Chapter 40

No, that was wrong. She was a real wife. And she’d agreed that their lives wouldn’t be separated. They may not be in love, but if they were going to be sleeping in the same bed and being intimate physically then that didn’t mean she couldn’t help him out emotionally when that was needed.

“Cedric,” she said quietly, looking up into his face, “what is it?”

She was very warm and he could smell wildflowers—her scent. And her eyes were as bright as the flames in the hearth. There was a crease between her fair brows: she was worried. She was worried about him. He wanted to tell her that there was nothing to worry about, that he was fine. More than fine. And he’d show her how fine he was, right now in fact, in that bed behind her, the bed where he’d probably been conceived.

But he wasn’t fine and he knew it.

The difficulty had started back in France, as they’d got on the plane. Or no, maybe it had started before then, when he’d heard her fears about herself, and he