“Then what can he be thinking of, coming back to the Black Wolf’s den?”
“Do not call him that,” Leonie snapped.
“I—I beg your pardon, my lady.”
Leonie’s eyes widened. Sweet Mary, what was wrong with her?
“Never mind, Wilda. Get some sleep. It has been a long day.”
As Wilda slipped out of the room, Leonie tossed the note into the fire, then crawled into the bed her maid had fitted with the sheets they had brought along. But she could not sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking ofAlain. What could he be thinking of, coming back to his home when he had sworn it would be worth his life to do so?
She began to wonder if that had been a lie. Everything Alain had told her that day about her husband had turned out to be either lies or fearful delusions. From all she had come to know, Rolfe d’Ambert was not the man she had cursed that fateful day. He had faults, but harsh vengeance was not in his nature. She herself could attest to that.
“Are you asleep, Leonie?”
How quietly he had come into the room! “No, my lord.”
“Will you help me then? I have sent Damian on to bed.”
She smiled. Lately he asked for her help so reluctantly, entirely different from his previously arrogant demands. She wondered if he regretted his earlier manner.
“Sit here, my lord.”
She got up from the narrow bed that was so much smaller than their own and began to unlace his chausses. His heavy hauberk had been removed by Damian.
“I would like to check your wound,” Leonie said. “To see if the ride today has opened it.”
“That is unnecessary.”
How tired he sounded. “Humor me, my lord.”
“ ‘Humor me, my lord,’ ” he repeated wearily. “You ask for much, but give so little. Humorme, my lady. Tell me why you will not give us a chance?”
She stiffened, then looked away. “You know why.”
“Of course.” He sighed. “I had thought your feelings might have changed.”
She was genuinely puzzled. Why would he ask her that when it was he who was not allowing them achance? She was then struck by the incredible thought that he might be keeping his mistress nearby because of her own coldness to him. She was so stunned that she froze where she stood, unmoving. Was he only waiting for her to warm to him before he renounced other women?
She was terribly confused. Should she let the subject lie, or ask what she wanted to ask? “Let—let me remove your tunic,” she said quickly, bending toward him. In doing so, her linen robe slipped open and Rolfe’s eyes fastened on her beautiful breasts. He took a long, deep breath, his eyes moving slowly up to hers. She saw great longing there, and realized that he had been celibate since his injury. He was tired from the journey, but that did not seem to matter.
Heat stole up her cheeks and she pulled her robe together. This was not the time for a return of his amorous attentions. How could she ask him about his disturbing question if he continued to look at her this way?
Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head carefully, so as not to pull on his wound. She did the same with his undershirt, then moved away to the opposite side of the room so that he could stand up and remove the rest of his clothing.
The suspense was unbearable, and she finally blurted, “My lord, if—if I were to change…would you send Lady Amelia away?”
“No.”
He spoke flatly and without hesitation, and a sick feeling gathered in Leonie’s belly. She closed her eyes, miserable. Fool! She had asked the question she knew better than to ask, and received the answer she dreaded.
“What has the one to do with the other?” Rolfe demanded, his voice sharp.
“N-nothing, my lord,” she whispered.
“Then explain yourself.”
Leonie panicked. What could she tell him? She recalled Amelia telling her that Rolfe did not like jealousies. Was that how he interpreted her question, believing she was jealous? Of course she wasn’t jealous. Why should she be when she did not love Rolfe? Lord, how she wanted to cry.
