Page 26 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
Something jostled his shoulder and he jerked up violently, finding himself back in the dark firelight bedchamber of Wesden Heath. Not Africa. The war was over. His hands were clean. He lifted his palms up, studying them in the dim light.
“What’s the matter?” Milly asked. “You were thrashing about in your sleep. Are you all right?”
He braced his arms on his raised knees as he caught his breath. His lungs were still burning as though he’d been struggling for air.
“It’s the—” He paused, realizing he’d been about to confess his deepest shame. He’d told her once before about the dreams, but he hadn’t told her how deeply they affected him. How he feared closing his eyes sometimes at night because he was terrified of what he would see. A man shouldn’t admit to fear, especially not to a woman. She would think he was incapable of protecting her.
“What?” she pressed.
“Just a dream,” he finally said. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Just a dream?” Milly echoed. “It was a nightmare about the war, wasn’t it?”
He couldn’t answer that; the admission would be too much of a weakness.
An elegant hand settled on his shoulder, the touch sweet and comforting. When had any woman ever treated him like this? A touch that wasn’t meant to entice or seduce. It made him hungry for her even more, just thinking about the kind heart she kept hidden from the world beneath her tough exterior.
I’m beginning to understand you, wife. He almost smiled. Almost. Instead he covered her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze before he let go.
“You should try to sleep.” She stroked his hair out of his eyes and he sighed at the way it felt.
“There can’t be any more nightmares,” she whispered close to his ear. “Not when you come home. This is a safe place, your own room, your own bed.” She surprised him by placing a kiss on his cheek and then she pulled him back down in his bed beside her, curling her body around his.
He did feel safe. As though her words had cast a spell over him, one of peace and trust.
I’m home. Not in Africa. The war is over. I’m home. When he pulled the blankets back up, he rolled to face Milly. Her eyelids had fallen to half-mast and she put a fist over her mouth to stifle a little yawn.
Was she afraid to be here? In a strange land, in a strange bed, with a stranger? The woman was so brave, and she was only doing her duty, as many hundreds of thousands of women had done before. How foolish he’d been to think women knew nothing of suffering or fear or sacrifice. And Milly hadn’t had to say a word to show him where her strength lay.
“I’m so sorry I woke you.” He found himself apologizing again.
“Don’t apologize,” she murmured sleepily. “I’m glad I could offer some comfort as you have done for me.”
A thousand words rested on the tip of his tongue, but he had no bravery of his own to say them. Instead, he cupped her chin and lifted her face up to press a lingering kiss on her lips, savoring this quiet moment just between the two of them. Tomorrow would come soon enough and with it, another battle to win her heart.
Chapter 10
Are you trying to kill me, woman?” Owen’s harsh growl turned into a violent cough as a massive wave of dust swept across the room straight toward him. He blinked through bleary eyes at his wife. She was tugging a thick green baize curtain away from the tall windows of the library. Morning sunlight shot through the room, hitting the tall shelves and the rows of endless books. Motes of dust danced through the beams in the wake of Milly flinging curtains back.
“I’m not trying to kill you. Don’t be so dramatic,” Milly muttered as she hauled back a large wicker rug beater and smacked the curtain. Another cloud of dust erupted around them. Milly didn’t cough. Owen stared at her. How the hell did she not cough? Then he realized her face was turning slightly red.
“Best not to forget to breathe, sweetheart,” he added from a safe distance across the room because the glare she shot him assured him he would get swatted by the carpet beater if he was closer.
She stepped back from the curtain and sighed. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to help me?”
“I—”
“And answer carefully, husband, because I will not be beating these curtains by myself.” She swung the wicker handle as effectively as a master fencer would his foil.
Suddenly Owen burst out laughing. There was something utterly delightful in his beautiful wife wielding a carpet beater and threatening him while looking divine in little black boots; a full, dark blue silk skirt; and a white blouse. Her hair was catching the sunlight just right, the dust settling on the crown of her hair glinting like diamonds. Owen’s breath caught at the mixture of her glorious ferocity and beauty. She who must be obeyed…
“What is so funny?” She smacked the curtain again before rounding on him. He dodged around the nearest reading table, careful to stay back in case she swung it at him.
“You’re so fetching when you’re angry with me. Did you know that?” he teased, a wicked grin curving his lips.
“Fetching? Owen, blast it! We’ve been cleaning this house for the last week and you’re thinking about how I look?”
It was true. He was completely guilty of thinking of her and getting her back into bed. For the last seven days they had been working themselves to exhaustion each night, cleaning every inch of the house and putting it to rights, but they’d only done half the work and they hadn’t even started on the gardens. He usually prided himself on stamina but when they collapsed into bed, they went straight to sleep and it wasn’t until each following morning when he’d been able to take his time and make love to her. Milly climaxing beneath him in early morning sunlight was truly a thing of beauty. Of course the moment they started cleaning, he couldn’t help but quarrel with her, albeit with a small amount of amusement when they disagreed on almost everything. But, as he was happy to note, they were learning to talk to each other and figure out a mutual path, like partners rather than adversaries.
