She holds back to him tightly while she meets the kiss, moving her body against his. She doesn't know how effective anything she says will be; the Lloyds have always carried their grievances deep, buried in the heart of them, unwilling and unable to forget. Begging and demanding and insinuating and seduction will only go so far, and past that she has few weapons.
Except that she loves him and she truly is frightened, not the blind thoughtless fear when she was held hostage, but a terrifying rational awareness of all the factors now, all the things that are converging to make this worse than anything that's come before it. Worse than his mother's murder, worse by far than his father's untimely death. This encompasses the whole colony, the whole planet -- has destablised the government, eroded the popularity of Arthur's kingship, and the Lloyd family, arguably the most powerful in the colony, now has a right to demand satisfaction.
So she kisses him as hard as she can, and winds her fingers in his hair, unbuttons his shirt with shaking hands. This won't stave off what's inevitable. The best she can hope for is delay.