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Her acceptance of Matthew, his coldness at her reluctance, were too raw to allow her any composure. She could get through this evening somehow, but not if the others insisted on discussing betrothals and wedding plans.
Aunt Susan looked at her and whispered something to Lawyer Stone. Henrietta caught the phrase, ‘Maidenly nerves…’ and felt her blush deepen. She removed her hand from Matthew’s arm, curtsied politely to him and sat down on a settle in a shadowy corner.
The maids had laid a small table for supper instead of the long oak trestle which, with only four to sup, was too long for easy conversation. Henrietta suspected that her aunt regretted the decision now because she longed to make a fine show for the new master. Henrietta regretted it too. Not because of the show but for the forced intimacy of a cosy supper.
Despite the warmth of the evening the fire burned brightly in the grate, sending the shadows dancing, animating the embroidered figures on the hanging tapestries as Letty moved around the room lighting the candles in the wall sconces, standing on tip toe to reach them with her wax taper.
Henrietta watched her aunt re-position the candles on the table to set off the Venetian glass to its best advantage. Pewter gleamed with a dull sheen, reflecting colour from the bowl of apples set in the centre of the table, the last few from the autumn store.
The big room had shrunk to a rich, glowing circle around the table. It should have been the perfect setting for two pairs of lovers, Henrietta thought. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she was unaware of Matthew’s closeness until he was standing by her side.
Henrietta glanced up, startled. In her agitation in the bedroom she hadn't noticed that he had changed out of his riding clothes. He was still in black, but the light gleamed on the richness of silk and the severe white bands had been replaced by a linen collar bordered deeply with fine lace.
The light was kind to his face, she thought, softening the angular cheekbone, sensually shadowing the uncompromising line of his lips. Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she looked at him, a half-smile trembling on her lips. In any other circumstances the thought of marriage with a man like this would have seemed the answer to her dreams, the lover that the poets spoke of. But Matthew wanted a sensible housekeeper, a good mother for his children. If he'd wanted her affection he would have spoken of love. The shade of his first wife, that unknown woman, seemed to fall between them again, and Henrietta realised her feelings must have shown on her face as she saw his expression alter.
‘A glass of wine might cheer you,’ he said coolly. He handed it to her, then remained where he was.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Henrietta gave herself a little shake. Common courtesy demanded she behave better than this or he would think her a sulky child. If only she could explain to him the tangle of emotions that tied a knot around her heart. In just one day she had lost her home and regained both it and a husband; been shaken by her own unwelcome response to this stranger…
‘You are in great beauty tonight, Henrietta.’ Matthew’s voice was too low for the others to hear him. ‘Come, we can deal better together than this.’
Henrietta swallowed hard, her pulses fluttering as Matthew pulled up a low stool and sat in front of her, foiling her modestly lowered eyes by confronting her. He picked up the hand that was not holding the glass, turned it over and began tracing the fine blue veins in her wrist with surprising delicacy for so big a man.
‘You're not scared of me, are you?’ His voice was husky, his gaze compelling her to respond.
‘No…’ But she was, although not as he meant. He was only being kind, trying to soothe her fears, but if he seduced her now with these soft words, gentle caresses, she would be so vulnerable to him. And what she was doing was for duty only. To believe anything else was possible was purest folly.
Matthew bent his head over her hand. His lips were warm on her wrist where the blood beat and they traced lingeringly over the sensitive skin. The wine slopped in her glass and she put it down quickly on the settle beside her, her breath tight in her chest. His hair curled crisply at the nape, inviting her touch, more than anything she wanted to taste the texture of it with her fingertips. Hesitantly she reached out her hand then snatched it back as his lips reached the sensitive crook of her elbow under the rich fall of lace.
‘Sir!’
‘Madam?’ His eyes glinted dangerously in the muted light. ‘What's amiss?’ As if he didn't know exactly what he was doing to her.
‘You are too hasty, sir.’
‘On the contrary, I am a very patient man. Especially as I suspect you do not find me as unacceptable as I first feared – or as you would have me believe.’
Henrietta was saved from rebutting this dangerous assertion by Aunt Susan’s appearance at their side. The table finally set to her satisfaction, she must have realised that her niece was enjoying an intimate and unchaperoned conversation.
Matthew regained his feet with unhurried ease. ‘Madam, I perceive you are about to rebuke me.’
It was precisely what she was about to do, Henrietta realised, but his smile took the wind from her sails. ‘Sir Matthew, you are mistaken.’
Henrietta realised incredulously that her aunt was simpering. Any other man caught kissing her niece's wrist in a shadowy corner would have received a sharp reprimand at the very least. ‘You are master of the house and must do as you wish. I merely came to tell you supper is served. Will you take your place at the head of the table?’
Matthew offered Henrietta his hand to help her rise and for the first time she noticed the ring on his left hand as the light caught it, igniting deep purple fires in its centre. ‘What a beautiful ring.’ And how unexpected in a man with such severe taste in dress.
‘An amethyst, said to be a sure remedy against intoxication.’ His eyes on her face were warm, appreciative, as he led her towards the table.
‘Surely, sir, you do not need such protection? You are not given to strong drink, are you?’ Henrietta asked demurely over her shoulder as he pushed in her chair for her. Some of the tension seemed to have left her. Perhaps it was the wine warming her blood.
> ‘There is more than one way to become intoxicated, madam. There is the intoxication of the senses, for one.’
Henrietta knew she blushed, but she was saved from reply by Aunt Susan. ‘Indeed yes. The feel of a fine velvet, the scent of roses on a warm June day – why, they're enough to turn one's head.’
‘The smell of a good venison pasty, more like,’ Lawyer Stone riposted. ‘I could eat an ox.’
‘Then carve the leg of lamb, Lawrence, I'm sure we are all ready for our supper. Sir Matthew, may I help you to the fricassee of chicken, or some carp perhaps?’
