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She frowned over this a moment in intense thought.

“You were married to me. Understand?” he asked testily.

“Yes.”

He breathed out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. “All along. You were mine. Say it.”

“All along?” said Fen uncertainly.

He nodded and gathered her soapy hair in one hand like a pony’s tail. Then he wagged her head. “Say the rest.”

“I was yours?”

“You were,” he said with conviction. “So, tell me.”

“All along I was yours.”

He nodded. “That’s better.”

Fen stared at him, her amber eyes wide. He felt it again, the strange tug in his chest. It propelled him to turn her to face him and then place a very gentle kiss on her lips. When he drew back, he knew the vulnerable look on her face was reflected on his own. What was he doing? “I’m going to wash out the soap now,” he told her. “And then we’re going back to bed.”

Afterward, they lay propped up against the pillows with Fen at his side, curled into him. He felt strangely content and rested, as he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Almost, he imagined he could drift right off to sleep. Then he felt her palm gently rest on his chest. He flicked his eyes open, but she hadn’t moved her head from his shoulder where it rested. His eyelids were just drifting down again when he heard her draw in a breath as if to speak, and then dispel it again, with a frustrated puff of air. “What is it?” he asked. Even to his own ear, his voice sounded sleepy.

“Nothing,” she hurriedly assured him. “I just …”

Oswald’s eyes sprang open. “Every time you assure me there is naught to worry about, I get tense,” he said dryly.

She pulled back her head from his shoulder to peer at him in surprise. “Why?” Her damp hair was curling round her face. He felt irritated that she was shifting her cushiony softness away from him. Removing a hand from behind his head, he hauled her back flush against him, then rested his hand at the dip of her waist. “Because,” he said. “Usually it means something is bothering you. Which means, it is going to bother me.”

She looked bewildered, and he sighed. “Tell me what’s amiss.” He steeled himself in preparation for a barrage of reasons why she did not want her marriage to Thane annulled. If he kept his words calm and sounding reasonable, he could deceive her into believing it was a perfectly sensible thing to do. It would be good practice for when he approached the King with it. Of course, he knew exactly how to get round Wymer. He would simply indicate he was after her original dowry. When going over the documents with her dolt brother, he had been reminded of the betrothal terms. His father had wanted several acres from their estate which bordered on Vawdrey Keep. He would just keep the terms vague, and let the King think it would still be desirable to him to have that land. After all, Wymer knew all about his plans to build a grand estate on the old family seat. It would make perfect sense to him. How he would convince Fenella was a little less clear to him, but he was sure he would think of something.

“I just thought it might be nice, to have some conversation and share our day,” she said lamely and laid her head back against his shoulder. “It is of no import if you would rather sleep.”

Share their day? Oswald lay a moment turning this over. Hadn’t he already told her that his day had been an exercise in frustration? Most of it sexual. And she had already set that to rights for him, most satisfactorily. Then he remembered Thane’s letters. That bastard liked to tell her his every waking grievance and complaint. He frowned, stroking a thumb over her hip. “It’s only that it is a little difficult,” he said. “Much of my work is of a sensitive and confidential nature…” he began.

“Oh,” she said lifting her head again, but thankfully keeping her glorious body pressed against him. “But you need not tell me any of that,” her eyes shone with enthusiasm. “For instance, you could tell me how Bryce was today?”

“Bryce?” He had no idea why she would want news of his gloomy assistant. It threw him for a moment. When she continued to watch him expectantly, he cast his mind back to Bryce. “He – er – seemed well,” he ventured. “Or as well as he ever does.” Fenella nodded in the expectation of more to come. He found he did not want to disappoint her. “I am not sure that Bryce will ever fill the large boots left by his predecessor, Edwards,” he admitted.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked pleased. She nodded at him encouragingly. “Who was Edwards?” she asked and shifted to settle so that she was draped further across him and could look directly into his eyes. He didn’t mind that at all. He cast about for some information that might please her. “Edwards was my previous assistant. A very ingenious and resourceful young man with a bright future.”

“A protegee of yours?” she suggested. “And did he? Move on to bigger and brighter things, I mean.”

Oswald winced. “Sadly no. A woman was his undoing. He could not hold his tongue and she was in the employ of a foreign ambassador.” For the first time, Oswald felt a pang of sympathy for Edwards. At this precise moment, he could well understand why Edwards had told a pretty woman anything she wanted to know.

“Oh dear!” Fen nibbled on her bottom lip. “Was he-?” she broke off. “Actually, I don’t want to know.”

“He was banished,” he told her. “Not executed.”

“Well, that’s something. And his lady-love?”

His mouth twisted at her choice of words. It seemed Fenella was a romantic. “She disappeared,” he said heavily. “The ambassador was very apologetic about it, and insisted they had no notion of what became of her,” he said, skepticism dripping from every word.

“And yet,” she pointed out. “You speak of him having large boots. As though you do not think Bryce stands up in comparison, to a man who was dismissed in disgrace?”

“True,” he admitted fairly. “Before his fall from grace, Edwards was my idea of the perfect assistant.”

Fenella pondered this. “Perhaps your idea of the perfect assistant needs modifying?” she suggested gently.