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“I must tell you—”
“I mean it. Go away. Go home to London. I do not want you here anymore. You came to offer me advice—well, you have given it. Now go.” She faced him, forcing herself to meet his eyes, wanting him to understand that she meant what she said.
He stared back at her, his gaze caressing her features, delving into her brain. She could already tell that he wasn’t going anywhere; this was Henry, after all—he was simply rethinking his strategy.
“You don’t understand, Jenova. You must marry me. You will not be safe until you do. As your husband I can deal with Baldessare and protect your interests. You must not think I will prevent you from doing just as you wish. I would not be a jealous husband, or a possessive one. Far from it, I swear to you. You can continue to rule Gunlinghorn as you will, do as you wish. Can you not see that?”
Jenova shook her head in bemusement—was this meant to persuade her or send her screaming to her solar?
Henry smiled, reaching to touch her shoulder. He must have thought he had convinced her. “Jenova, you do see. You must do this for Raf’s sake—”
“Enough!”
Oh, she was angry now. How dare Henry use Raf to turn her to his wretched point of view! He truly was misguided if he thought he could bully her by using her son as bait. She would have none of him or his squeamish conscience. Let him go home and forget her, as she would forget him.
“No, Henry. I say again, no, no, no! I can take care of my son and myself. I am used to doing so. Mortred, as you know, was never here and I was alone. I am used to being alone.”
“Jenova,” he tried again, but now there was desperation in his eyes, and a hint of something she had not seen there before. Some terrible pain had him in its grip, and suddenly Jenova had had enough. Damn the man!
“What is it, Henry? Tell me what is amiss. Something has happened, I know it. You must tell me—”
“No.” Jesu, he looked pale and sick, yet even now he half turned away, as if to hide from her.
“Henry, how can you ask that I wed you, put my life in your hands, and yet refuse to tell me what is wrong?”
“There is nothing to tell.”
She met his eyes and saw beyond the smiling blue to something else. A child, locked in a small, dark place without hope of rescue. Jenova sighed. Very well. It had come down to this. If he would not tell her, she would not have him at Gunlinghorn. The choice was his.
Her voice was flat and cool. “If you have nothing to tell, then I want you gone by tomorrow. Do you understand? You will say your good-byes and go.”
He shook his head. “No, I won’t.” His mouth closed in a hard line. Here was Henry the warrior, about to engage in battle. “Not until I know you are safe, Jenova.”
Exasperation filled her, and a strange urge to laugh. No? Previously it had seemed as if he cou
ld not leave soon enough; now he was refusing to leave Gunlinghorn. Infuriating man!
Mayhap he noticed the change in her face, or mayhap he just decided to try another tactic.
“I think the reason you want me to go is because you are afraid of me,” he said, and there was a wicked note in his voice, and a wicked gleam in his eyes.
She knew that look. Its power was not to be underestimated. Already Jenova felt her toes curl inside her calfskin slippers. “That is nonsense,” she retorted, giving her voice a rousing note. “I don’t fear you in the least. Why should I?” But, just in case, she took a step back.
“Because you know in your heart that I will eventually persuade you to do as I want. Because you can’t resist me.”
He reached out and caught her hand, giving her knuckles a gentle nip before she could react and pull it away again. His mouth burned her skin. She felt her body respond, softening, readying itself for his. No, no, this was not the time to be ruled by her desire!
“I can resist you perfectly well,” she retorted, trying not to sound breathless.
He smiled, that so-handsome Henry smile. And yet he was different…. That was when Jenova realized that his hair was a little tousled, his tunic a little rumpled. Henry, who was always immaculate, was far from it. And when had he last asked for hot water, for one of his daily baths? Jenova, who had longed to see him mussed, realized with despair that it only added to his appeal. It gave him a vulnerable air that made her want to take him in her arms and comfort him.
Jesu, what was she going to do with him?
“Can you resist me?” he said. “Let me see.” He came closer, but she edged away. “I only want to kiss your lips. They are so sweet, Jenova. They taste of wild fruit. The sweetest and juiciest berries, all lush and red. But wild at heart and wanton, like you in my arms. I want to kiss them, and then I want to kiss your—”
“Henry…” she breathed in anguish, wanting to look away, wanting to stop listening. Knowing that every word he spoke was drawing her deeper into love with him.
“You are not like any of the others, Jenova.”
