The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah (38 page)

Had he? Roman thought about it for a moment. For the first time in far too long, he felt warm and rested and entirely at peace. “I suppose I did.”

“Good. I thought that would work. Finn always sleeps better after a nightmare if someone holds him.”

Roman stifled a chuckle. She was comparing him to a toddler. But then, that was one of many things he loved about his Bethanne—she would try anything until she found a means to ease the way for someone she loved.

“Is that so?” he asked. Then, before she could utter a complaint, he rolled her atop him and wrapped her in his arms, and he kissed her like his life depended upon it. When he finally pulled away, he brushed her hair back from her face, tucking the mahogany tresses behind her ear.

Bethanne grinned and planted both her hands on either side of his head. “I have you just where I want you now.”

“Are you going to have your wicked way with me, Miss Shelton?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she lowered her head and kissed him again, so deep and long and true that he felt it all the way to his toes, just as Lady Rosaline had described.

The wedding had been beautiful, with both the Shelton and Sullivan families present. The celebratory breakfast had turned into a daylong affair, with Lord Herringdon and Lord Newcastle and Bethanne’s father each giving rousing toasts to the happy couple. Even Bethanne’s male cousins had each sat and talked with Roman for great stretches of time, welcoming him into the family as only they could.

Yet each time Bethanne looked over at her husband, she could tell something was troubling him.

It couldn’t be fear that he’d hurt her—not any longer. The more nights they spent in one another’s arms, the fewer nights he suffered from his nightmares.

When the sun began to set, Bethanne extracted herself from Jo, Tabitha, and Miranda, leaving Finn to entertain them before Mother claimed him for the night. Roman stood off by the hearth in the Hassop House ballroom, which was still decorated for Christmas, with his arms crossed over his chest and a worried wrinkle to his brow.

She made her way to his side and took his hand in hers. When he looked down at her, it was with a false smile upon his face.

“You seem distracted,” she said.

Roman started to apologize, but she stopped him by pulling him with her out into the corridor.

At the front door, Milner darted out before them.

“We’ll need Lord Roman’s coat and my redingote,” she stated calmly. He always seemed the most clear-headed when he was out of doors. Most of their important conversations had taken place outside, so this one should be no different.

Once the butler fetched the appropriate attire and she was sure they wouldn’t catch a chill, Bethanne tugged on Roman’s arm until he went with her out the door.

They walked out by the woodcutter’s cottage and across the footbridge, out to the same clearing they’d visited once before. Being out in nature seemed to have a near instant effect upon him; his shoulders relaxed and his hand was less stiff within hers. Finally, they arrived at the bench she’d sought.

She sat, and he followed suit.

“Now, tell me what it is.”

But Roman shook his head. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. You worry far too much already.”

“That may well be, but you’re my husband now. That grants me the right to worry about you as much as I see fit.”

“But I—”

“Out with it, lest I forbid you any more biscuits for a sennight.”

He let out a beleaguered sigh. “You won’t leave me be until I tell you, will you? You know, I once thought myself more intractable than you and all your servants combined.”

“I take it you’ve adjusted your view on that matter.” Bethanne chuckled.

A long while passed, while he stared at the misting breath coming from their mouths and nostrils. “Very well,” he finally said. “I realized this afternoon that today would have been my longest friend’s birthday.”

“Would have been?” she prodded when he attempted to stop there.

“Captain Lewis Nichols. He served beneath me for more years than I could count—until Waterloo.”

“Is he—” she stopped herself for a moment, debating precisely how to word her next question— “is he part of what causes your nightmares? His death?”

Roman nodded, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his grief. “We were being flanked by the French. My commanding officer sent me with a message for Wellington. I was to deliver it, and then return with the reinforcements that Wellington would send with me. But I lost it momentarily, and in trying to find it again, I was caught by the enemy. Eventually I was able to fight my way free, and I retrieved my message…but by then, my path was cut off. And when I returned to my men, they’d all been slaughtered.”

Bethanne’s heart ached for him, for his loss. “So you blame yourself?” she asked softly. Not that she needed his answer. It was written in the set of his jaw and the pain etched in his eyes.

“Who else is there to blame? I failed them.”

His hand came up and pressed against the inner pocket of his coat, the one where he always kept the glass vial, and suddenly it became clear to her.

“You never delivered your message,” she murmured. “Have you ever read it?”

He looked at her as though she’d suggested he murder the king. “It was for Wellington, not for me.”

“And yet it never made it to Wellington.” Bethanne held out her hand and waited. Finally, he slowly reached inside his coat and retrieved the vial. She tugged at the cork, which didn’t want to budge, but finally it released. Then she turned the vial upside down and emptied its contents into her palm. “Will you read it, or shall I?”

His face had turned ashen. “I couldn’t possibly.”

So Bethanne unrolled the tiny scroll. She turned it over so she could read it. “We’ve been flanked. There is no hope to hold our current position. I will hold them off as long as I can. See that my boys receive a proper burial.”

When she finished reading it, they sat silently for a long moment.

“He wasn’t sending me for reinforcements.” Roman’s tone was filled with disbelief.

She took his hand again. “No. He was giving you the opportunity to live.”

They sat there together in the cold until the sun had fully set beyond the hills. For the first time in such a very long time, the silence wasn’t unnerving for Bethanne. It felt freeing and peaceful.

She looked over at Roman as he was illuminated in the moonlight. A lightness seemed to be settling upon him, one she doubted she’d ever truly seen before. Perhaps this was what he needed in order to truly recover from the guilt he’d carried for so long.

One thing she knew—whether he had been freed from his guilt and nightmares or not, they would travel this path together.

To my dear readers,

I hope you have enjoyed reading PARIAH as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have, would you be so kind as to leave a positive review at the site where you purchased the e-book? Thank you so much!

All my best,

Catherine Gayle

Catherine Gayle has been an avid reader of romance novels (and almost anything else she can legally get her hands on) for as long as she can remember. Her mother might say it started in the womb. When she is not writing or reading, she can often be found buried beneath her sleeping cat or chasing the Nephew Monster.

Catherine would love to hear from her readers. You can send her an email at [email protected].

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Seven Minutes in Devon

Copyright © 2012 by Catherine Gayle

Cover Design by Kimberly Killion, Hot Damn Designs

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