By Design by Madeline Hunter

almost called for Mark to tell him they mustrun. Rhys had gone to Westminster, to report that he had them. The meal had just been a gesture to lull them into complacency. To fatten them up for the kill.
    Run to where, though? That consideration always intruded, and forced more rational thoughts. She had no real evidence that he knew who she was or the crimes she could prove. None at all. She was letting her imagination unhinge her judgment. If Mortimer suspected, he need not have sent Rhys to the tile yard. His guard could have found her there as easily as here.
    She debated it back and forth, over and over, trying to decide what to do. The sun set on her agitation, taking the choice out of her hands. Mark laid their pallets near the kitchen hearth, and soon fell asleep on his.
    She paced the hall, sick to her stomach, listening through the silence for the sounds of horses and boots.
    Finally she grew exhausted from the fear. She went out through the garden to the well, to wash off the clay and the soils of cooking.
    The city had gone to bed. It was very quiet now, very peaceful. That calmed her. Hidden by the night and the wall, she slipped her arms up through the gown's broad neckline, and let the bodice and shift fall around her hips so she could wash more thoroughly.
    The cold water felt good. It enlivened her skin. The night air dried her with a subtle chill, making her very alert.
    Suddenly she sensed him. He was here, in the garden. Sitting at the table, under the tree. She did not turn and look, she just recognized his presence.
    He had been there all along. He had returned through the garden portal much earlier. The whole time that she washed herself, he had been silently watching in the moonlight.
    She quickly pulled her shift up to cover her breasts. She heard him move, and rise, and walk toward her.
    “You should have said something, and made your presence known,” she said accusingly.
    “I couldn#x0027;t. My heart was in my throat.”
    She fumbled to find the shift's armholes. He came up behind her and reached around, doing it for her. His arms encircled and enclosed even as they aided. Heart pounding, she shoved her arms through.
    Rhys's fingertips brushed her shoulder, making her tremble.
    She stepped aside, so he would not seem so close. “Did you go to Westminster?”
    “I went to the Guildhall. Why did you think I had gone to the palace? No one works there this late.”
    “I thought perhaps you went to answer that summons.”
    “I did, but not tonight.”
    She still fumbled clumsily with the gown. He watched. She got the sense that he could see more of her than she of him. His attention left her so exposed that she might have been standing naked beside him.
    “If you know about that summons, you were still here when the messenger came. I have wondered about that. Did he offend you? Is that why you left?”
    She finally got the gown up. She set it on her shoulders with relief, but still felt naked. “He was offensive enough, but that is not why I left.”
    “Then why?”
    “Because I did not want to stay. I did not want it to continue. But it appears that you did not understand that. Your vanity has put too much weight on a few kisses. I meant nothing by them.”
    “I have kissed often enough to know what they meant. Have you?”
    “Often enough, as you say. To my mind.”
    He reached out and brushed his fingers on her mouth. “Except that you never kissed back before, because you did not want to.”
    She turned her face, but his hand did not fall away. His fingertips lingered on her skin.
    Best to have it out now.
    “You want me to sleep with you, don't you? You lied at the tile yard. You said that you did not intend that.”
    “I will never force you, pretty dove. But I will not pretend that what passes between us is not there.”
    She forced herself to angle away from his touch, and break the contact. “Nothing passes between us. I do not like men in that way.”
    “You like this man in