“Very well.” Picking up the book he intended to return to the library—the nights were long with Cecilia so nearby—he limped into the corridor, and she walked at his side. Her floral scent drifted to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, silently, half closing his eyes. But when she glanced at him, he regarded her impassively. In the breakfast parlor, he placed his book on the dining table.
She glanced at it. “You enjoy reading, my lord?”
“It is a comfort to me in the field, when there are few others.”
“Military history,” she mused, studying the title. “Oliver does not read. He had access to the best education, but he treated it lightly, squandered it.” She turned away and helped herself to eggs and toast.
He heard the envy and frustration in her voice and wondered if she sometimes wished she’d been born a man and the heir. He certainly did not; her beauty was a soft grace on a tired morn. He thought of waking up at her side and reminded himself that he’d never needed soft comforts; he could wait for them now.
He filled his plate with fried trout, along with the eggs and toast. Their gazes met, and he saw the clear, intelligent blue of her eyes. Did she guess his thoughts? If she did, she would run away.
“You have offered your help with my wayward brother,” she continued, carrying her plate toward the table. “And you’re dealing with me, a reluctant wife. Why?”
He came to a stop across the table from her. “Your father earned my loyalty every day, Lady Blackthorne. He taught me strategy and ruthlessness; he taught me patience. He guided me in the ways of diplomacy and negotiation, helping me to understand the dark hearts of men.” Except that last time, when Michael had missed the signs, been fooled so utterly. Through a clenched jaw, he finished, “He saw in me a worthwhile soldier when my own father thought my calling was a mistake. I will not forget Lord Appertan’s belief in me.” Feeling that he’d revealed too much, he tried to lighten the mood. “Perhaps he was preparing me all along to come home to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “That is not true.”
“How do you know? He talked about you constantly, and your brother, of course, but the focus was always you. It was as if he knew we would suit each other.”
She bit her plump lip, and he almost forgot the point he was making, so instantly did he wish to lean across the table and steal a kiss.
“Now you are deluding yourself, hoping to persuade me to change my opinion of our marriage. My father and I often discussed my various suitors, and never once did he show a preference. He trusted me to make my own decision.”
“Believe what you will.”
“However he trained you to be a soldier,” she said, going back to the original, safe topic, “he didn’t give that to Oliver.”
“He never got the chance. He was about to come home when he died.”
He heard her gasp, saw her eyes moisten as she sat down heavily. In that moment, she was a vulnerable daughter, not a commanding woman.
“I—I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“It was to be a surprise.” His voice was gruff in memory as he took his seat. He hadn’t wanted his commander to retire, felt he could still learn from him. Those choices were taken away by one battlefield decision—a wrong one, made in good conscience. But Lord Appertan had always taught him to move on, that the past was the past.
“Thank you for telling me that,” she said softly.
She searched his face for a moment, and he kept his expression impassive, a lifelong study and so easy now, he didn’t have to think about it. They silently ate their breakfast.
When at last she rose, he knew she was leaving on her walk. “May I accompany you this morn?”
“I would prefer to be alone today if you do not mind.” She spoke firmly.
“Of course.”
He followed her to the door of the breakfast parlor and stood in the doorway, seeing two maids and a page cease whispering and look away with guilt. Cecilia would have to accept their marriage soon, both for the benefit of her reputation—and for his tenuous hold on his control.
Chapter 5
Cecilia spent the morning with her head in a whirl, finding it difficult to concentrate on her daily tasks. Even her walk brought her no relief. Lord Blackthorne was so difficult to read, his eyes calm rather than snapping with whatever emotion he felt. In such an offhand manner, he’d revealed that her father had been on his way home to them.
It hurt deep in her stomach to imagine that by one extra day, he’d lost his life, his chance to retire from the army. She wanted to be angry at God for such cruel fate, but every day, people suffered life’s traumas. She was no different.
Lord Blackthorne had surely acted out of honor and duty by marrying her; she should be grateful, and she was. But for the first time, it bothered her that she was someone’s idea of a debt, she, who’d been the toast of London her first Season, who had already been proposed to several times. Ah, she was a vain creature after all, that she’d want a convenient husband to confess he’d fallen in love with her letters, like the fictitious story she told others about their relationship. She’d boasted they’d debated books and art, that they’d even shared amusement over the mundane topics of raising sheep versus cattle. In reality, she’d told him about her life on the country estate, just hoping to have him keep writing more about the military world that her own father chose over his family.
At luncheon, there was a strained tension coming from Oliver toward Lord Blackthorne, whose topic of conversation left Parliament behind and switched to horses. Oliver reluctantly told him about several new additions to the stables, and they discussed the breeding of horseflesh for a while, from the demands of a military horse all the way down to what a lady required. Cecilia contributed where she wanted to, for she knew all about the cost of Oliver’s new horses.
“Lord Appertan, would you show me about the estate by horseback?” Lord Blackthorne asked. “I would like to continue this discussion and see more of the land your father described to me in such detail.”
