Yes, he could. Because she’d kissed him. No one had ever kissed him, except Nurse Robbie when he was a little boy. But why had Persephone’s gesture inspired him to return the offering? He didn’t like not knowing why he’d done something. If he didn’t understand it, he might do it again.
“I just kissed Persephone,” Adam muttered to himself, too confused to say much else.
“I noticed.”
Adam gave Harry a disapproving look. “You were supposed to be politely looking elsewhere.” Why was it Harry always seemed to be witness to Adam’s most distressing moments?
“I think Persephone noticed as well.” Harry ignored Adam’s grumbled comment. “Which is a good thing, by the by. If she hadn’t even realized you were kissing her, one would begin to wonder about your technique.”
“Shu—”
“I know, ‘Shut up, Harry.’” He laughed.
Adam had been regretting the letter he’d sent to the Admiralty almost from the moment he’d posted it. If Persephone’s uncle had been able to provide her with even a modicum of information about her brothers, then he wouldn’t have been required to intervene. That, of course, didn’t explain why he’d taken the extra step of informing the Admiralty of his intention to purchase a lieutenancy for Linus when the time came. With Adam as his sponsor and the Admiralty behind him, Linus could make a fine career for himself in the navy, if he chose it.
It made sense. But Adam still couldn’t explain why he’d involved himself.
“Persephone seemed happy with her letter.” Harry cut into Adam’s thoughts.
Yes, Adam thought, biting down a smile. She had seemed very happy.
“Considering you handed it over to her, I am assuming it was not a request by a secret admirer for a clandestine meeting.”
“It was a letter from her brother.”
“The youngest one, the one who was missing?”
“No, Harry,” Adam answered sarcastically. “The one who is dead. Of course the younger one.”
“That’s a rather harsh tone to take with someone only days out of his deathbed. A man who politely stared out the window while you accosted your wife.”
“You neither kept your eyes diverted nor were in any danger of succumbing to your cold. If I thought for a minute a cold could do you in, I personally would shove you into Falstone Lake during the next snowstorm.”
“A refreshing swim could be nice.” Harry nodded.
Why did the man never take any of Adam’s threats seriously?
“I am going to assume, based on Persephone’s rather warm response, that the news of her brother was not only good but arrived courtesy of you, somehow or another.”
“In a moment of insanity I sent a letter,” Adam grumbled.
“And knowing you, you probably went straight to the Admiralty.” Harry laughed. Almost immediately he reined in his amusement. “You did, didn’t you? That got results, I daresay. Even the Royal Navy bows to the Duke of Kielder.”
“That’s treasonous, Harry.”
“But true. A letter from the Duke of Kielder could overthrow a kingdom.” Harry looked thoroughly amused. “It certainly closed up the Boar and Dagger in a trice. I heard Smith, the innkeeper, was none too pleased with that.”
“He was a scoundrel,” Adam said. “Any man who would charge a pound a piece for quill, ink, and paper, so a sick man could send for medical help, then provide him with no nourishment while he waited, ought not be running an inn.”
“From what I’ve heard, he was livid when the magistrate shut down the inn,” Harry said.
Adam shrugged. Mr. Smith of the Boar and Dagger would certainly not be the last person he’d make livid.
“Like I said—” Harry smiled “—the Duke of Kielder could run the country with a simple snap of his fingers.”
Adam would never have said so out loud, but Harry was more correct than he realized. Should he choose to, Adam could have more influence over the course of the war with France than the Crown and the rest of Parliament combined. But he had enough problems.
For one thing, he had a wife whom he had inadvertently discovered he very much enjoyed kissing. He hadn’t foreseen that complication. He’d always intended to remain as unaffected and undisturbed by his wife as he was by everyone else.
He felt confused and indecisive. He had no idea why he’d kissed his wife and no idea what he meant to do about it. Except keep his distance.
Chapter Twenty-Two
So much for distance.
