‘Oh, very well.’ She wriggled one arm at a time out of the top surcoat, her eyes darting suspiciously around the room.
‘Are you looking for someone?’
‘What?’ She looked startled. ‘No, of course not.’
‘If you’re wondering about your uncle’s men, they’re staying with the cart in the barn. I’ve had some food sent out to them.’
‘Oh...good.’ Her gaze slipped past his shoulder, her cheeks reddening even more as she seemed to shrink down into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest the way she’d done during their first meeting. If she sank any lower, she’d disappear under the table. He had a feeling that asking her about it might lead to another argument, but he couldn’t exactly ignore her behaviour either...
‘Constance.’ He tried his best to sound non-confrontational. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted a hand to her mouth, looking distinctly guilty.
‘Then why are you sitting like that?’
‘This is how I sit.’
‘Since when?’ He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. It wasn’t how she’d sat the previous evening. In his experience, it wasn’t how anyone sat. ‘And why are you chewing your nails? It looks like you’re trying to bite your fingers off.’
‘I said it’s nothing.’ She dropped her hand and took a mouthful of stew instead. ‘There! Is that better?’
‘No. If something’s bothering you, then I’d like to know what it is. Maybe I can help.’ He twisted around, surveying the room for himself. If he wasn’t mistaken, a few heads turned in the opposite direction as he did so. One in particular, a dark-haired man with a scar down one side of his face, was marginally slower than the rest, catching his eye briefly before looking away.
‘It’s really nothing.’ Constance hunched her shoulders forward. ‘This stew is actually very good.’
‘Didn’t you just say you wanted us to be honest with each other?’
She looked up at that, her expression arrested, pausing with the spoon halfway to her lips. ‘I don’t like men looking at me.’ Her voice was a murmur.
‘I see.’ Except he wasn’t entirely sure that he did... ‘You mean you don’t like being admired?’
A look of anger flitted across her features. ‘It’s not admiration.’
‘Then what...?’
‘They’re not looking at my face.’
‘Who?’ He swung around, ready to do battle this time.
‘No one, at least not any more.’ She gave a crooked smile as he turned back around. ‘I think you scared them off the first time.’
‘Constance...’ He didn’t want to accuse her of overreacting. ‘Are you sure you’re not—?’
‘How would you like it if everyone stared at your chest?’ she burst out before he could finish. ‘How do you think it would feel?’
He regarded her steadily, considering the idea for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose I’d like it.’
‘Exactly.’ She tugged at the front of her gown as if she were trying to loosen it. ‘And don’t tell me I’m imagining things because I’m not. I see the looks. My body started to change just after we were married. I wanted so much to be like Isabella and Emma, but I couldn’t seem to stop growing. I’ve tried not eating, but it makes no difference. I hate my body and the way men look at me.’
‘How do they look at you?’
She looked embarrassed. ‘Isabella says it’s like dogs slobbering over a piece of meat.’
‘Ah.’ He glanced over his shoulder again and swore under his breath. The idea that she might feel uncomfortable with her size had never occurred to him. Why would it when he found her so attractive? Now that he was paying attention, however, he realised that there were only two other women in the room, the serving girl and an elderly woman behind the counter. No wonder she was feeling self-conscious. ‘Not all men, surely?’
‘No, but enough. It frightens me.’
He frowned as a new thought occurred to him. ‘Have I ever frightened you?’