“I’m fine, my…Branford.” I sighed internally, frustrated with my ineptitude to remember how to refer to my husband.
“Fine.” He snorted. “You don’t look fine.”
I tried to turn my head away from him, but his grip held firm to my chin and didn’t allow me to move. I could only look away from him, my gaze focusing on the fire.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Alexandra,” he demanded, and I felt tears sting my eyes yet again. All the words I had considered over the hours while I waited for him were gone from my head, and I didn’t know what I should say.
“Tell me!” he said again, his voice more urgent. He shifted his head to look me in the eyes again.
“I just…” My breath hitched in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I managed to get the words out through my increasing tears. “I st-still don’t know…wh-wh-what’s expected of me.”
Branford closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
“I know, Alexandra,” Branford finally said. He opened his eyes, and I could see his concern in them. “I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a husband to you thus far. I’m not exactly sure what it means to be good to you, but I know what I have done isn’t enough. I didn’t prepare you, and we’ve hardly spoken at all, but it’s late now, and you look so tired. I should think of your health first, and now is not the proper time to discuss all of this.”
He waved his hand between us before reaching into his hair again. When he retracted his fingers, his hair stood out all over his head and even dropped down onto his forehead. I took a moment to rein in my tears before speaking again.
“Are you still angry with me?” I inquired softly, somewhat fearful of his answer. Branford blew out a large breath before shaking his head.
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“No, I’m no longer angry with you, Alexandra.”
“Do you wish to go to…to bed now? Or would you like something to drink first? Or—”
“I think bed would be just fine,” Branford said, halting my words. “I’m glad there’s nothing pressing for us to do in the morning, or you would be very tired. I should have told you not to wait up for me, Alexandra. I’m supposed to take care of you, and I’ve failed within the first day. Please forgive me.”
“Of course, Branford,” I replied, not knowing what else I should say.
Branford told me to prepare for bed, so I went to change behind the screen. Though I could not see him, I could hear Branford removing his clothing on the other side, near the basin. I heard the splash of water as he dipped his hands in and realized I had not warmed it from the water in the kettle and knew it must be quite cold. I pulled my nightdress over myself quickly and ran to the kettle by the fire. I brought it to the basin and poured it in as Branford looked at me sideways with his half smile.
“The water isn’t hot anymore,” I said apologetically, “but it’s still warm. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before you started to wash.”
“That’s quite all right,” Branford said softly. His shirt had been discarded on the back of a nearby chair, and he was dressed only in the fine linen trousers he had worn to bed the night before. At least, they looked to be the same. I averted my eyes and thought I could hear him snicker softly to himself and then sigh.
“Alexandra?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, Branford?” I still didn’t turn back to look at him.
“Would you help me?” he asked.
“Help you, my lord?” I closed my eyes tightly, knowing I had said the wrong thing again. All my life I had been taught to address the noblemen as such and trying to address just this one nobleman differently when we were alone seemed impossible. My frustration at addressing him incorrectly distracted me so I couldn’t think too long about what he might need from me.
“Yes, please,” Branford replied. “Come here.”
I took a couple of steps toward him but kept my eyes to the ground. I could see his bare feet on the wooden floor, sticking out of the ends of his pale-colored trousers.
“Here,” he said, and I had to look up to see what he was offering. In his hand was the washing cloth, soaked in the lukewarm water. “Will you wash me?”
“Wash you?” My voice squeaked.
“If you would, yes,” he said. I was met with his crooked half smile when I looked up at him. I tried not to focus on his exposed skin any more than I had to but quickly realized I would have no choice but to look at him if I were to get him properly cleaned.
“Of course my…Branford.”
Branford took a step back to give me better access to the water. He turned so he was facing me directly, his arms hanging casually at his sides while he looked at my face. I realized I was still staring at his eyes and quickly looked away, feeling the ever-persistent flush covering my face. I didn’t understand why he would ask me to do this now, right after he had just said it was late. My mind raced to find the answer as I prepared for the task ahead of me but discovered none. I dipped the cloth in the water, then pulled it out and wrung it to stop the dripping. My hand was shaking a little as I reached up and drew the cloth over one side of his face. He leaned into my touch as I trailed the cloth over his skin, back around his ear and over his neck. I repeated the motion on the other side before moving to his shoulders, desperately hoping he did not notice the trembling in my hands and think me completely inept.
His muscles flexed beneath my hand, and I was reminded of his firm grip around my waist as we rode to Saint Anthony’s Abbey and the feel of his warm body pressed against mine as we traveled on horseback. I was finding breathing a little more difficult and didn’t understand why my heart was beating so much harder than it had been before. My rapid heartbeat was strangely reminiscent of the fear I felt when we entered the Grand Hall to meet King Camden, but I didn’t feel afraid now. Again I considered his motives for asking me to touch him in this way and came to the most obvious conclusion—if he wanted me to touch him like this out of bed, he was going to want me to touch him more once we were in bed. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I ran the cloth up and down each of his arms before rinsing it out again.