The wolf pack had begun early that night. Either Persephone’s nervousness at their noise had rattled him or the pack had drawn closer to the castle than usual. They were louder than they used to be. And Persephone was closer now as well. She’d tiptoed through the door only a few moments earlier. After her usual whispered “Adam?” she’d hurried, much faster than on previous nights, to the bed and climbed up.
A particularly menacing howl erupted outside. Adam heard Persephone quietly groan. “They’re getting louder,” she whispered to herself.
This was the precise reason he’d decided to stay away from his wife. Hearing the distress in her voice, Adam felt sorely tempted to reach out and touch her. He found himself wondering if she would feel less afraid if he held her hand. He quickly dismissed that thought. She’d probably run from the room as fast as her legs would carry her.
Adam felt the bed shift as Persephone changed positions. She did that a lot during the night. It had bothered him at first, but the last couple of nights he’d found himself waking up if she hadn’t moved in a while. He’d peek, convinced she had left the room, only to inevitably spot her in her mountain of blankets. Then he’d lie there, watching to be certain she still breathed. Which only proved he was losing his mind. Only an idiot would jump to such a far-fetched possibility.
“Thank you for my letter, Adam,” Persephone whispered. He could tell she had turned to face him. She didn’t usually.
He was so tempted to open his eyes. Why? He had decided to keep his distance. How much greater distance could a person achieve than being sound asleep?
“Linus sounds happy,” Persephone continued, her voice never rising above a whisper. “He didn’t mention Evander, which worries me a little. It was always his way to avoid topics that were upsetting. But he did promise to keep writing.”
Why did Persephone feel more comfortable talking to him when he was asleep?
“I hope Linus writes to Papa. He and the girls will be worried about him as well.”
Adam felt her shift again, and then a bundle of blankets brushed his arm. That distance he meant to maintain was disappearing quickly.
“Thank you, Adam,” she said once more. “I know you don’t like it when I thank you for the things that you do, but I really am grateful.”
Persephone seemed to settle in after that—the only problem being that she settled right beside him.
At what point had Persephone begun to smell like lavender? At what point had Adam learned what lavender smelled like?
Soon, Persephone began making those noises that meant she was sleeping. Adam opened his eyes. She couldn’t have been more than inches from him.
Lavender. Adam shook his head. He would never have thought he would notice something like that. Or notice that a lock of Persephone’s hair had fallen across her face. That had to be driving her absolutely mad.
What was he thinking? Persephone was asleep. She wouldn’t even notice her hair.
Adam, however, couldn’t seem to notice anything else. Even in the dim glow cast by the embers in his fireplace, her hair seemed to shimmer. Cautiously, slowly, he reached out and touched a wisp of it. Soft. Adam brushed her hair back from her face.
She really was too pretty to be married to him. Did she regret accepting him? He hoped she didn’t.
She’d said she had enjoyed kissing him. Those hadn’t been her exact words, he acknowledged. She’d said he kissed well. Very well, Adam amended.
Deuce take it, he wanted to kiss her again
.
Adam flipped abruptly on to his other side, shifting as he did to the very edge of the bed. Distance, he reminded himself. That was vital.
Persephone had the uncanny ability, he was discovering, to leave him thinking and doing things he would otherwise never think or do. And his thoughts had begun to dwell on her more than could possibly be healthy.
He vowed, as he lay there uncomfortably on his side, to keep a room’s length between them from that moment on. During the daytime, at least, he corrected. The wolves frightened her, after all. He’d simply hang off the end of the bed until the pack learned to keep quiet.
Part of him hoped they never did.
* * *
For a moment, Persephone felt nothing but shock. She’d been riding, that much she remembered.
“Persephone?” Adam’s voice came at her from what felt like miles away.
She blinked a few times. The world around her would not come into focus.
“Persephone?” Adam sounded rather urgent.
“Adam?” A few more blinks and she could make him out. He knelt beside her, which meant she was lying on the ground. And he looked worried. “What happened?”
