She needed an outlet for her restless energy, and walking the floor had grown tiresome. Returning to her own chamber, she prepared for bed, beating the dirt from the gown she’d worn that day. She didn’t take off the fine linen she’d worn under the gown. At home, she slept nude, but Aelynn was a tropical climate. The weather here was too uncertain, even in summer. Or so she told herself. Mostly, she felt too vulnerable to be naked while Murdoch was building up a cloud of anger, frustration, and sexual hunger that would surely burst like a volcano should they meet in the hall. And she kept walking the hall. Too many thoughts and fears and desires raced through her for her to settle down. She paced the floor of the room she’d taken after giving Amelie the nursery. She knew when Murdoch led Pierre up the stairs from the bath. She should go down and help them. Normally, she would have. But she feared . . . What did she fear? Not Murdoch, not really. He might back off and slam the door, or ride off into the night, or do any of a number of things to put distance between them.
