Chapter 15
Margaretha
Pressing my fist against my stomach, I twisted the knob to the library.
Friedrich was already seated and studying the set of papers from our first French lessons when I lowered myself into the chair beside him.
He didn’t look up, and I didn’t speak, letting him study without interruption.
It seemed he was still in his aloof humor, but today I was grateful for it.
The less to do with him, the better my stomach fared.
When Friedrich had nearly finished running through the papers I’d composed, I held out a narrow book. “You’re making quick gains. What if we move on to this French reader?”
As he grasped the book, his satisfied smile was replaced with shock when he took in my features. “Margaretha, you’re pale!”
I self-consciously touched my fingers to my temple, trying to laugh off his worry. “Is it as bad as all that?”
“Not at all,” he said, though his brow was still furrowed in concern. “But are you sure you should be out of bed? You seem unwell.”
“I’m well enough to tutor you.” I folded my shaking hands in my lap. “’Tis stomach pains and nothing more.”
“But you’re shivering. Can I move you closer to the fire?”
He stood, but I caught his sleeve to stay him. “Truly, I am well enough.”
“Do you need food? Can I get you anything?”
I pressed my free hand into my belly, feeling all the worse for his transformation from indifference to eager solicitation. “Friedrich, I beg you not to worry over me.”
His voice was nearly a whisper when he answered. “I can’t help it.” His eyes dropped to my fingers still clutching his sleeve, and I realized the familiarity of such a touch. Releasing his shirt from my trembling grip, I felt his gaze studying me.
“Let’s put off our lessons until next week.” He tapped his thumb against the book. “It will give you time to strengthen your stomach before I expose you to any more of my atrocious French.”
I attempted to press back a smile, but it broke free. His cheek tucked with his answering smile.
“Very well,” I agreed. “We can be done for the day.” I stood and held my hand out for the book, but Friedrich secured it against his chest, raising his eyebrows as he nodded toward my palm.
“That wound has taken a long time to heal.”
My cheeks heated, and I hid my burned hand behind me. I reached for the book with my other hand, but Friedrich anticipated me, shifting the book behind his back.
“May I see it?” he asked.
“My burn?” I chuckled to conceal my embarrassment. “Whyever for? Don’t you trust me to tend my own wounds?” I snatched for the book behind him, but he deftly pulled it away, leaving me with my arm nearly wrapped around him, our faces close together.
Our eyes met, and I read his open sincerity when he said, “I trust you. But do you trust me?”
I searched his face. Artless. Guileless. I wholly trusted Friedrich.
With a deep breath, I held out my injured hand for his inspection. He took it into his own, angling my palm to better catch the light of the fire. “This looks fresh. Almost like you’d ripped the scab—”
On instinct, I jerked my hand away, then smoothed my skirts as if to smooth over my awkwardness.
Friedrich’s momentary distraction left the French book sitting loosely in his hand, and I seized it before moving several good steps out of his reach and thumbing through the book to avoid meeting his eyes.
“You may be right about my health. Let’s forgo our studies until I’m recovered. ”
“Certainly.” He retrieved his hat from his chair but stopped in front of me.
“I want you to know . . .” He paused and swallowed. “If you ever needed help or if there was ever a time you wished to confide in me, I’d do my best to assist you . . . if you needed me.”
My eyes stung, and I had to resist the urge to rub my nose.
Nodding, I swallowed back the tightness in my throat, but the renewed ache in my stomach could not be quelled.
The pain was like a knife puncture with each clip of Friedrich’s shoes on the stone floor as he moved toward the door. Why did he have to be so kind?
“Friedrich.” His name spilled out without thought.
He turned and waited, one hand still on the knob.
“There is something I must tell you.” My pulse pounded at my temples as he stepped toward me, his brows arched with curiosity.
“I . . . It’s just that . . .” I licked my bottom lip.
“You know of Samuel’s capture, of course.
” I began pacing. Was I doing this? Was I truly about to admit my deception to him?
“Remember, he is my brother. My blood and kin. Think of my duty to him, my affections for him, and perhaps it will render what I am about to say a little less repulsive to you.”
Friedrich raised an eyebrow.
Fear and shame threatened to stop my tongue. But no. He deserved to know the truth.
After a deep breath, I continued. “I must confess I’ve had no real intention of learning to hunt.
