That ought to have reassured her, yet Natalie was the farthest thing from calm. She felt herself teetering on the brink of irrationality. “I don’t want you to buy me things! I can do it myself!”

Turning away, she grabbed a pile of folded rags from the counter and knelt to mop up the puddles of milk with frantic sweeps. White dots were scattered across the stone floor, along with smears of blood near the chair. If it took all night, she would wipe away every last trace of the incident. She would scrub and clean and scour as she’d done after the massacre …

Hadrian reached down and drew her to her feet. He flicked the rag from her grip. Then he folded her against him, tucking her face into the lee of his shoulder, his fingers cradling the back of her head. “It’s all right, my dear,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe now.”

His manner radiated a quiet, reassuring protectiveness. Nevertheless, Natalie stood rigidly in the circle of his arms, her breathing taut and shallow. Flashes of Bert’s menacing face merged with that of the soldier at the massacre until they both seemed one and the same. She didn’t want to dredge up that terrible memory from the buried depths of her soul. Nor did she seek comfort.

It was her cross to bear, not Hadrian’s.

But his muscled form provided a safe harbor from the outside world. He wore no coat or cravat, only a cambric shirt and black breeches. His body heat penetrated her robe and nightdress and skin, reaching to the very center of her being. The painful knot inside her began to unravel, rising to her throat in a choked sob.

She swallowed hard in an effort to displace the lump. But once unleashed, that one cry turned into a torrent that proved impossible to control. A deluge of tears breached the wall of her willpower. Her knees crumbled, and she buried her face in his shirt, grateful that the strength of his arms kept her from dissolving into a spineless heap.

His embrace became her anchor in the storm of weeping. All the while he stroked her hair, murmuring to her, though she knew not the meaning of his words. She was too lost in a sea of anguish to fathom anything beyond the dreadful images in her mind.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” she cried, as the wild tide inside her crested. “I didn’t. Why did he have to attack me?”

The hand on her back paused for a moment before again soothing away her tension. “Hush, now. He’s gone. I’ll protect you from harm. You’ve nothing to fear anymore.”

Hadrian’s firm, coaxing voice summoned Natalie back from the void. Beset by one last convulsive shudder, she took the folded handkerchief that he pressed into her hand, using the square of linen to wipe her damp face. Sanity trickled back into her brain, bringing her to an awareness that she’d been bawling in the arms of a duke.