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Who would have thought it? Henry had never seemed the least bit interested in Raf. Jenova, although she loved her son fiercely, had accepted Henry’s indifference, just as she accepted his other shortcomings. She had never sought to change him. Not even now.
Gathering her wits, she began to walk toward them. Outside, the snow had stopped and the sky was clear and blue, but the wind was bitter. Even in her wool cloak and fur-lined hood, she shivered. Was Raf warm enough? What if he were to catch a chill? Jenova quickened her step.
“Raf?”
He looked up and instantly gave her a cheerful grin. Her heart turned over, as it always did when she looked upon her son. He was her life, and she would never do anything to jeopardize his future. That was why, in her marriage contract, she would make certain that Lord Baldessare could have no power over them, even if Alfric should die young.
“Mama, see!” Her son pointed in excitement at whatever Henry held in his hands. “Raven has had babies.”
Jenova raised an eyebrow as she drew closer. Henry was holding several squirming, mewling bodies in his cupped hands, and at his feet, watching intently, was Raven, a large, fluffy black cat.
“So she has,” she managed, feeling strangely dizzy. Henry looked up at her and smiled wryly, as if he were mocking himself, while Raf hopped about madly beside him, overcome with excitement. The picture they made, the man and the child and the kittens, was such a strange and unexpected one. It made her heart ache.
Jenova forced away the odd emotion and took a breath. “Are you warm enough, Raf? The air is bitter.”
“We have been riding,” he piped up and then glanced swiftly at Henry, as if he was afraid he had said something he should not.
“Riding?” Jenova demanded sharply. “On your pony?”
“No.” The boy looked at Henry again. “On Lord Henry’s stallion. He goes much faster than my pony. His name is Lamb, but he isn’t always as gentle as one. That is why I must never ride him on my own. But one day, when I am grown, I will have a horse like Lamb, Mama.”
?
?Will you?” Jenova asked blankly, her head spinning again. What on earth had they been up to? How had so much happened in so short a time? “Agetha wants you to come and eat now, Raf. Go and find her.”
“But Mama—”
“Now, Raf. Raven’s kittens will still be here when you are done.”
His lip drooped, and as he walked away his steps dragged, but he went. Henry lifted his handful of kittens and began to settle them back into their warm basket by the brazier. Their mother received them irritably and began lapping at them with her tongue, washing away his offending scent.
Jenova continued to watch him a moment in silence, trying not to be softened by the fall of his hair over his brow and the rough, unshaven line of his cheek and the curve of his firm mouth. It was all very well to see Henry like this, in a completely different light, but he was still the same man he had always been. He had not suddenly changed overnight because they were now lovers. Jenova knew she must not deceive herself into believing Henry would become the perfect man for her, and the perfect father for Raf. In that direction lay much heartache.
“You should have sent Raf to me if he was bothering you, Henry.”
“It was no bother.”
Jenova tried to read his thoughts, but he was still dealing with the kittens, a crease between his brows as he carefully laid the last one in with its brothers and sisters. Giving in to temptation, she reached out a hand and pushed back the truant lock of hair. He glanced up with a surprised smile, and then reached out an arm to draw her closer to his side. He was warm, and she could smell the male scent of him. Just like that, desire uncurled inside her, making her shiver.
“You are cold?” Henry demanded. Their gazes met, tangled, were reluctant to let go. She saw the spark in his eyes, too, turning the blue brighter and fiercer than it had been before.
“A little.”
Henry rose gracefully to his feet and pulled her fully into his arms. Jenova held her breath. They were alone in the stables, only the horses’ soft nickers to keep them company, but there was always the chance someone would see them. Did her reputation, her position, mean nothing to her? The Gunlinghorn servants, particularly Agetha, would be shocked if they knew their lady had taken a lover. And what of Alfric, what would he say? Suddenly it all seemed too difficult.
“What will we do, Henry?” she whispered.
Henry stroked her cheek with one long finger, as gentle with her as he had been with the kittens. “It will run its course, sweeting, you will see.”
“Do you know that for a fact?”
“Lust burns itself out eventually.”
Jenova wondered if that were so. She had never been afflicted with lust before, never desired someone so desperately as she did Henry. But perhaps he was right, perhaps this would vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Mist before a sea breeze. She really should trust Henry, he must know—he had more experience, after all.
He was stroking her neck now, his fingers warm and insistent. She leaned into him, lifting her face, and he kissed her. Their breaths were white in the chill air. Her senses were afire with the same urgency she had felt yesterday. Madness. Sheer madness.
“Will you come to me later?”
