onto a low wooden table and clasped his hands. “What do you mean?”
“My father was a younger brother. He never expected to be the Earl of Wolvesley. But his older brother died after a fall from a horse in his own stable yard.”
Considering the gravity of the subject, Esme reflected that she should not have announced this with such relish.
