“I was sixteen when a thief attacked me with a knife as I rode my horse, not far from my home. The world seemed a much darker place after that.”
“At least you rescued yourself. I could do nothing. I am not used to feeling ... helpless.” She looked away from him, hating that she couldn’t stop trembling.
“Yet you must have felt that last year, after it was apparent your brother was not up to managing the Appertan estates. You found a solution and triumphed.”
“Triumphed?” she echoed, glancing at him.
He was staring at her intently, the shadows flickering over half his face. She couldn’t place why her stomach fluttered and her pulse raced.
“You found a solution to your problems,” he replied. “You did it yourself.”
“With your help,” she said dryly.
He briefly bowed his head in acknowledgment.
“Why were you downstairs tonight?” she asked.
He looked grim. “To see what happened with your brother’s friends.”
“Did you think I should not have permitted the event?”
“Was that your decision?”
“No.” She sighed. “He is the earl. I fear I antagonized him in front of his friends tonight.”
“He deserved it.” He practically growled the words. “I regret that I was not close enough to intercept that fool who frightened you.”
“You stopped him. I am truly grateful. I’m sorry I did not yet say those words to you.”
Michael stared at her, masking his surprise. She’d suffered a trauma, yet she still tried to be polite, as if he were a stranger rather than her husband. He was both, he realized. “I did not take offense.”
And still he stared at her, this woman who was his wife yet not his wife. In the candlelight, her hair gleamed like a beam of moonlight, cascading down her back and around her shoulders like a cape. She was made to be worshipped, and, out of honor, he could do nothing.
And he could do little to comfort her either. He saw that she kept touching the locket she always wore around her neck, like a touchstone that helped orient her.
He needed to focus his mind back on his mission. “Will Lord Appertan be affected by what happened here tonight? Or will he take it in stride like a child who always wants what he wants?”
He saw her back stiffen, even as she turned away to pour herself a glass of water. Her hands still shook, and he yearned to hold her.
“You don’t understand him,” she said softly. “He has seen too much death at too young an age.”
Michael frowned. “Your mother didn’t die all that many years ago.”
“No, but Oliver’s twin, the first heir, was only ten when he died.”
Startled, Michael stared at her somber profile. “I did not know you had another brother. How did he die?”
“An accident, in India.”
He wanted more details but did not press her. There were things he didn’t choose to discuss either. Yet it surprised him that her father had not confided in him.
“Oliver was close to Gabriel, and when he died, Oliver ... changed. My mother became even more possessive of him, and my father thought it was time Oliver went to Eton, to ... get away. In some ways, I think my father should have waited a year, given Oliver time to grieve. He thought the change would do him good.” She glanced at him with faint amusement. “I think that is a male trait. A woman will usually let herself experience the grief until it lessens, while a man wants to forget it.”
But she wasn’t letting go of the grief, he saw that now. The sadness he’d sensed wasn’t just about her father, but the deaths of her family one by one. She didn’t want to control so much as to protect. She nourished a deep love for them, and the only one she had left was Appertan.
“It doesn’t mean a man forgets the tragedy itself,” he said.
“Oliver’s behavior is his own reaction to everything that’s happened,” she continued, “his own kind of grief.”
