22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Jethro spent a restless night. He couldn’t get his wife’s face out of his mind. The desolation written all over it. The desolation he had caused.

He kept reliving that moment. How he wished he could rewind the clock and have a second chance to respond to Cassandra’s embrace.

Almost from the first, Jethro had been attracted to his wife. The spark in her eyes that hinted at the intelligence within. The way the sunlight made her brown hair appear a myriad of different shades. And if he got close enough, he could catch a whiff of lavender from about her person.

Ever since the day he’d found her crying, Jethro had wanted to take his wife in his arms, but he had held back. Unwilling to presume upon their relationship. Believing his advances would be unwelcome, as he feared she still harboured some affection for the curate.

How could he ever forget what his mother had taught him the day she had caught him stealing a kiss from the chambermaid? She had scolded him for his ungodly behaviour, told him never to take advantage of those under his protection, and boxed his ears so thoroughly that he could almost feel them ringing when he recalled her words.

No. He would never force unwanted attentions on Cassandra, even though she was his wife. They had made a marriage of convenience, and he felt honour bound not to demand more from her .

Jethro had not expected Cassandra to take the first step toward intimacy by throwing her arms around him. She had taken him completely by surprise.

No woman, other than his mother, had ever suggested they might welcome his embrace. It had been so long since he’d been hugged that he’d forgotten how it felt. Not that a hug from his mother had felt like that.

And what had he done? Nothing. His arms had hung limp at his side, his ears ringing as if his mother had just boxed them, and her voice drowning out his desire to respond with the fear of letting her down.

But it was his wife he had let down, not his mother.

Cassandra was not a chambermaid, but the woman he had promised to love. And he could tell from the hurt in her eyes he’d disappointed her by not responding to her embrace.

By the time he came out of his memory-induced stupor, she’d gone, but the guilt of having failed her remained.

The bleakness was still evident when he faced her over breakfast the next morning.

“I want to apologise—”

Cassandra raised her gaze from the plate of toast in front of her.

“What for?”

“Upsetting you last night.”

“There is nothing to apologise for. It was the impulse of a moment, and I shouldn’t have succumbed to it. I overstepped the line, and I’m sorry for it.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Bother. That had come out all wrong. It sounded as though he regretted her hugging him, when nothing could be further from the truth.

How could he convince her he had wanted to hold her without telling her why he hadn’t returned her embrace? Because he had been paralysed by fear, and the shame that had hung over him ever since kissing that chambermaid over ten years earlier. It sounded ridiculous, even in his own ears.

To confess the truth would be too embarrassing.

“You took me by surprise. I—”

She held up her hand to stop him. “Please don’t. There is nothing more to say on the subject.”

Cassandra continued to eat her breakfast in silence, and Jethro let her. Her disappointment with him was too fresh. He needed to give her time.