Page 14 of Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly
My, my. He didn't appear to be a man who had suffered unduly in his service. His skin was tanned by the sun, but she detected few lines of worry. If he had cares, his clear grey eyes bore no signs of distress. His posture was tall, his carriage sure. His arms, strong and comforting. "You must have joined at a young age."
"I did. My father was eager to see me contribute to the war effort. He'd served in the American colonies during the revolution against Britain and he wanted me to know the challenges of conflict."
"Unusual. Most fathers would wish their sons safe at home. Especially their heirs." She bit her lip, aware she was rash to imply his father had been less than ideally paternal.
"My older brother was alive when I joined the army. I was not expected to inherit. Even after I did, I could not leave my men, could I?" He asked it wistfully. "I had joined as they had and it was my duty to remain to lead them."
"And now?" She noted his lack of uniform. "Will you sell your commission?"
"I am. The wars are done. My regiment will be disbanded. I predict all my men will be sent home."
"Do you miss them?"
He held her hand, his fingers stroking hers in calm affection, melting her bones as he dissolved her dismay. "I do. One does not live with others for years, accounting for their food and tents, their horses, weapons and gunpowder without feeling the lack when all guns have fallen silent and the cannon grow cold."
"They were your friends."
He regarded her with a fresh light in his remarkable grey eyes. "They were."
"And are you ready now to assume your role as your father's and your brother's successor?"
He inhaled. Placed her hand gently to her thigh. And sat back. "I am. I will have a time of it, I'm afraid."
She tipped her head in question.
"I know little of crop rotation or animal breeding. But I will learn. The land and the tenants of the earl of Charlton will have the best I can give them."
The smile that had dawned on her face at his ready acceptance of his role died.
Charlton?
He was the earl of Charlton?
He frowned. "Have I distressed you? You do look ill."
"No, not ill. In pain." And that was the truth. How was it possible that she should be rescued by such a charming—if persistent—creature? A man so handsome, so upright, so heroic only to learn his family was one of those her father had damned to hell and her mother had condemned so often? Charlton. On Papa's infamous 'List', Charlton was one of four families whose members Fifi was ordered to never receive in her parlor.
* * *
Lady Fiona Chastainwas her name.
Charlton sighed with the pleasure of a quest come to an end. This was she of his dreams, she of that night so many years ago in a ballroom and a card room. She of his heart and his salvation.
He grinned at her.
"My reticule?" She reached for her bag that his tiger had retrieved. "Please. I need it."
He lifted it from beneath his arm and handed it over to her.
"Thank you." She rummaged through it and extracted spectacles. In a rush, she put them on and blinked repeatedly as if she'd never seen him before. From her dawning smile, he took it that she approved of what she saw. He certainly did.
She flushed at his notice, but could not seem to tear her gaze away. That was acceptable to him. He could bask in her regard all day and wish only she continue all through the night.
But that was ridiculous and he knew it. After all, he'd spent only hours in her company. Hours that had sustained him through days and months and years of strife and sadness. Beauty that she was, full of laughter and gaiety that night, she'd lured him with her quiet charm. The elegant arch of her brow and mouth, the glow in her innocent blue eyes had spoken to him of delight in him and an odd need of protection from the ugliness of the world. He'd remembered her at will when the nights were dark and deathly dangerous, as comforting in the flares of cannon fire as in the hellish din in an attack at dawn.
She removed her glasses and shoved them deep into her reticule. Then she gave him a smile, though he had to say hers was tremulous. Insecure.
He supposed she was...and she had reason. She was in such pain...and he had to ponder why she did not mention their previous encounter. It was so long ago, however, how could she possibly remember him?
