Charles watched his wife, his heart almost melting at the pure joy in her eyes.
Jacob limped toward him, then pulled him close and whispered in his ear.
“I have never envied you as much as I do now, brother. Not for your title—I care nothing for that—but because you’ve found yourself that rare thing. A good woman—no, thebestof women.”
I know.
“Then bloody welltellher.”
How?
“Very well then—showher.” Jacob grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I wouldn’t recommend beating into a pulp every man who lays a hand on her. A woman rarely appreciates such a primitive act—outside the bedchamber, at least.”
He winked, then held out his hand. Charles took it, then returned to the stall, where his wife was stroking Destriero’s nose. He offered his arm, and with a smile she took it. Then he led her back toward the house.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Olivia clung toher husband’s arm, struggling to keep pace with him as he steered her through the gardens in long strides. She’d almost forgotten how huge he was. His frame had filled the stable, and she had been beset with fear as she saw the anger in his eyes, but that ire had been directed at Jacob. It was the anger of a male beast laying claim to his female and warding off a rival. Primal and raw, it should have disgusted her, but she couldn’t help the secret thrill coursing through her veins when he drew her close and caressed her hair, his huge hands gentle, treating her with something akin to reverence.
When he’d caught sight of his horse, his anger had been replaced by pure joy. Olivia’s heart had almost broken at the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He—a brooding, taciturn man large enough to fell a dozen opponents at once—had revealed a piece of his soul as he caressed his horse’s flank.
Then, when she offered to leave him alone, he’d pleaded for her to stay, almost as if…
No.
A voice whispered in her mind not to yield to the hope that he might love her. She still feared his anger if he discovered her secret—that she carried a child he did not want.
Another wave of nausea caught her, and she stumbled sideways. But before she could fall, her husband swept her into his arms.
“Charles!” she protested. “Put me down. I can walk.”
He shook his head. He was not a man to be denied, and, in truth, she had no wish to deny him anything. She wrapped her arms around his neck then placed her head on his shoulder, breathing in his woody scent.
He carried her to the house, refusing to set her down until they reached the dining room, where he nudged open the door with his foot and set her on the chair at one end of the table.
“Shall I ring for Colin to serve us?”
He shook his head.
Instead of taking his place at the opposite end of the table, he picked up his cutlery and set himself a place next to her. Then he gestured to the pie in the center of the table and raised his eyebrows.
“I-I baked it, yes.”
Would he be angry that she’d displayed such unladylike behavior as working in the kitchen?
He moved his hands again, and she shook her head.
“Forgive me, I don’t understand.”
He reached for the stack of paper and pencil on the side table, then scratched out a few words and held it up.
I’m blessed to have such a talented wife.
“Y-you don’t mind that I’ve been in the kitchen?”
He took her hand and brushed his lips against it, and she suppressed the shiver of need rippling over her skin.
Then he made another gesture, slowly, which she recognized.
