Page 48 of The Soldier
“And when you do, I will take myself to the cottage as Winnie adjusts to her improved station in life.”
“I don’t like that idea.” The earl frowned at his hands. “I’d bet Winnie positively hates it.”
“She is becoming less resistant. This was your plan, my lord.”
He glanced over at her sharply, scowling his displeasure at her tone and her retreat into my-lording him. “Are you running for cover, Emmie, because I shared pleasure with you?” he asked softly, staring straight ahead.
“I will be making a graceful retreat from Bronwyn’s life,” Emmie said, the edges of her words trimmed to a razor sharpness, “because it is in her best interests that I do so. And to be honest…”
He turned to regard her steadily.
“I am tiring,” she said, her posture and her tone wilting, and he knew that wasn’t what she’d intended to tell him. “Looking after Winnie, keeping up with the orders, taking up the duties I promised Cook I would handle… You need a housekeeper, sir, and a few more maids and footmen wouldn’t go amiss either.”
“I can see to all that when I return,” he said, regarding her with a frown. “I would like your word you will not depart this residence until I do come back.”
“And when will that be?”
“By the end of September,” the earl replied, admitting to himself he’d not set a date before this discussion. “I’m told winter sets in after Michaelmas, and ever since coming home from sunny Spain, I’ve hated English winters.”
“What else did you hate?” Emmie asked, sipping her cider.
“Everything. The heat, the dust, the mud, the whining recruits, the arrogant stupidity of the junior officers, the bad rations, the boredom, the endless drilling, the insane orders, the killing, and the killing, and the killing…”
“You’ve had a setback,” Emmie said, slipping her hand around his. “I should not have made you dwell on this.”
“A setback.” He sighed, savoring the feel of her hand in his. “One of many. Each time, I think maybe the gains I’ve made will be mine to keep. Each time, my horse is shot out from under me again.”
“I don’t believe that. Douglas says you are not the same man who came home from Waterloo.”
“Maybe not.” He lifted their hands and brought her knuckles to his lips. “I’m certainly not as hung over.”
“You were drunk?” Emmie blinked and stared at her hand in his.
“For months. My baby brother, Valentine, was sent to fetch me home. I’d forgotten he was no longer a fourteen-year-old stripling, and though he had to beat me nigh insensible to see it done, he did get me back to Morelands.”
Emmie cringed. “Your brother beat you?”
“Soundly. He’s a piano virtuoso, and somehow I’d gotten to thinking of him as the soft one in the family. He’s not soft, and those fists of his were lightning fast. He dropped me in short order, though I was fighting like a demon.” And ranting at the top of his lungs and—merciful God—crying like a motherless child.
“I’m glad he brought you home.”
“Oh, I was, too, eventually.” And he was still glad Val had never mentioned that pathetic scene to a soul, either.
“You aren’t telling me everything, are you?” Emmie’s blue eyes were full of concern and faintly curious.
“I am not.” He looked at their joined hands. “It is not a pretty tale, and you are such a pretty lady. Will you miss me, Emmie?” He’d shifted the topic adroitly, maybe even intending to fluster her with his compliment.
“Some day,” she said gravely, “when you are ready, I want to hear the rest of it, Devlin St. Just. I don’t care how miserable a tale, nor tragic. It needs telling.”
“Or forgetting. And you’ve dodged my question.”
“I will miss you,” Emmie replied, trying to slip her fingers from his, but he held her hand in a firm, gentle grip.
Those words, four simple words, eased a tightness in his chest. His setback, as Emmie had diplomatically termed it, had shaken him badly. Whereas a week ago he would have been content to steal what pleasures he could with Emmie, now he was a more cautious man. Emmie deserved the attentions of a man who would not frighten her nor embarrass her with his nightmares, his temper, his bad memories, and his “setbacks.”
But if she’d have him…
“I will miss you, too, Emmie Farnum,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’ve thought about asking you and Winnie to come with us, but I agree with you the child needs no more upheaval. Then, too, we’ll make better time without Winnie underfoot, and I flatter myself you will protect my interests in my absence.”
