Trace laid his wife down on the bed and lifted the coverlet over her. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and his stomach clenched.
He loved her. And he might have ruined his chances with her. If he told her that now, it would probably seem like another attempt at manipulation, so he'd stopped short of saying the words.
He loved her so much it hurt. With an ironic twist to his mouth, he wondered if another man had ever been so miserable to discover he loved his wife.
If they got out of all this—which wasn't looking likely as he was currently under the magical command of an evil count—would Anaisa agree to stay with him? Even if she did, could he repair the trust he'd broken?
He'd learned only a short time ago that she'd been raised as a Count's daughter, at the height of wealth and privilege. How in the world could she be happy with a simple farmer like him?
