LaCroy brushed curls and tears from her face. “It’s wrong when he can’t take the weight of it, when his shoulders were already laden with his depression.”
The pain in her voice dragged through him, stinging like hot metal fragments shredding flesh. “You take too much upon yourself.”
“Not being able to help my lost husband hurts. Learning more of his darkness and what he’s done, crushing.”
“Be weak. Let a friend . . . let me support you, then rebel again in the morning.”
She picked at the bandage on her hand. “Is that a command, Your Grace? Does it require scheduling? You said to rebel in the morning. Before elocution practice for Lionel or after?”
Straining, his back aching more, he stood beside her.
They were a sight to see in the mirror. She was the right height for him to put his arm about her without bending. One little stretch and he’d have a proper hold on her waist, an inch of hip, an ounce or two of bosom. A perfect clench. But that wouldn’t be proper.
“I asked, if that was an order.”
“Yes. For ten minutes, be uncontrolled. Cry, punch, make me a proxy for all the things that have made you sad. I owe you that.”
She turned to him, staring with that blank look she often offered, the one where he couldn’t read her thoughts, couldn’t see into her heart.
“Punch at you? Is that what you’ll teach your ward, violence and conflict?”
He kept his hands at his sides, not testing that perfect clench. “LaCroy, we need to get better at negotiating things. Let me be of aid to you.”
She smiled a little.
Then swayed a little more.
He caught her and held her. When he couldn’t stand not kissing, not crossing that line, he stroked her chin. “Duck your arm about my shoulder and let me help you sit.”
Miracle of miracles, she followed his request. LaCroy slid her hand behind his neck, then leaned into him.
They walked together as they had that first night, but her robe didn’t hide her curves like the footman’s livery. The press of her thigh and thin nightgown felt different from her breeches.
“I do like you much better as a woman. I say that respectfully.”
At the desk, he sat, set down his crutch, and then lifted her beside him. Hip to hip, he kept her hand.
“Duke, you smell like rum and floury pap milk.”
He chuckled and smoothed the stain to his robe sleeve. “The former was needed to ease the pain. My back twinges upon occasion. You slammed into me pretty hard. I wasn’t expecting such a hit.”
“If you had, I’m not sure I would have been able to move you.”
Did she shudder against him? Or was the tremble the swoosh of his blood coursing hot in his veins?
He stretched, almost put his arm behind her, but drew his palms to his lap. His resolve was in danger of slipping, and the desk was sturdy. Without the fears of balancing, he could court discovery, the flimsy nature of her nightgown.
But he wouldn’t.
LaCroy wasn’t the type of woman you dallied with and then let go. She was one to keep, to argue with and deal with forever.
“The second stain is Lionel’s fault. Why settle for less when you’ve had the best?” He blinked. “Ohhh, that wasn’t the thing to say.”
“It was honest. Thank you.”
“I want to say thank you again. Patience LaCroy, you risked your life. I am grateful. But soldier, that was crazed. You could’ve been killed. I don’t want you taking such risks.”
“Would you tell Lord Gantry to not do what he felt in his heart? You’d keep him contained?”
