Page 114 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
His mother gave him an apologetic and appreciative look. Henry nodded. Then he looked at Susan. ‘Will you find something to do?’
‘Of course.’ She was among the people he was watching over now. She tried to make her smile reassuring.
She did not see Henry again until she was changing for dinner in his room. He walked in when the maid was dressing her hair, with Samson in his wake. The maid stepped away, she had finished anyway.
‘You look beautiful.’ Henry crossed the room with long, quick strides then bent and kissed the back of Susan’s neck, as his hand touched her shoulder.
Susan saw her colour rise in her reflection.
He had already dressed for dinner. He must have used another room. He looked strikingly attractive, incomparably handsome. He smiled at her, through the mirror. She smiled too.
‘Do you need me for anything else, my lady?’
Susan looked at the maid. The term ‘my lady’ still came as a shock to her. ‘No, thank you.’
‘You have done a marvellous job with Susan’s hair, Sally,’ Henry acknowledged as the maid bobbed a curtsy.
Henry bent and kissed the back of Susan’s neck again. ‘Have you been lonely?’
‘No.’ She turned sideways in the chair. ‘I have begun sewing you a new shirt as your mother and sisters were sewing.’
A sound of humour escaped his throat, and his head declineda little in a slight nod. ‘Very industrious, but it sounds like torture.’
She smiled, stood up and wrapped her arms about his neck. ‘I missed you.’
He hugged her in return. ‘I missed you too. We will eat dinner and then come up to bed. As things are, no one will mind.’
Samson nudged at her hip, for some attention or to break her apart from Henry.
They separated.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you leaving off your spectacles?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, my hair looks better without them.’
‘You know I like you with and without them, just so we are straight on that point.’
‘I know.’
‘Come along, then.’ He grasped her hand and began to lead her from the room. ‘Samson, stay.’
When they walked outside the bedroom door, he let go of her hand. ‘Take my arm.’ He held up his forearm.
She wrapped her fingers about it.
‘You know you are the only woman who holds my arm and does not just lay her hand upon it…’
‘Am I doing the wrong thing?’
He smiled at her. ‘No, you are doing absolutely the right thing. That is why I offered my arm, only because I wished you to hold it just so.’
She leaned against him a little, as they walked.
When they entered the drawing room, his arm dropped. ‘Papa.’ He walked away from her, crossing the room to speak with his father.
