“If he’d cut an inch higher…” she whispered.
“I was lucky.”
“So was I.”
His eyes flashed open, the enlarged pupils turning the gray irises smoky. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” She frowned in bewilderment as she lifted her hand away. “How could you think otherwise?”
Her brain advised resisting the impulse, but her heart made her lean in and place a fleeting kiss where the saber had sliced deepest. The clean outdoors scent of his skin invaded her senses and made her heart skip a beat.
“I haven’t been much of a husband,” he muttered, as she drew away.
“You did your duty to your king and your country.” She swallowed to shift the painful emotion jammed in her chest. “You’ve made me proud.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Her voice was husky. “You’re a brave man, Lord Canforth. And if you don’t think I’m overjoyed that you’ve come back safe…”
“If a trifle battered.”
She managed a twisted smile. “If a trifle battered. Then that saber cut has affected your mind.”
She was close enough to hear his long exhalation of relief. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.”
“That’s natural.” Fighting the urge to fling her arms around him and tell him that she loved him, she stepped back. She’d already ventured too close to revealing her feelings. Such a kind man would hate to know that she suffered, loving him when he didn’t love her. And her pride revolted at the idea of his pity. In that, they were alike. “After so long apart, we need to rebuild our friendship. You’ve only been home an hour.”
His lips quirked. “At least give me until dinnertime to feel like I’m back to stay.”
She made herself smile again, although she remained closer to weeping than laughter. “Before you know it, you’ll be ordering me around and demanding your claret and tobacco and slippers like a real lord of the manor.”
“First, we have unfinished business here under the mistletoe. I’ve waited a devil of a long time to kiss my wife.”
The sudden purpose in his expression sent sensual awareness rippling along her spine. Her lips burned from the brief kiss, however chaste, she’d given him. She was blushing again.
Blast this odd situation. She was both wife of eight years and bride of a couple of weeks. There was no solid ground beneath her feet.
When gentle fingers tilted her chin up, she caught her breath. He brushed his lips across hers in a kiss that was over almost before it began. She’d braced for something more passionate, which was absurd when he’d never shown her anything but the most delicate handling. The few times he’d used her body, he’d treated her as if the slightest roughness would damage her.
It hadn’t been enough then. It certainly wouldn’t be enough now. She was eight years older than that naïve girl. After Canforth left, she’d learned the mea
ning of longing.
The kiss was like a whisper. But even such brief contact turned her knees to water. Instinctively she reached toward him, to bring him closer.
Before she could touch him, he stepped away, leaving her floundering. “That was a fine welcome,” he murmured and gave her a brief bow, as if they’d only just met.
She remained poised under the mistletoe, lips tingling, although it was clear there would be no more kisses. “I’m so glad you’re home, Canforth.”
Her sincerity seemed to surprise him. He subjected her to a searching inspection, before giving her the rare, sweet smile that always turned her blood to honey.
“I’m glad, too.” Then just as powerful currents threatened to crack the veneer of politeness, he looked around. “Will you excuse me? I’m covered in travel dirt, and I’d like to change into some clean clothes before dinner.”
The shift to practicality jarred after that vibrant instant, when she felt they’d hovered on the brink of some profound revelation. “Everything is just as you left it when you went away. Is there luggage coming?”
“I left a few things in London. I’m sure I can make do with whatever’s here.”
Over the years, Felicity had learned to put away deep and painful emotion and play the efficient chatelaine. “I’ll have hot water sent up. Do you mind if dinner is early?”