Page 14 of The Scent of Snow
Then why the shifting moods?
Are you happy? Are you happy with me?
“You work too much. I wish you could let go,” she whispered.
His hand moved again, now to her waist, and he pulled her closer until their chests met. “I only work with diligence because you love Portugal. If you hated it, I would apply myself just as hard to burn it.”
Anne’s breath caught. “That seems exhausting.” Gently, she brushed his bottom lip. “I would rather you just burn me.”
And then he did.
Chapter 6
PedropattedErebus’neckand removed his bridle. The moment he closed the stall’s door, the stallion started banging on it with renewed energy. He had pushed him harder in training today, to no use.
“Dante, put another bolt on his door.”
Pedro crossed the garden to the mansion’s front courtyard. Anne had planned a picnic. While he preferred to spend the winter afternoon with his wife in their bedroom, this was important to her. Last evening, he had allowed jealousy to rule him, but Diomedes had left for Paris in the morning, and he had to share some of Anne’s time with the other couples.
He had few subjects for conversation with Maxwell, and even after all this time, there was still a strain between them. Trying to keep the Englishman away from the love of his life and then stealing the man’s sister had that side effect. Nonetheless, he admired his integrity, and Anne loved him. Henrique would be there to fill the lulls in conversations, and the scientist could always be counted on to fluster the Englishman, which was at least entertaining.
The footman opened the door to reveal only Anne, Henrique, and the boy.
Pedro kissed his wife’s cheek and looked at the empty foyer. He despised tardiness. “Where are the others?”
Anne flushed. “Oh, Julia and Griffin went for a well-deserved ride. You know how they can use time for themselves, and I suspect Isabel is exhausted, what with her condition and all.” After speaking nonstop, she took a long breath. “No matter, I thought we could go ourselves and take the children.”
Pedro frowned, not falling for any of it. Whenever Anne was nervous, she started to babble. He addressed Henrique. “And what is your excuse?”
Henrique grimaced. “My feet are swollen. The pregnancy, you know. I’m sorry to miss such a great outing. Save some pastries for me.”
Anne turned to speak with the housekeeper.
Henrique elbowed his side and whispered. “Remember what I said yesterday. When everything fails, just kiss her senseless.”
Pedro narrowed his eyes as Henrique escaped to the tranquility of Pedro’s home. It would be a cold day in hell before he took counsel from a libertine about how to deal with his wife.
The housekeeper gave Anne a picnic basket and left.
Anne’s ploy was as transparent as a winter lake. She was a terrible liar, and he, the best of all.
Pedro raised his brows. “This wasn’t the plan.”
“Oh, well, I guess I can take the children myself.” Anne’s sigh was fleeting, and her shoulders deflated. Her fingers furiously traced the patterns on her picnic basket.
Pedro watched those fingers work, knowing they would be skinned raw if she went alone. He eyed the lawn and exhaled. Sometimes, in war, a general had to execute a flawed strategy due to constraints beyond his control. When that happened, he did it efficiently, dispassionately, and with minimal casualties.
So Pedro nodded tersely, caught the basket in his left hand, and offered Anne his arm.
Anne’s smile lit up the courtyard, and she curtsied. “Thank you, my lord, but Sr. Antonio will be my escort this afternoon.”
The boy’s grin was an infuriating mixture of sullen and smug. Pedro narrowed his eyes, returning the stare until the boy dropped his gaze to his feet.
Anne’s laugh was a little strained. “You will escort the lovely Princess Clara.”
Who? Pedro thought. Anne scrunched her face and pointed her chin down. He followed her gaze. Julia’s daughter, all three feet of her, studied him.
Appalled, Pedro glanced at both sides. Why had he left his flanks unguarded like this?
