Page 93 of Winds of Ruin
He’d left that note saying he would return for dinner. It still surprised me to see him.
A smile spread across his face. “I am. And with news,” he answered.
I stepped aside to allow him through—he took up a great deal of any small space. I bent away, avoiding the brush of his arm. Instead of walking past me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into an embrace in the doorway.
Melting into him, I dug my fingertips into the muscles of his shoulders.
He’d started it.
“Good news?” I asked, my heart pounding against his chest. He squeezed me tighter.
“The best news. Mama’s fever broke,” he whispered into the hair at the top of my head. I planted both of my hands on his chest and pushed him away just enough to meet his gaze.
“She’s going to be alright?” I breathed out.
So few times had someone come through this door to deliver good news.
He nodded. “Wyeth thinks so. She says she’ll need a lot of rest and tonics for the pain. Her recovery will be slow. But shewillrecover.”
His hand slid up to cradle my cheek as he looked down at me with an intensity that raised the hair on my arms. The way the lamplight caught his dark lashes and the warmth smoldered in his golden-brown irises put me on the edge of arousal. A lump grew in my throat.
His touch felt too natural. Too intimate. His nearness felt like a homecoming that I rejoiced in.
“She asked about you. And pestered me about whether I’d been here to see you yet. You’ve left quite an impression on her.” His thumb trailed my jawline.
A fluttering sensation gathered in my stomach. To be held by him, to feel his skin on mine—it was divine despite knowing it shouldn’t be. I owed him the space to find the future that he’d waited for.
“I am so glad,” I breathed out; a weight lifted from my chest. I’d been such a terrible friend these past weeks, avoiding the cottage.
He unraveled his arm from around me, hand falling away too quickly, as though he, too, realized his error. I missed his warmth as soon as he withdrew.
I quirked a brow and said, “I have news too.”
“Does it have anything to do with Sybilla taking it upon herself to choose a new job for you?”
Huffing a laugh, I nodded. “It seems I’m your new advisor, if you accept me. Ready to learn a thing or two about the fickle nature of royals from someone who’s dealt with far too many, puppy?”
His brow creased slightly as though disappointed. “Of course I accept you, but doyouactually want to do that?”
Reaching up, I fixed the collar of his tunic—an excuse to touch him again. “That depends. Are you keeping your promise of making me dinner?”
He bit his lower lip in a way that was far too appealing when he nodded.
“Well, I suppose if you keep feeding me, then I’ll be your advisor.”
He laughed and playfully snatched my hand away from where it had settled on his collar before lacing his fingers in mine.
He dragged me toward the kitchen and spoke over his shoulder. “Deal. But I am still putting you to work cutting.”
There was a levity to his gait.
I laughed, letting him lead me and marveling at this lighter-hearted side of him.
A glimmer of my imagination allowed me to wonder what it would feel like if he came home to me each night.
I’d tried to preserve as many of the original window frames at Lamoreaux as I could, but they did little to ward off the cold drafts from the storm outside.
Instead of having us eat in the formal dining area, where there was no fireplace, I’d brought out every fur and blanket I owned into the parlor and placed them in front of the largest fireplacein the house. We sat there on the comfortable pile, cross-legged, and ate our meal in comfortable silence.
