‘I know. But I wasn’t what he—’
‘No! You surely cannot make excuses for him.’ He caressed her face. ‘I’ll tell you, Eleanor, that if he were here now I would throw him back to the depths of hell, where he belongs.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, sitting beside him. ‘For not judging me.’
‘Judge you? No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But I can now fully understand your initial reluctance for our marriage.’
‘Not all men are like him.’ Eleanor reached over to caress the hard, angular jawline of Hugh’s face.
‘I’m happy to hear that—but, God’s blood, I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for you.’
‘I was four and ten when I was obliged to marry, and he was ten years older than I. Our union deteriorated very rapidly.’ She sighed.
‘Why?’
‘He was not the man I believed him to be and, as I have told you before, Millais thought I was an unnatural, undutiful wife who needed to be brought to heel.’ She shrugged. ‘Which he did. Constantly.’
‘The bastard!’ Hugh hissed, rubbing his temples. ‘Was the man so ungodly?’
Yes, he was—he truly was.
If only Hugh knew half of what Richard Millais had subjected her to...
‘So now you know that the scars I once spoke of are both visible and invisible, Hugh. And I carry the shame with me always.’
Hugh pulled her gently into his arms and stroked her hair. ‘No, it is not you who should carry the shame. These are your battle wounds—just like the ones on my body. And, like me, you have come through your adversity. You have survived.’
She felt a surge of gratitude towards Hugh with those simple yet necessary words. Words that seemed to unlock something deep inside her. Words that she had never known she’d needed until now.
‘Thank you for understanding, Hugh. I had to survive,’ she whispered. ‘There was no other alternative. But the choices I made were never easy.’
Hugh sighed. ‘I don’t doubt that. Sometimes the choices we make may be difficult, but they are essential for us to be able to carry on living.’ He smiled down at her. ‘And Eleanor...’ he said, kissing the top of her head. ‘Don’t ever hide yourself from me. You don’t need to.’
Oh, but she did—she really did!
Hugh led Eleanor back to the bed and held her close, stroking her hair and her back gently, feeling the mangled, coarse skin beneath his fingers.
How could anyone be so cruel as to inflict such terrible pain on someone they were supposed to care for? The thought of Millais hurting her, a defenceless, innocent woman, made his blood boil and made him want to take up arms for her. He would if he had to. He’d protect her until the end of this world.
God’s teeth! How desperate must her life have been back then? How terrifying for a lonely young girl, grieving after the loss of her family, to endure such horrors? No wonder she was still wary and suspicious of anyone new in her life—especially someone imposed on her. Like him.
What was incredible was the fact that despite it all, after everything she had gone through, her spirit had not been broken. By God, that was one small mercy. She was as remarkable as she was strong, brave and resolute, and he admired her for it. His unusual heiress.
‘Kiss me, Hugh,’ she murmured, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
And he kissed her lips, cheeks, eyes, neck and the tip of her nose before returning to her mouth.
They made love again, and this time he took longer to savour and explore every part of her until she lost herself to him. He made their delicious, languid intimacy stretch until they had both surrendered to it. Until once again she had matched his ardour, his passion and desire. Until they both came undone helplessly in one another’s arms.
Hugh felt content, at peace. After such an ominous start to their marriage, being in bed with his wife in his arms was a comforting balm. He needed this, and he was sure she did too. He was grateful, too, knowing that when she had kissed him in the bathtub it had been done out of heartfelt concern and compassion for him after what had happened with those damned outlaws.
It showed that she might possibly care for him.
Through this newly found understanding was there hope for them? Could there be the promise of something more? Of something he had always secretly hoped and longed to find but had rejected, all those years ago? Of contentment, mutual respect and companionship?
Only time would tell whether it was a possibility and whether he was prepared to trust another woman again. Not that he dared hope for love. That was something he could not and would not offer. Not even to Eleanor.
‘What are you thinking about, Hugh?’ she whispered.
‘Nothing, sweetheart. Go to sleep.’ He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.
‘I will after you tell me.’
‘I was thinking how lucky I am to have you in my arms.’
She nestled closer. ‘I believe that is also true for me.’
He realised then, as he held her, that he wanted this—this intimate contentment with Eleanor—and he would fight for it if he had to. He needed it. His hectic life of soldiering was restless, difficult and soulless, and where once he’d thrived on the battlefield he knew now with certainty that he was tired of it all. He wanted to build a home with her—here in Tallany.
‘Do you know what I am thinking?’ she asked.
He shook his head.
‘That I still don’t know much about you and I should, Hugh. You’re my husband.’
He kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘I’m glad we’ve established that now, but mayhap this conversation can wait for another time?’
‘I’m sure it can—but I feel I have been remiss in my wifely duties in more ways than one.’
Hugh folded his arm with his hand beneath his
