Page 38 of The Captive
“I doubt Nanny or Harris have thought to bring Lucy to see them. When Lucy visits, all should be pretty and soothing.”
What about whenhevisited? Though Helene had apparently taken her own life, and no amount of flowers would pretty that up.
“You would bring Lucy to see the graves?”
“I’ll tend the graves first,” she said, her chin coming up. “Lucy’s father ought to take her to visit them.”
He disentangled their hands, which required an odd little struggle. The countess didn’t seem to understand what he was about until he shook his fingers free.
“I am of no mind to linger about graves, my lady, not now.” Not ever. Children succumbed to flu, so Christian could not directly blame Girard for the boy’s death, but it was time to send out letters, to call in favors, to pester the generals, and start tracking the French pestilence down.
“Then don’t visit the graves now,” the countess said, her expression more puzzled than disapproving. And yet, she seemed to expect something from him, something in the nature of an apology or explanation.
So be it.
“I joined up to get away from Helene, and she was pleased to see me go.”
The admission was out, made mostly to the toes of Christian’s riding boots—his loose riding boots. He willed himself to get the devil off the bench, but his tired ducal arse stayed right where it was.
“She was a difficult wife, I take it.”
Helene had been a difficult cousin too, based on the countess’s dry tone.
“Helene was vain, spoiled, selfish, and mean,” Christian said. “At times. She was also gorgeous, generous, scatterbrained, and capable of kindness, but we did not suit, and we were both growing to accept that.”
Though accepting Helene’s penchant for flirting had been beyond him, and that was what had eventually driven him onto Wellington’s staff.
His duchess had been faithful, so far as he knew, but in the curious manner of troubled marriages, Christian had the sense if he’d remained underfoot, his presence would have goaded her to cross even that line.
“Did you go to war to get yourself killed? Over a woman? I cannot picture the Duke of Mercia being so romantic.”
Neither could he, thank God. “I did not go off to get killed. I went off to serve King and Country, and if I might point out, I succeeded.” The notion was no comfort whatsoever, but torture did that too—put a man beyond any comfort.
“You succeeded spectacularly.”
The small woman beside him worried her upper lip with her teeth, probably biting back more words. She had a healthy sense of self-preservation, did the countess.
And a way with a silence.
“I wanted more children,” Christian said, giving up the struggle to maintain any dignity in this conversation. “A spare seemed a prudent undertaking. She said she’d gut me in my sleep did I attempt it. I thought time apart would help. It did not. It had not as of the last leave I took.”
“She owed you a spare,” the countess said, her tone stern. “We talked about this before we married, Helene and I. She pitied me because Greendale was my lot, but I was prepared to present him with children.”
She was blushing, which restored his spirits, if not his dignity. The touch of color looked well on her, as did a color other than black. The lady was, viewed in a certain soft morning light, attractive. Certainly attractive enough to remarry.
“You would have loved any children you bore old Greendale.” This truth was the closest he could come to consoling her.
Though for what? Childlessness? For being married to an old martinet who was jealous of his flower gardens? For having to serve as Helene’s most recent confidante?
And how did they get onto this indelicate and personal topic?
“I am to meet my steward directly after breakfast,” he said. “Shall I walk you back to the house?”
“Please.” She extended her hand, he drew her to her feet, and this time, it was Christian who was ambushed.
She gave him another of those kisses to the mouth, rose up off the bench and kept coming, a one-woman, fragrant, soft cavalry charge of pleasure and comfort. After she’d brushed her lips across his, she also gave him a more intriguing gift.
She rested against him, fully, gave him her weight for a moment, let his greater height and what strength he had hold her upright. The sensations were exquisite.
