After Edmund left, Henry offered his arm at the foot of the stairs. She took it with a hand resting lightly on his sleeve. They climbed together in silence.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
They had reached the second floor between the two doors to their rooms, the walls washed in orange candlelight. Henry stopped walking but did not release her arm.
“For?”
“For accusing you.” She looked at the carpet, at their shoes side by side on the runner. “Of fathering a child with Sarah.”
“You saw it too, then.”
She nodded. “It was fairly obvious. Although I do not fully comprehend the nature of their relationship.”
“Yes. And the cause of his anger. Does he believe she had an affair with Harold when he was alive? Or has she been relying on him financially?”
“Or she has not and his pride is hurt?”
“I suppose we shall uncover those details when the time comes.” His gaze searched for hers then darkened when they met. “I believe I have discovered the cause of your jealousy over Sarah.”
“It was not jealousy. It was more about trust.”
“Was it?” He wrapped one arm around her waist. “Or did you simply miss me?”
A huff of laughter came out of her throat. “You would like to think so.”
“You are jealous,” he said. “I had not thought you capable of it.”
“It was not jealousy.”
“No?” His other arm came around her waist. “Then I shall have to find another explanation for why my wife has been unreasonable all week.”
She opened her mouth to object, and he kissed her. His one hand came up to her face, tilting her head back. His mouth was warm and certain. She made a sound against his lips, and her hands gripped the lapels of his coat. He kissed her thoroughly, without hurry, the way a husband kisses a wife he adores. She felt it. She felt all of it in her core.
He broke from her mouth, breathing hard. His lips moved to her neck, his breath hot against her skin. A groan escaped him, low and rough, and she felt it vibrate through her collarbone.
“I cannot wait,” he said against her throat. “I cannot wait to have you again.”
Her back met the wall. His hands were at her waist, pulling her closer, and her fingers were in his hair. She was losing track of the hour and the fact that they were standing in a corridor.
When Henry finally released her, they were both breathing hard, their lips swollen from their ardour.
“I shall let you go before I am tempted to take you right here,” he said.
They both turned toward her room and stopped. Her door was ajar.
The warmth of the corridor left her in a single breath. Henry’s hand fell from her waist.
“Was it open before?” she whispered.
“No.”
She went toward it with Henry following. Her room was warm with hearth fire and candles. The bed was turned down for the evening. “She was just here,” she said.
“Indeed. And she wants us to know that she knows.”
Chapter twenty-nine
The Armoury