Page 58 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I said that you should not apologize, and I meant it.” She leaned to the side, trying to peer at his face, her lips just brushing his temple. “Are you feeling better?”
He could smell her perfume and the pleasant grassy smell of her. He nodded, a bit dazedly, unable to find words yet.
“Good.”
Her hands ran along his arm, soothing him as if he were a skittish horse. He relaxed, letting her do as she pleased. He could not lie. It felt wonderful. Sitting on a dirt floor, a fire dying before them and Freya at his back, rocking him slightly as she caressed his arm, was the most wonderful he’d felt in a while.
He huffed in amusement. “If my brother could see me now…”
“What would he say?”
He shook his head. “He would probably tease me about nestling in your bosom like a baby.”
Freya stiffened, her hands halting their rhythmic hypnotic movement. Eric regretted saying a word. He tried again to sit up, but she tightened her hold on him, resuming her touches. She expelled a breath against his skin, and his neck broke out in goosebumps. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
He tensed, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “What…don’t you mind?”
“You. Leaning against me.”
“Oh…” He moved his head slightly and then froze again as the back of his head brushed against the swell of her breast. “I’m sorry.”
“When will you stop apologizing?” she asked with a tired huff.
“I just…I do not know…”
“If I am uncomfortable with something, I will tell you.”
“All right then.”
They sat in silence for a while, just watching the flames. Finally, Eric stirred, “I should stoke the fire, or else, it will go out.”
“Oh, of course.” Freya finally let go of him, and he stood up regretfully to add more logs to the fire and check on the horse. They had nothing to feed him, but he did not seem hungry. In fact, he seemed to have fallen asleep.
Eric ran a hand down his coat, smoothing it down. “Goodnight, fair beast,” he murmured before returning to Freya. She had not lain down again but seemed to be waiting for him. As soon as he came to a stop by their makeshift bed, she held her hands out to him.
With a smile he could not have held back if he tried, he folded himself back into her arms. She wrapped them around his chest, and they sat like that, staring into the fire.
“Do...” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, please, go ahead.”
“All right...do you often encounter such a reaction to your...scar? Is that why you are so sensitive about it?”
“I am notsensitive!” he protested.
“All right, let me rephrase. Are people often overly conscious of your scar?”
He sighed. “I don’t know if they areoverlyconscious, but they do stare at it. Especially among theton. Perhaps it’s because there are not many in society who look as fearsome as I do.”
“Ido not find you fearsome.”
“Oh? All right, perhaps fearsome might be the wrong phrasing. How about ugly?”
“No! You’re not ugly either.”
“I do not know what you hope to gain by denying reality...” He turned his head to grin at her so that she would know he was joking. “I have a looking glass.”
