“Daenae,” he warned, but there was no heat in it.
“I’m not saying anything.” She moved closer, ostensibly to retrieve the kitten but really just wanting to be near him. “Though you do look rather fearsome with a kitten on your shoulder. Very intimidating.”
“Francesca.” Her name was half warning, half something else—something that made her skin warm and her breath catch.
She reached up to lift the kitten away, but her hand brushed against his chest in the process. They both stilled. The kitten, seemingly content with its perch, began to purr louder.
“Ye’re trouble,” Declan said softly, though whether he meant her or the kitten, she wasn’t certain. His hand came up to cover hers where it rested against his chest, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
“So you’ve said.” Her voice came out breathier than intended. “Multiple times in fact.”
“And yet ye keep provin’ me right.” But his thumb was tracing circles on the back of her hand now, gentle and deliberate. “Every day, ye find new ways to turn me world upside down.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?”
His grey eyes searched hers, and she saw conflict there—the war between what he’d been taught to believe about caring and duty and what he was beginning to feel. “Ye make everythin’… complicated.”
“Life is complicated,” she said gently. “That doesn’t make it bad.”
The kitten chose that moment to climb higher, tiny paws patting Declan’s jaw as if demanding attention. He caught it carefully in his free hand, cradling it against his chest while still holding Francesca’s hand captive.
“This is absurd,” he muttered, looking down at the purring creature. “A grown man, brought low by a kitten.”
“And a wife?” Francesca asked softly, daringly.
His eyes snapped back to hers, darkening with something intense. “Especially a wife.”
The moment stretched between them, fragile and precious. Then Eloise’s voice rang out from somewhere in the courtyard—“Flora! Where are you?”—and the spell broke.
Declan released her hand slowly, reluctantly. “Ye should return the wee beast before the lass tears apart the castle lookin’ for it.”
“Declan—”
“Go on, lass.” But his voice was gentle, and when he handed her the kitten, his fingers lingered against hers for just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll see ye at supper.”
Francesca nodded, cradling the kitten as she turned toward the stable door. But she’d only taken a few steps when his voice stopped her.
“Francesca?”
She looked back.
“Ye’re nae trouble,” he said quietly. “Or if ye are, ye’re the best kind.”
Before she could respond, he’d turned away, but she caught the faint color on his cheeks and the way his shoulders had tensed. She made it three steps before his hand closed around her wrist.
“Wait.”
“Why?” She didn’t turn around, couldn’t face him. “So you can kiss me again? Touch me and then pretend it never happened? So you can make me feel things I shouldn’t feel?”
“That’s nae fair.”
“Fair?” She spun to face him, anger giving her courage. “Nothing about this is fair, Declan. You married me to get an heir and English connections. I married you to protect Eloise. Those were the terms.” She broke off, horrified to feel tears pricking her eyes. “We should stop changing them, because only one of us ends up hurt in the process.”
He nodded and dropped her wrist, and Francesca left the stables with her head high, though her pulse thundered. She walked the path back toward the castle, the sound of his boots following at a measured distance.
When he drew up beside her, she arched a brow. “You needn’t play the escort, Declan. I can find my way perfectly well.”
“It’s late enough,” he said.
