Page 109 of The Soldier
“I don’t know what he’s doing, and beyond wishing him well, I don’t particularly care.”
“You’re marrying Bothwell,” St. Just said, his frown becoming a thunderous scowl. “Aren’t you?”
***
He was having trouble discerning the meaning of Emmie’s words, so fascinated was he by simply drinking in the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the scent of her. She was here in his kitchen, she was confiding in him, and she was admitting her error where Winnie was concerned.
He should be content with that, but he had to ask her one questionfor himself: “You’re marrying Bothwell, aren’t you?”
She would not meet his eyes, and in his chest, Devlin’s heart began a slow, painful tattoo.
Then she looked up, the most hesitant of smiles on her lips.
“I am not marrying him. I have figured out he knew Winnie was my child.”
“He might have.” St. Just had come to the same conclusion, but he was having trouble wrapping his mind around Emmie’s decision not to accept Bothwell. “I surmise your aunt told him when she became so ill.”
“Perhaps. Hadrian proposed a couple years ago, in part to fortify me against Helmsley. Helmsley knew I was powerless and poor and so didn’t interfere with my attempts to befriend Winnie. It could not have hurt, though, that I was well thought of by the heir to a viscountcy.”
“I would not put such thinking beyond Bothwell.” St. Just nodded, willing to be generous, seeing as Emmie had rejected the man and his title twice. Bothwell,whom she was not marrying, was a decent, perceptive man.
“I was hardly going to drag Hadrian into Helmsley’s sphere, though.” Emmie grimaced. “Helmsley had a way of turning all he touched to dross and disappointment.”
“He’s gone, Emmie.”
“Thanks to you.” She hunched forward, and he saw a shudder pass through her. “You have no idea… Of all the men I could have chosen to be father to my child, he was about the worst imaginable.”
“Not the worst.” His heart broke to think she’d place this burden on her conscience, as well. “There are men selling their young daughters on London street corners, Emmie. Men drinking away the little funds available to feed their children. Men beating their children for crying at the cold or the hunger or the pain of the last beating. You bedded down with a miserable specimen, but as far as Winnie is concerned, he was merely uninterested, not the devil.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Winnie is what matters.”
“She is.” St. Just nodded, but in the part of his mind that processed tactical information even as he faced an opponent in battle, it was still sinking in that Emmie had turned Bothwell down—twice—and wasn’t engaged to anybody.
So now what? A lifetime of tea and apple tarts while they discussed the child? Would she allow that? If so, he could campaign again to win her affections…
Except she didn’t want him, as much as she might from time to time let herself enjoy his affections. No woman would want to lash her life to that of a man who jumped at thunderstorms, woke sweating with nightmares he couldn’t speak of, spent more time with horses than people, and cared nothing for society—nothingwhatsoever.
“So what do we do?” Emmie asked, her gaze dodging his. “Winnie is growing comfortable here, but I am her mother and her guardian—aren’t I?”
“You are, and you control her funds.”
“But this has become her home,” Emmie pointed out. “You, Lord Val, the animals. She’s lived here for the past few years, but you’ve made it a home for her.”
“You should also know I tried to talk her into going to Cumbria with you and Bothwell. She wasn’t keen on it.”
“Did she give a reason?” Emmie asked, squaring her shoulders.
“She said I was a soldier, and I would not run away, and if she were with you in Cumbria, you would try your damnedest to make Cumbria work, even if you were unhappy there. She had some notion a married woman and a viscountess could just scamper home to my kitchen if she were unhappy.”
“Why would she think that?”
“Because”—St. Just did smile, a crooked, hopeless, self-mocking twist of his lips—“I would have welcomed you with open arms.”
Silence.
Ah, well, he thought. He was just being honest, and ridiculous, but his dignity wasn’t too high a price to pay if it meant Emmie understood what his feelings were. If they were going to have to deal with each other, Emmie couldn’t be teasing him nor flirting nor dallying.
His heart couldn’t take any more of that.
