At least it couldn't be said that they were doing anything completely inappropriate. Only marginally, and not behind closed doors, which would have been more of a scandal. Honestly, she was glad precious few people knew about her pregnancy, short as it had been. That would have been the biggest scandal. The intelligent woman from Oxford having a child out of wedlock would have given half of England something to talk about. She was glad to have avoided that.

What she hadn't avoided were the lingering emotions, the fear of attachment... and the subsequent attachment that had happened without her noticing. She blamed it on how much time they spent together, the work they'd been doing. Half of the time, their world simply revolved around, well... them, and Helen would have it no other way.

She allowed him to take her hand, slowly wrapping her fingers around his, holding him, letting him hold her. It all felt so nice, so forbidden, like they were adolescents in an alley instead of adults just past their prime of life.

In the morning, regret would seep in for the possible damage she was doing to their relationship. Friendship. But right now, she was enjoying the comfort. It was rare enough that she accepted physical contact. Rarer still when she sought it out so freely.

"What are we doing tomorrow evening?"

Not "you," not "I." We.