Why it should matter what a nobleman thought of her, she couldn’t imagine. Yet it did matter, and she felt too drained to determine why.

Tilting up her chin, she blinked at him through matted lashes. Rather than exhibit distaste for her unrestrained lapse, he was frowning at her in concern, as if puzzling over something. Dear God, she’d been blathering in the midst of her weeping. What had she said?

Anxious to deflect any questions, she glided her fingers over the damp patch on his chest and the hard ridges of muscle. “I—I didn’t mean to be a watering pot all over your shirt. I seem to be forever ruining your clothing.”

“It keeps Chumley busy.” His gaze watchful, Hadrian glided his thumb over her moist cheek. “Are you quite certain you’re all right, Natalie?”

She managed a decisive nod. It was best to let him think that tonight’s incident with Bert was the sole source of her distress. “It’s just that … the groom startled me. I never expected anyone to be hiding in the shadows. All I wanted was a mug of hot milk.”

“Ah. I’ll wager you couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Either?”

One corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “I was reading in the library and came down to the kitchen in search of apple tarts. Cook knows they’re my favorite and she baked me some.”

“Oh.” Natalie realized she hadn’t even wondered why Hadrian had appeared at such an opportune moment. “I saw a plate of tarts on the shelf in the larder.”

“Then pray excuse me while I find them.”

With a gentle squeeze of her shoulders, he released her and headed across the kitchen. She felt bereft without his closeness. Her legs still rubbery, she sank onto the edge of the table, too depleted of energy to attend to the mess just yet. She blew her nose and then tucked his crumpled handkerchief into the pocket of her robe. How mortifying to have broken down like that! She didn’t know quite what had come over her. It wasn’t like her to lose control when she prided herself on being a strong, independent woman.

And to do so in front of Hadrian! What must he think of her?

It oughtn’t matter. Yet she couldn’t deny that it felt good to have a man to lean on. She had been alone for too long. Having grown up the only child of a widowed father who’d often included her in political discussions, she had always enjoyed conversing with men. But of late, there had been no one but Leo in her life—and as much as she loved the boy, he was no substitute for adult company.

When Hadrian returned, bearing a dish covered by a linen towel, she had recovered herself enough to stand up straight. “I suppose I shall have to warm another pot of milk. Would you care for some?”

“Actually, I believe we could both do with something stronger. Let’s go upstairs to the library. It’s warmer than this blasted cellar, anyway.”