"Other ladies have not had the benefit of being married to the gentleman in question," she replied with spirit. "Nor have they had reason to appreciate the courage and strength that such scars represent. I find myself proud rather than distressed by evidence of my husband's service to King and country."
The declaration struck him with such unexpected force that for a moment he could not formulate any response that would adequately convey his reaction to her words. Pride rather than distress—such a concept had not occurred to him during the years he had spent viewing his scars as marks of shame ratherthan badges of honor.
"Evangeline," he began, though his voice seemed to fail him before he could complete whatever sentiment he had intended to express.
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he said simply, though the words carried the weight of emotions too complex for more elaborate expression.
"For what?"
"For seeing something other than damage when you look upon what war has made of me."
Her smile in response to his quiet admission was gentle enough to break his heart, though it mended just as quickly under the warmth of her obvious affection.
"I see my husband," she said with such simple sincerity that it took his breath away. "Scarred, perhaps, but whole in all the ways that truly matter."
The moment stretched between them, heavy with implications and possibilities that neither seemed quite ready to acknowledge directly. Then Wellington, apparently deciding that he had allowed his humans sufficient time for whatever mysterious adult business they had been conducting, rose from his position on the hearth rug and padded over to insert himself between them with the sort of determined affection that brooked no argument.
"I believe our chaperone is indicating that this interview has continued long enough," Lucian observed with amusement as the dog nuzzled against Evangeline's skirts with obvious demand for attention.
"Indeed he is. Though I suspect he would make rather an unconventional duenna for future such conversations."
"Perhaps we should rely upon more traditional arrangements for any continued discussions of my military service and its lasting effects."
"Perhaps we should," she agreed, though her tone suggested she was not entirely convinced that traditional arrangements would prove superior to their current intimate circumstances.
"Shall we proceed to dinner?" he suggested, reaching for his shirt with movements that were perhaps more deliberate than strictly necessary. "I believe Mrs. Patterson has prepared something special to mark our survival of today's adventures."
"That sounds delightful," Evangeline replied, though her attention seemed focused more upon watching him dress than upon considering the evening's culinary offerings. "Though I confess myself curious about whether you will share the details of your encounter with our attackers during dinner conversation."
"Such details might prove edifying without being entirely inappropriate for the dining room," he promised with a smile that felt more natural than any expression he had worn in years. "Though I suspect Wellington deserves the lion's share of credit for our successful resolution of the situation."
"Wellington was indeed heroic," she agreed, reaching down to scratch behind the dog's ears with obvious affection. "Though I believe his master showed considerable prowess in dealing with threats to his household."
The admiration in her voice as she spoke of his handling of their attackers filled him with a masculine satisfaction that had nothing to do with rational assessment of the situation and everything to do with primitive pleasure at being praised by a woman whose good opinion had become precious beyond measure.
"I am pleased that my skills have not entirely atrophied during my years of civilian life," he replied with deliberate understatement. "Though I confess myself less pleased that such skills proved necessary for protecting my wife from my cousin's machinations."
"Your cousin has proven himself to be a man of remarkably poor judgment," she observed with the sort of crisp disapproval that suggested Edmund would find little sympathy from the Duchess of Ravenshollow should their paths cross again.
"Indeed, he has. And I suspect today's events will prompt him to escalate his efforts in directions that may prove even more challenging to address through purely physical means."
"Then we shall address them through whatever means prove necessary," she replied with the sort of quiet determination that reminded him why he had found her so remarkable during their initial encounters. "Together."
The emphasis on that final word carried implications that extended far beyond mere tactical cooperation, suggesting a level of partnership and mutual commitment that their original arrangement had never encompassed. As he finished adjusting his cravat and offered her his arm for their descent to dinner, Lucian found himself reflecting upon the curious transformation that marriage and crisis had wrought upon his expectations for the future.
What had begun as a practical solution to mutual problems was evolving into something far more complex and infinitely more precious than either had initially anticipated. The woman who had accidentally discovered him in his private chambers, who had examined his scars with gentle curiosity rather than horrified revulsion, who had declared herself proud rather than ashamed of his service-related injuries—this woman was becoming essential to his happiness in ways that transcended mere convenience or companionship.
The future remained uncertain, fraught with challenges that Edmund's malice would undoubtedly multiply in the coming weeks and months. Yet as they made their way to dinner with Wellington padding contentedly beside them, Lucian found himself cautiously optimistic that whatever trials lay aheadmight be faced with greater success now that he no longer stood alone against the world's hostility.
Perhaps, he thought with wonder that was rapidly becoming hope, their marriage of convenience was indeed transforming into something worthy of the devotion that Evangeline's gentle touch had awakened in his long-dormant heart.
Chapter Fourteen
The gilt-edged card that arrived with the morning post bore the unmistakable seal of the Royal Household. Its cream-colored perfection gleaming against the silver salver as though it possessed some inherent luminescence designed to emphasize its extraordinary importance. Evangeline examined the direction with growing curiosity, noting the precise hand and elaborate script that marked it as a communication of considerable significance, though nothing in her previous experience had prepared her to recognize the full implications of such distinguished correspondence.
"Your Grace," Higgins announced with the sort of ceremonial gravity that suggested he understood the magnitude of what he was presenting, "this arrived by special messenger from London. The gentleman indicated that an immediate response would be anticipated."