That is, it was not my primary motive for our lessons.
While I have received training of a sort with you, it is not the kind you’d planned.
Mistress Hatzfeld,” I took the coward’s way out, blaming her, “knows my value in the marriage market of Brussels. Knows I’m poised to make an excellent match, a powerful match that could save my brother, if only I could learn the .
. . womanly arts . . . of-of flirtation. ”
I peeked a glance at Friedrich, but his face was stone.
Releasing the French book, I took to wringing my hands. “She conceived a plan in which I would study these arts by repeated trial and error. With . . . you. I confess there was a great deal of error.” I laughed nervously.
Ceasing my pacing, I leaned against the sturdy oak chair, my strength sapped by the effort of my confession.
Friedrich stayed silent.
And silent still.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dark. “So, the entire time I’ve been teaching you to hunt, you’ve been trying to bait me?”
I pressed my lips inward and nodded.
His jaw went taut, and he whirled around, turning his back on me. The rapid rise and fall of his lungs kept me in agony as I awaited his inevitable anger.
Then I noticed his shoulders shake. He was sniffing. Was he crying? That was worse than anger.
“Friedrich, please forgive me. I cannot offer enough apologies.” Eliminating the distance between us, I placed a hand on his arm, and he turned toward me, but instead of crying, he was laughing. Laughing!
“What is so amusing?” I furrowed my brows, irritated. I should have been relieved instead of feeling like the subject of a joke I did not understand.
He leaned against the door with another chuckle. “I apologize, Countess. It’s just that I pity poor Samuel if his fate rests on your skills as a temptress.” He laughed out the last word. “Dressing in maids’ clothes? Plowing into a thicket? Yes, those are the marks of a seductress in the making.”
My embarrassment burned hot, turning to anger.
“Any other man wouldn’t have required such .
. . excessive designing. Amiable conversation and a soft smile really ought to have been enough, but for you—stone cold and prejudiced as you are—I had to resort to the extreme.
” My mind accused me of going too far, but I wasn’t done yet.
“Do you know how humiliating it was, working to attract even a spark of your notice? I would never have endured it if it weren’t for Samuel.
You mock my abilities, but you ought to measure your own.
You haven’t even the skills to carry on a conversation, let alone entice a woman to love you. ”
Friedrich’s smile disappeared, and he wheeled toward the door, twisting the knob and pulling it half open before he paused. Taking a few deep breaths, he gently clicked the door closed again and turned toward me, his eyes lowered to the ground.
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have provoked you, Margaretha.” His words were deliberate and slow.
My name on his tongue was water, cool and sweet, dousing the flames of my anger.
“Friends again?” He held out a rigid hand, and I took it, accepting his unexpected offer of reconciliation. His hand relaxed, surprising me further when his thumb traced slow circles over my skin. He gently pulled me toward him until my legs bumped into his.
“I will forgive you your deception if you will forgive my boorish attack on your efforts,” he said. “It is noble that you want to save your brother. He’s blessed to have a sister so willing to help him.”
With one hand still holding mine, he lifted his other to brush back the hair at my temple and tuck it behind my ear.
I stilled under his touch. The buzz, the hum during our ride to the mines returned.
As his fingers lingered at the hollow of my ear, then cautiously skimmed down my neck to my collarbone, my eyes flashed to his face.
His gaze remained lowered, watching his fingers trace the skin of my neck.
What was he playing at? This couldn’t be real, could it?
He spoke softly. “But you don’t need training to win a man’s admiration.
Your goodness can’t be hidden beneath your quiet facade.
It is always there, brimming, almost begging men to love you.
” He lifted his chin, and our gazes locked, my breath becoming ragged as his eyes held me captive.
When he slowly leaned his face toward mine, my mind was in tumult.
Had Friedrich just admitted to loving me?
Wasn’t he angry? Did he truly forgive me? Was he really about to kiss me?
Was I about to kiss him?
I didn’t move toward him or away, didn’t incline or duck my head.
I wouldn’t kiss him, but I wouldn’t stop him from kissing me.
I closed my eyes and waited.
And waited.
Until I opened my eyes to find Friedrich a few steps away, leaning against the door with his arms folded across his chest. His all-too-satisfied smile made my cheeks, neck, and ears burn with a sudden flood of heat.