Catherine's fingers hovered for a breath over his forehead before settling there, careful and light. His skin was warm beneath her touch.
"You're frowning," she whispered soundlessly, though he could not hear her.
Her thumb traced the crease between his brows, smoothing it as one would soothe a restless child.
And the question she had been fighting rose again, relentless and dangerous.
Had her heart already chosen him?
Otherwise… how could she endure staying beside a man who deceived her? How could she look at him and feel pain—not for herself, but for him? Why did the sight of his suffering, even in sleep, ache deeper than her anger?
Her fingers continued their gentle motion, brushing through the dark strands of his hair, easing the tension from his face.
She should not be doing this. She knew she should not. But she could not stop.
Then…
His lashes fluttered.
Her breath caught.
