She’d been in no condition to receive him anyway, and he’d hired a team of nurses to tend her ’round the clock. They’d given him hourly reports as to her recuperation, and she was much better. He was so excited to be with her, to tell her what he’d been thinking.
He knocked again, and footsteps approached.
She opened the door herself, but offered no greeting. Though it was a warm afternoon, she had a scarf covering her neck. For a moment, he was puzzled, then he realized she was hiding the bruises inflicted by Mason.
Eager to assess the damage, he reached out to tug the scarf away, but she leaned back so he couldn’t touch her. He managed to view just of trace of discoloration, but nothing more.
They stared and stared.
He’d planned to take her into his arms, to hold her to his chest as he apologized and beseeched her to forgive him. But he was forestalled by her demeanor.
She might have been a stranger to whom he’d never been introduced, and she didn’t look happy to see him.
She was clutching a notepad, and she extended it so he could read what she’d written. My throat is still very sore. The doctor advises that I shouldn’t talk for awhile.
He stepped as if to enter her sitting room, but she didn’t move to let him.
Obviously, he’d forfeited any right to be in her bedchamber. He might have argued with her, or arrogantly mentioned that it was his damn house and she couldn’t keep him out, but he didn’t have the heart to be brusque with her.
“May I come in?” he asked like a supplicant.
She wrote on her pad, Why?
“I need to speak with you.”
She pointed down, indicating that she would meet him downstairs.
“My library?” he inquired. “In five minutes?”
She nodded, and he left, his euphoria fading.
With her health improved, he’d assumed they would start over, but evidently, she had a different opinion. While he’d been overcome by sentiment, it was clear that love, romance, and marriage were the last topics that vexed her.
All of his recent actions had been taken for her. To make her happy. To make her feel safe. Yet she didn’t seem grateful. Or perhaps she wasn’t aware of what he’d done on her behalf.
Mason had been spirited away, and he’d never darken their lives again. His wound was grave and infected, and he’d likely drop dead in London before his ship could sail.
In the morning, Oscar Blair would be tried by a jury and convicted of the murder of his sister. His sentence would be carried out shortly after the hearing was concluded.
Prior to his being hanged, Nicholas hoped Blair would confess where he’d stashed Mrs. Merrick’s body. Nicholas would like to give the poor woman a proper burial in the church cemetery, but without some hint from Blair as to her location, the chances of finding her were remote.
Once he was in his library, he went to the sideboard and downed a brandy, then he sat behind his desk, anxious to look relaxed and in control.
In reality, he was a wreck. Nightmares plagued him where Em was in danger and he couldn’t reach her in time. His choices and behavior had him ruing and regretting. He was contrite and ashamed, and he couldn’t continue on in such a state of emotional upheaval.
He had to earn her pardon, then wed her as rapidly as the deed could be accomplished. He wanted her bound to him forever, and until he was certain that she was his—with a marriage license to prove it—he wouldn’t rest easy.
She came in slowly, appearing fragile and vulnerable. As she seated herself across from him, she was so altered from the quirky, animated woman he’d initially met that it didn’t seem possible she was the same person.
“I just received a message from London,” he told her. “My men have the twins in their custody, and they’re fine. They’re on their way home. They should be here before the day is out.”
He’d thought the news might enliven her, but she simply mouthed, Thank you.
“Mason is gone, and he’ll never return.”
She scowled and shook her head. Then, with a furious pencil, she scrawled, Don’t ever mention him to me again.
“I won’t. I apologize. I hadn’t understood how much it would upset you.”
He studied her, at a loss over how to proceed. He was searching for an opportunity to pour his heart out, to confess how he’d changed, but she evinced no interest in what he might wish to confide.
“Were you informed about . . . Mrs. Merrick?”
Yes.
“Blair’s trial is tomorrow.”
Jo was my only friend, she wrote. I hope he hangs.
“That’s my intent.” He paused, feeling tongue-tied and awkward. “Ah . . . I’ve already found a minister to replace him.”
She raised a brow in question.
“He served in my regiment, and I ran into him in the city. His name is Ted Smith.” No reaction. “He was maimed—he lost an arm—so he’s had a rough patch. He’s a decent fellow and exactly the sort to rebuild the community after Blair.”
He hurried on, worried that she wasn’t listening, that she didn’t care.
“In fact, I’m sending Ted out with a team. He’ll hunt for some other of my injured veterans and bring them to the estate. To live. To work. I’m sorry I never appreciated my new position and wealth. You tried to convince me to cherish what I have, to help people who are struggling, but I refused to—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. Why are you here?
“I had a frantic letter from Mrs. Merrick. It may have been her final act before her brother murdered her. She said you were in trouble, so I came at once.”
Why? she wrote again.
“Because I love you.”
At his declaration, she gasped and penned, Don’t lie to me.
“I’m not lying. I couldn’t bear to learn that you needed me, but I wasn’t here.”
Where is your wife? Why isn’t she with you?
“I didn’t marry her.” She frowned, and he added, “I couldn’t
