“Let’s put it this way.” He ignored his throbbing crotch. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to produce an heir.”
“I think you have a flair for the dramatic, too.”
“I’m astonished that you’re making fun of my pain.” He feigned being offended.
“I truly am sorry, Your Grace. But the straight flight of stairs was too much of a temptation.”
“At least one of us had fun.” He took deep breaths, his groin on fire. “I’m curious. What would you have done if I’d died?”
She burst out laughing his favourite laugh. “Hide your body under one of the tapestries and just leave you there. I reckon no one would have found you for a long time. And the castle is haunted, apparently.”
“Lady Isabella, you’re wicked.”
She curtsied. “Thank you.” She took his arm again. “Are you sore?”
“I’ll live.” Physically, yes. But emotionally…he hadn’t experienced anything so powerful and deep in a long time. And it was great.
Isabella shook his senses awake. He finally felt something that wasn’t apathy, pain, or disappointment. Her arm on his was a sweet weight he easily became used to.
“Has your opinion of me changed?” she asked.
“Of course it has.” He rubbed his sore shoulder because he’d hit the floor with it as well. “It’s the first time a lady has barrelled into me, wrestled me to the floor, and threatened to end my lineage.”
She laughed again but muffled the sound by hiding her face in his chest. The riot of emotions bursting through him was like a fresh summer rain after weeks of stifling heat.
Only more devastating.
Another lady would have cowered in front of him. But then again, another lady wouldn’t have rushed down the bannister of a flight of stairs at night and hit him.
“I can’t apologise enough. I miscalculated my speed and the steepness of the stairs.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She gazed up at him in surprise. “For having hurt you?”
“For the laughter. It’s something more precious than people think.”
“You must lead a hard, serious life if you don’t laugh often.”
“I can’t complain. I have everything I need.”
“Obviously, you don’t if you’re unhappy.”
“Good point.”
“May I ask you something personal?”
“After you tried to kill me? Of course.”
“Your cheeks are a bit hollow. You don’t seem to enjoy yourself at all, and you don’t laugh often.” She tilted her head, and a dark curl, a survivor of the chignon disaster, gave up and tumbled down her shoulder. “Is it because of the military academy? I heard you went to war.”
“I did, but I didn’t.”
“Is it a riddle?”
“I was deployed, sailed on a ship, and arrived on the battlefield, but I never engaged in combat. My fellow soldiers and I were deployed to multiple locations without discharging a firearm. For one reason or another—incorrect intelligence, tardiness, or just chance—we never met the enemy. The fear and anxiety of being about to die had been there, but then nothing happened. I returned home without having been in battle.”
“But something troubles you.”