“Honeycake threw you,” Adam said. “Are you hurt? Can you sit up?”
“I don’t know.” Persephone felt extremely confused. She couldn’t decide if her bewilderment came from the fall she only vaguely remembered, or the fact that Adam was touching her face and looking at her as though he were genuinely worried.
“Let me help you,” Adam said.
He’d never offered to do anything for her before. He’d brought her a coat once, and more or less threw it at her. Adam slipped a hand underneath her and lifted her with no visible effort to a seated position, still not releasing her.
“Does anything hurt?”
Persephone shook her head, unable to look away from him. She’d never seen him like this: fretting and nervous.
“Why were you on Honeycake?” Adam ran a hand down her arm, as if checking for breaks. “Honeycake is less docile than Atlas. You aren’t ready for a challenging mount.”
“Atlas twisted a knee.” John had told her as much when she’d arrived for her daily ride.
“And you? Did you twist or hurt anything?”
“You asked me that already.”
“A person can be killed being thrown from a horse.” Adam helped her to her feet.
“Not at a walk.” Her wits gradually returned as her head slowed its spinning.
“No, I guess not.” Adam had never before sounded so distracted. He didn’t look away. Six weeks of seeing nothing but the side of his face, and suddenly Adam was staring at her. He touched her face once more, so gentle, so caring. Persephone closed her eyes. Why couldn’t he always be this way? “You’re certain you aren’t hurt?”
“I imagine I will be sore.” She leaned her face into his palm.
“I don’t ever want you to ride Honeycake again,” Adam said into Persephone’s left ear. The last time he’d been that close to her, he’d kissed her. Persephone felt her face flush at the memory. “You will stay on your feet until Atlas is available again.”
“Yer Grace,” John Handly’s voice interrupted.
Persephone bit back a sigh of frustration. To her surprise, Adam didn’t pull away. She felt his arm wrap around her and pull her closer to him. She opened her eyes and found herself eye to shoulder with him. She didn’t let the opportunity pass by, but laid her head on Adam’s shoulder, pleasantly surprised to feel him hold her tighter.
“Is Her Grace well?” John asked.
“I don’t want my wife riding Honeycake,” Adam said, that tone of authority in his voice.
“Honeycake is usually very calm. I can’t explain it. It was almost like something spooked ’er.”
“I do not want Her Grace on Honeycake.”
“Yes, Yer Grace.” John pulled respectfully at his forelock.
Persephone closed her eyes once more, savoring the feeling of being held. She’d always imagined the comfort of being in the arms of her husband. So few of her schoolgirl dreams had proven accurate during the short weeks of her marriage. She was determined to prolong the moment as long as possible.
“See to Honeycake,” Adam instructed John. Then, bending his head toward Persephone, he said, “Your abigail can have a hot bath prepared for you—that should help with any stiffness.”
“There really is no need for this much fuss,” Persephone said, thoroughly enjoying every moment of fuss.
“You’ll disagree when you are too stiff to come down to dinner.” Adam led her from the paddock.
“This is very kind of you, Adam.”
“Nonsense.” He dismissed her gratitude, just as she knew he would. His arm remained around her waist. “You’ve been thrown from a horse, Persephone. Any decent gentleman would be concerned.”
“Then thank you for being decent.” She leaned against him as they walked.
“You’re welcome,” Adam answered with noticeable unease. But, Persephone realized with a smile, he hadn’t brushed away her gratitude. It wasn’t an enormous stride, but it was something.
“Her Grace has had an accident,” Adam informed Barton the moment they passed through the doors of the castle. “Have a hot bath brought to her dressing room and have Cook prepare a pot of her bruise ointment.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Barton hurried off to follow through with the orders.
Persephone was actually smiling by the time they reached her room. Other than while holding her letter from Linus yesterday, she had seldom smiled since coming to Falstone.
