“A little,” she said.
He brushed his fingers along her hand again. She held as still as possible. If Adam realized he was touching her, he would probably pull away, and she did not want him to stop.
“You do not appear to be feverish.” Adam examined her so intently that Persephone felt almost as though he’d touched her face. She’d never beforefelta person look at her.
He was closer to her than he’d been a minute before.
“Mr. Johns has been sent for,” Adam said. “He’ll no doubt administer some laudanum for the pain.”
“That would be helpful.”
He drew closer, leaning toward her as he spoke.
“And he’ll check your wounds—see that they’re healing properly.”
She couldn’t vocalize a response.
“He’ll let us know when you can expect to be on your feet again.” Adam’s voice dropped so low it was barely audible. A mere inch or two separated them. She saw his eyes drift to her mouth. Could he possibly be longing for what she was? Did he too ache for even the smallest of kisses?
Her heart raced frantically, pounding a chaotic rhythm in her ears. He didn’t pull back, didn’t look away. Why didn’t he simply kiss her instead of torturing her this way?
“Perhaps in time for the ball,” she muttered when nothing else came to mind.
Adam seemed to snap back to attention. “The ball.” He pushed out a breath. “Perhaps. Perhaps.” Adam rose to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it.
He walked distractedly to the doorway. “I will go speak to that groom now.”
“You will be careful, Adam?”
He looked back at her. For a moment, he just stood there, still and watching her. Then he nodded and silently left the room.
* * *
Adam had far too much to think about. Mother’s inexplicable, teary-eyed confession. Continuing flashes of memory from that frantic ride through the forest with Persephone. Thoughts of the pack. Of bacon. He’d never once spent more than a moment thinking of bacon, and now he pondered it in tremendous detail.
His mind raced as he made his way to the stables. Jeb Handly walked alongside him.
“How fares Her Grace?” Jeb asked, real concern in his voice.
“Considering what she’s been through, she is doing well.”
Jeb nodding sagely. “The sickroom always was a trial to Her Grace.”
Adam stopped and looked at him. “You’re speaking of Mother?”
“Aye.” He said it as if it ought to have been obvious. “And how fares your wife?” Jeb continued undeterred.
“She is in some pain but doing well. You say my mother had difficulties in the sickroom?”
“Aye. Even a bloodied nose’d set her to swaying. The Old Duke never could convince her it weren’t a horrible failing in her.”
Why had no one told him any of this?
“You seem set on gettin’ somewhere,” Jeb said, as they began walking again.
“Stables,” Adam muttered the answer, still thinking over what he’d learned that day. “I need to speak to one of the grooms.”
“Which’en?”
