A low growl rose in Erik’s throat as Hoxford kissed Kristine. She struggled for a moment, then stood passive and unresponsive in the young man’s arms.
Hoxford released her immediately, his expression curious. “Do you find me so repulsive?” he asked quietly.
“No, my lord. I am flattered by your words and your interest, but I am, after all, a married woman.”
“You take your vows seriously, then?”
“Yes, very seriously. I would do nothing to shame my husband, or myself.”
Hoxford nodded. “My apologies, my lady. I hope you will not think the less of me for my impetuousness.”
Kristine shook her head. She knew that flirting was to be expected, knew that many women, forced to marry men they did not love, sought affairs. She was not one of them. Her marriage might be a strange one, but she had no wish to end it, no wish to cuckold Erik.
Hoxford offered her his arm. “Come, I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“Thank you, but I think I shall stay outside and take the air for a few minutes,” Kristine said.
Hoxford bowed over her hand. “As you wish, Lady Trevayne. Again, my apologies for my behavior. I pray I have not offended you.”
“Apology accepted, Lord Hoxford.”
“We can remain friends, then?”
Kristine smiled. “Of course.”
With a nod, Hoxford returned to the house.
Kristine watched him walk away, her emotions in turmoil. He was a very handsome young man. At another time, before Erik had entered her life, she would have found young Hoxford most attractive, would have been extraordinarily pleased by his admiration. In truth, she had found his kiss quite pleasant, though it lacked the fire and excitement of Erik’s kisses. Erik. She wished he was here with her now, wished he would take her in his arms. . ..
She whirled around, suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. As if conjured by her desire, he was there before her, a dark silhouette in the blackness of the night.
“My lord,” she murmured. “You startled me.”
“Indeed?” He closed the distance between them, until they were only a hand span apart. “What are you doing out here, alone?”
“Nothing. I . . .” Her gaze slid away from his. How much had he seen? How much had he heard? She felt a wave of heat sweep into her cheeks. “I wasn’t alone.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Lord Hoxford was with me.”
“A fine young man,” Erik remarked, his voice cool.
“Yes.”
“He’s to your liking, then?”
“Yes. But only as a friend, my lord. You are my husband.”
“And if you were free, would you accept Hoxford’s suit?”
“Erik, my lord . . .” She couldn’t keep the fine edge of panic from her voice. Had she displeased him in some way? Was he planning to put her aside? “What are you saying?”
“Nothing, my sweet.” He drew her into his arms and crushed her close. “Nothing.”
“You don’t think that Lord Hoxford . . . that I . . .” She looked up at Erik, wishing she could see his face.
“No.” He drew her against him once more, his hand stroking her back. She was warm and soft in his arms, a temptation like none he had ever known. With a sigh, he rested his chin on the top of her head, wishing he could hold her thus forever, wishing that he had years to spend with her instead of only a few more months at best. Wishing . . .
The strains of a waltz filled the air. Kristine placed her hand on his shoulder. “Dance with me, my lord?”
With a nod, he led her onto a small expanse of smooth stones, then swept her into his arms. The music and the night seemed to close around them, shutting out the rest of the world.
She was light as a feather in his arms as she followed his lead, and he thought how well they danced together, how well they fit together. Had it not been for the awful curse that plagued him, they might have enjoyed a long and happy life together.
He drew her closer. Soon, her belly would swell with his babe. It amazed him that she wanted his child, amazed him still more that she didn’t despise him, that she welcomed his touch, that she had feared he might cease coming to her bed once she conceived. What had he done to inspire her affection, her trust? Or was he fooling himself into thinking she cared? Perhaps she welcomed him in her bed out of a sense of duty because he had saved her from the executioner’s axe and given her a comfortable home. Perhaps her smiles were merely her way of expressing her gratitude. The thought filled him with a strange sense of anger and sadness. He wanted her love, her affection. He wanted her smiles and her laughter, knew he would hoard each precious moment he spent with her from now on so that he could take them out and look at them later.