“The kitchen can send up a tray if you would rather not come down for dinner.” Adam grew more distant.
“Adam?” She looked up at him. He shifted his face away. “When Atlas is well again, can I come riding with you and Harry?”
“Atlas can’t keep up with Zeus,” Adam said.
“Couldn’t you rein Zeus in a little? Or let me join you at the end of your ride, when Zeus has slowed down.”
“You should keep to the paddock.” Adam stepped back a little.
Persephone followed, staying close to him. He’d held her so lovingly, so tenderly. Why was he moving away? She wanted him to hold her again, to make her feel wanted and needed, if not precisely loved. “I would like to try riding out,” she said. “Atlas wouldn’t throw me like Honeycake did.”
“I’d rather you not take that chance.”
“But you would be there.” She reached out, laying a hand on his chest. He stiffened. Persephone forced herself to stay as she was, despite the disappointment she felt at his apparent displeasure. Why had he grown so suddenly distant? Had she only imagined him warming to her, at least a little?
“That is no guarantee—”
Something about that admission, about the vulnerability in his voice, tugged at her heart. She tipped her head up and laid a soft kiss on his lips. He didn’t pull away but didn’t seem to be returning the gesture. Hoping against hope that he wasn’t as disinterested as he seemed, Persephone reached up and touched his face with her hand.
Fast as a flash of lightning, Adam had hold of her wrist and pulled her hand from his face. She stepped back from him, surprised but mostly disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hurting at his rejection of her affections.
Adam released her wrist and turned away. “The bath should help,” he muttered as he walked away. “And the ointment.”
“Adam,” Persephone called after him.
He didn’t turn back.
Persephone sighed. Obviously she’d misinterpreted his concern. She’d most certainly misunderstood his kiss the day before. He’d kissed her with what she’d falsely interpreted as tender feeling. That he didn’t welcome her kisses had just been made painfully obvious.
In those brief moments when Adam had held her after her accident, Persephone had felt stirrings of affection. But he’d pushed her away. She didn’t understand him, didn’t know what to th
ink about Adam, about their marriage.
She’d always thought that affection would grow between them. She’d hoped that the tenderness she’d seen in him just moments before would remain. Instead he’d grown distant and cold. She’d taken a risk and reached out to him, only to be rejected.
It wasn’t in her nature to give up entirely, but for the life of her she couldn’t help feeling discouraged.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Adam threw off his blanket and sat up in bed. The wolves had been howling for nearly an hour. Where the deuce was Persephone?
He got out of bed. She ought to have come in already. She’d never waited so long before. Adam crossed to the connecting door but turned back without touching the handle. He was being ridiculous. Persephone was probably sleeping.
She hadn’t come down to dinner. Maybe her fall had been more serious then he’d realized. Adam crossed back to the door again but stopped directly in front of it.
If Persephone wanted to come in, she would have. She certainly wouldn’t want him going into her room. Adam shook his head and stormed back to his bed.
“Ridiculous,” he snapped at himself, flinging himself down.
Adam closed his eyes, determined to fall asleep. But he couldn’t clear his thoughts of Persephone. Gad, she’d scared him half out of his wits. He and Harry had been back from their ride for a quarter of an hour, and instead of going straight to the castle like he should have, Adam had stayed to watch Persephone ride.
He’d been impressed seeing her on a more difficult mount than Atlas. Then that blasted horse had thrown her. Adam didn’t think he’d ever run as fast in all his life. When she didn’t get up right away, he’d panicked.
What a sap he’d turned out to be. He should have handed her over to one of the grooms, should have kept his distance like he’d told himself he would. But he’d been worried.
Adam opened his eyes again. ’Twould be pointless to pretend he was going to sleep. Persephone was cutting up his peace. Seeing her lying still on the ground of the paddock had been more unsettling than the letter he’d received about Harry’s illness. It had been more panic-inducing than the dream he still remembered so vividly about the wolves.
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