She glanced up at him, surprised. “I’m fine.”
There was another uncomfortable silence, in sharp contrast to how it had been between them before. The walls of the small chamber seemed to be closing in on him. She was too close. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her until she admitted that she cared for him.
He had to get out of here. “I believe you mentioned an estate matter.”
She flushed, biting her lip. “There isn’t an estate matter. I was on my way to the Hall when I saw you and Sir John. The way he was looking at you…” She shivered. “Whatever is between you, I wish you would put it aside.”
He gave her a long look. “That isn’t possible.”
Shewas what was between them. But she didn’t see it.
“Why not?” Her face fell. “Sweet mercy, I thought he was going to kill you.”
“You should have more faith in me.”
She frowned, picking up on something in his voice. “I do, but…” She looked away. “Your arm is still injured.”
But. They both knew it wasn’t just his arm. He stiffened.
“You’ve nothing to worry about. I have no intention of locking swords with Felton.”
She looked at him quizzically. “You don’t?”
He forced a smile to his face that he didn’t feel. “I’ll not make you a widow so easily.”
She frowned. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, although it did. Very much. He was surprised how much he wanted her to believe in him. He didn’t know when it had become important, but it had. Damn it, he thought he was done with this. He’d been proving himself his whole life; he’d just never thought he’d have to do so with his own wife.
“Did your argument have something to do with Davey? I’ve wanted to speak with you, I’ve been worried—”
“Leave the boy alone, Mary. He needs to work this out himself.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Work what out? I knew something was wrong. He’s been so quiet lately. Even more quiet than normal. Is it Sir John? One of the other boys? You must tell me if you know something.”
She was fierce in her defense of her son, if only she could feel the same intensity of emotion about him. She would be a good mother to their child, but mothering wasn’t what Davey needed from her. Not now at least. “He’s too old for coddling, Mary.”
Her eyes shimmered with dampness. “I know that.”
“He will need you again. Just give him time.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait, where are you going? Are you leaving again?”
“I’m afraid not. Percy is waiting for my report.” He held her gaze. “Was there something more you needed?”
She flushed and looked away. “No.”
He held her gaze. What had he thought? “I may be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Oh,” she said, a strange look on her face. Disappointment? He didn’t know. He was too full of his own emotions to try to decipher hers.
As Kenneth escaped from the room that was beginning to feel like a torture chamber to him, he knew he was going to have to do something. He wasn’t going to last another four days, let alone the thirty-three that remained of Lent, if he didn’t find a way to rid himself of the frustration teeming inside him.
Twenty-one
Mary had made a mistake, and she knew it. The stiff, awkward conversation a week after her husband had taken her against the wall in an explosion of lust—and nothing else—had been a precursor of what was to come.
