Page 36 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
He disliked this conversation. He doubted he could be a good husband to her. A loving one, certainly. But if his mind was damaged in such a way that he must fear sound and light, and must even leave musicales, for God's sake. All to wrestle his emotions to the ground, what kind of man would he be for her? Weak, fettered always to his frailty?
She touched his cheek. "Alastair, last night as I helped you, I realized that my pride was nothing to the real needs of two people who love each other. I was selfish and overly priggish to refuse you. I want to marry you, Alastair. And I don't care if anyone finds me here with you. I will marry you if God Himself comes down to walk in that door."
That was precisely what he'd hoped to hear her say. But now, her words could not salve the wound that he feared would always make him less than a man. Less than a man who could protect her from the evils of the world. "That's kind of you, Bee."
"Kind? Oh, Alastair!" Shocked, she pulled him down to kiss his lips and in her move was desire and hope and despair.
He drew away. "You must leave, Bee. Come now." He offered her his hand.
"No!" She rolled away from him to stand on the opposite side of the bed. "What's wrong? Tell me."
"I am no proper man for you."
She gaped at him.
"My fits—”
"That was not a fit. I know fits."
"No, I—”
"Two of our tenants suffered them. I nursed them, I tell you. You did not roll your eyes. You did not fall down. You were stunned. Inconsolable, for a while, at least. But you were hot, fevered, obsessed. But you did not have a fit." She was firm, insulted, putting her foot down. His sweet stubborn determined Belinda.
"Whatever we call it, I have them. They come over me at odd times. I can control a few. But not all. And last night's was horrendous."
"How do you know?"
"What?"
"If you cannot recall the details, how do you know what it was?" She approached him.
"I cannot remember everything."
"I do. You did not curse. Or cry. Or yell. Or rant or rave. You left the salon and came straight away here. There—” she said and pointed to his chair, "you sat, rocked a bit. You did not bite me. Or drool."
He raked a hand through his hair. "Oh, do stop."
"No." She took a step nearer. Her chin up, defiant, she peered at him. "You did not resist me. Nor did you kiss me or accost me or seduce me."
"Thank heavens for that."
"Ohhh. Don't you see? Even in your..." she flung out a hand and searched for a word, "your malaise, you are kind, respectful...and sweet. Your true self in that as in all else."
She stepped against him. Her body, lithe and firm and warm, moved against his in a symphony of delight. "I love you, Alastair. And I wish to marry you as you are, as you will be, until we both do die."
His desire for her the most magnificent emotion he'd ever owned, he stared into her large sky blue eyes and was sorely tempted. Reason however was a dastardly master. He set her from him. "I'm sorry, my darling. But that is quite impossible I find. You must go. Now."
In all his life, when he dreamt of her as he rode to battle as he mourned his comrades, as he hoped for peace one day, a house, a small income to sustain him, he had wanted only her by his side. But his battles were now with his own body and he must never show her again how weak he was. What man was a true husband who could not offer his wife all his devotion without his protection?
He strode to his bedroom door and opened it. No one was about.
She stood in the center of his room, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her back ramrod straight. But she bent to pick up her shoes and then she approached him, passed him and in the hall turned to face him.
"I love you, Alastair Demerest. Friend, captain, viscount, duke, whatever others may call you, I call you mine. So as you said to me days ago, before this house party is done, I will find a way to prove it."
With that she turned on her heel and as was her infuriating practice, left him where he stood. Alone. Bereft. Without her.
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