Page 4 of A Hero's Guide to Love
“You do look rather odd, dear,” said Lillian, peering at her with concern. “It’s no wonder, since it’s a terrible crush in here and getting worse by the minute. Are you sure—oh, blast! There’s Mother waving at me from the door, lookingready to pitch a fit. No doubt some kitchen disaster has struck, or we’re running out of champagne.”
She flashed Clarissa an apologetic smile. “I’d better see what’s wrong. You stay with Christian and catch him up on all the on-dits. I’ll see you both at supper.”
Before Clarissa could even think to object, Lillian slipped away, leaving her alone with a man she felt she no longer knew. And whose presence had thrown her disconcertingly off balance. As she looked into his eyes—so vibrantly blue—the room and the crowds wavered and dimmed, fading away. The strange sensations left her breathless.
Christian’s angular features registered mock alarm. “Good God, Mrs. Middleton. Left to your own devices with the dreadful boy! Shall I take you over to a chair now, so the boxing of my ears can commence? Or would you rather we stroll about the room and make cutting comments about the other guests? Either way, I promise I’ll do my best to entertain you.”
His lighthearted jesting eased her tension, and she cast him a smile. “Captain Archer, you’re under no obligation to entertain me. This is your night, after all. I’m sure you’d much rather spend it in the company of a beautiful young debutante than reminiscing with a quiz of an old widow.”
When he frowned, she inwardly winced. She hadn’t meant the words to come out bitterly, but it had become an old habit. An ugly one, borne of months of anger and grief.
Christian took her elbow and gently steered her to a shallow window alcove.
“Mrs. Middleton,” he said, “you must allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your husband. He was a good and kind man, and the world is a poorer place without him. I’m sorry I haven’t had the opportunity to express my sentiments in person until now.”
Clarissa shook her head. “You needn’t apologize. I wasmost grateful for the letter you sent me after we received the news. It was a comfort knowing that you spoke with Jeremy only a few weeks before …” She let her voice trail off.
He slipped easily into the verbal gap. “I was grateful to have had the opportunity to speak to him, and hear the news from home. I’m rarely in one place long enough to receive letters in a timely fashion. Of course, Captain Middleton spoke mostly of you. He was devoted to you, as I’m sure you know.”
A flash of raw anger burned in her chest. “But not devoted enough to stay home with me, where he belonged,” she said in a clipped voice.
He looked startled. Hesitating for a moment, he responded in a gentle voice, pitched so only she could hear.
“Mrs. Middleton … Clarissa … your husband was a man of honor. He did what he believed was right. But it was clear to me, and to everyone who knew him, that his heart remained in England. With you. Why would you ever doubt that?”
Because I begged him not to go, and yet he did.
Out of habit, she swallowed the bitter words that came to her tongue, knowing how selfish she would sound. How could Christian, a battle-tested warrior, ever hope to understand what she felt?
“He should never have gone,” she managed to say in what she hoped was a rational voice. “He was far from strong. Physically, I mean. His doctor told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Christian studied her face in silence, his keen eyes thoughtful. That in itself was surprising. She had expected him to deliver a lecture about duty and honor. Everyone else had chastised her when she had tried to stop Jeremy from transferring from the local militia to the regular army. No one had listened to her, or tried to understand.
“I believe Captain Middleton was stronger than yourealize. At least in spirit,” he finally answered. “But he loathed every second that the war took him from your side. Whatever you think about his reasons for going, you must never doubt that.”
“Thank … thank you,” she stammered. She looked at him uncertainly, not sure what else to say. The familiar, confusing mix of anger, sorrow, and guilt whirled within her, but it seemed muted, as if the individual emotions had lost some of their power.
Christian waited patiently for her to recover her countenance. Standing with his back to the cheerful mob, he used his body to protect her from the crush. She gazed into his handsome face, and a seductive warmth began to steal through her limbs, along with an oddly familiar sense of something else. Was it belonging?
Clarissa frowned and took a step back. That couldn’t possibly be right. She didn’t belong anywhere. Jeremy’s death had pitched her into an obscure landscape, and she hadn’t yet begun to find her way back to where life had been before.
As she struggled to understand the elusive emotions, Christian moved closer. His muscular thigh, encased in form-fitting white breeches, brushed the skirts of her gown. She shivered, and the soft warmth of only a few moments ago fled, replaced by feelings of both panic and excitement. Sucking in a breath, she willed her racing heart to settle.
She stared at the medals and ribbons on his broad chest as she gave herself a silent scolding. There was nothing to be afraid of or excited about. Not in conversation with an old friend.
But then why was she so tongue-tied?
A mist of perspiration beaded her neck as she searched for a harmless topic of conversation. Christian began to look amused again, and not the least bit awkward. Fortunately for her nerves, he broke the embarrassing silence.
“Lillian tells me you have just come out of deep mourning. I’m honored that you chose this event to grace with your presence.”
She blushed, wondering if he was teasing her.
“Truly, it … it was nothing,” she stammered.Blast!What the devil was wrong with her?
She tried again. “I was happy to come. You know how persuasive Lillian can be. She would have had my head if I refused. Your mamma, as well. She was quite insistent.”
Splendid.Now she was babbling. Anyone would think she was a debutante in her first season, instead of a widow approaching her middle years.
