"Ow!" Belle hissed and drew her finger to her mouth.
"I said, don't touch it!"
"Well, ye were too slow to say!"
"It's common sense, you idiot!"
Henry scrambled closer and grunted when his head hit the table. Feet were hurrying toward them, and he recognized the hem of Coira's dress nearby.
"Is everything alright, sir?"
"Fetch clean water and a bandage!" Henry called out to her. "Lady Henderson is hurt."
She wasted no time in running toward the kitchens, despite Belle's protestations.
"Ah'm not hurt. It barely caught me."
"Is there blood?" Henry demanded.
She assessed her finger.
"A little."
"Then you are hurt. Now stop being a child on your hands and knees. You are a woman of breeding and have servants to clean this up!"
"But ah was the one who—"
"It doesn't matter! Do you understand, Arabelle? It does not matter what you are or are not responsible for! You do not crawl on the floor like an infant crying over spilt wine. It is not becoming!"
Only when he looked up at her did Henry realize that he had allowed his emotions to rule his words. She was staring at him with a look so wounded, he instantly wanted to bite off his tongue.
"I... My lady, I..." He was lost for words.
When she looked away, Henry felt the loss of her stare. When she sniffed, clearly holding back tears, Henry wondered if she would accept his apology if it came with his own heart, torn from his chest by his own hand.
How could he have been so furious? So callous?
All he knew was that he had seen the blood on her fingers and instantly lost his temper.
"I... I am sorry. I should not have said that. I..." Reaching out, Henry was cupping the side of her face a heartbeat later, turning her eyes back to him. "Please, please do not hurt. I am truly sorry, my la—" When her eyes narrowed, he corrected himself. "Arabelle.Belle. I was rude, and there was no cause for—"
Words left him as he felt pressure against his hand. Nuzzling. He watched as Belle turned into his touch, her cheek against his palm and her eyes drifting closed.
Henry's mouth went dry as he recognized the gesture. The security in it.
Belle liked his touch.
Again, Henry felt that heat. That spike of fire that raced from hand to arm to heart. His breath clung to his lungs, and before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning toward her.
Belle's lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, then shot wide as he drew close. Yet, she did not draw back. Her cheeks flushed, their color warm against his hand. Her lips parted.
Since when had the child harbored the lips of a woman? Since when had he noticed them to be so full and inviting? So full of sensual life?
An inch away, he felt her breath on his face, could almost taste the softness of her mouth. His own was bone dry, his tongue heavy and aching.
He still had yet to breathe.
At the very first touch of mouths, barely a whisper of a touch, Henry was startled back.
