“You asked me that already.”
“A person can be killed being thrown from a horse.” Adam helped her to her feet.
“Not at a walk.” Her wits gradually returned as her head slowed its spinning.
“No, I guess not.” Adam had never before sounded so distracted. He didn’t look away. Six weeks of seeing nothing but the side of his face, and suddenly Adam was staring at her. He touched her face once more, so gentle, so caring. Persephone closed her eyes. Why couldn’t he always be this way? “You’re certain you aren’t hurt?”
“I imagine I will be sore.” She leaned her face into his palm.
“I don’t ever want you to ride Honeycake again,” Adam said into Persephone’s left ear. The last time he’d been that close to her, he’d kissed her. Persephone felt her face flush at the memory. “You will stay on your feet until Atlas is available again.”
“Yer Grace,” John Handly’s voice interrupted.
Persephone bit back a sigh of frustration. To her surprise, Adam didn’t pull away. She felt his arm wrap around her and pull her closer to him. She opened her eyes and found herself eye to shoulder with him. She didn’t let the opportunity pass by, but laid her head on Adam’s shoulder, pleasantly surprised to feel him hold her tighter.
“Is Her Grace well?” John asked.
“I don’t want my wife riding Honeycake,” Adam said, that tone of authority in his voice.
“Honeycake is usually very calm. I can’t explain it. It was almost like something spooked ’er.”
“I do not want Her Grace on Honeycake.”
“Yes, Yer Grace.” John pulled respectfully at his forelock.
Persephone closed her eyes once more, savoring the feeling of being held. She’d always imagined the comfort of being in the arms of her husband. So few of her schoolgirl dreams had proven accurate during the short weeks of her marriage. She was determined to prolong the moment as long as possible.
“See to Honeycake,” Adam instructed John. Then, bending his head toward Persephone, he said, “Your abigail can have a hot bath prepared for you—that should help with any stiffness.”
“There really is no need for this much fuss,” Persephone said, thoroughly enjoying every moment of fuss.
“You’ll disagree when you are too stiff to come down to dinner.” Adam led her from the paddock.
“This is very kind of you, Adam.”
“Nonsense.” He dismissed her gratitude, just as she knew he would. His arm remained around her waist. “You’ve been thrown from a horse, Persephone. Any decent gentleman would be concerned.”
“Then thank you for being decent.” She leaned against him as they walked.
“You’re welcome,” Adam answered with noticeable unease. But, Persephone realized with a smile, he hadn’t brushed away her gratitude. It wasn’t an enormous stride, but it was something.
“Her Grace has had an accident,” Adam informed Barton the moment they passed through the doors of the castle. “Have a hot bath brought to her dressing room and have Cook prepare a pot of her bruise ointment.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Barton hurried off to follow through with the orders.
Persephone was actually smiling by the time they reached her room. Other than while holding her letter from Linus yesterday, she had seldom smiled since coming to Falstone.
“The kitchen can send up a tray if you would rather not come down for dinner.” Adam grew more distant.
“Adam?” She looked up at him. He shifted his face away. “When Atlas is well again, can I come riding with you and Harry?”
“Atlas can’t keep up with Zeus,” Adam said.
“Couldn’t you rein Zeus in a little? Or let me join you at the end of your ride, when Zeus has slowed down.”
“You should keep to the paddock.” Adam stepped back a little.
Persephone followed, staying close to him. He’d held her so lovingly, so tenderly. Why was he moving away? She wanted him to hold her again, to make her feel wanted and needed, if not precisely loved. “I would like to try riding out,” she said. “Atlas wouldn’t throw me like Honeycake did.”
