Cherishing the Captain (Men at Arms Book 2) Read online

  A sudden premonition sent a different sort of prickle down his spine, something removed from the shivers wracking him from the cold. It was the sense that he was being watched putting him on high alert. Going up on his haunches, he glanced up to find Sylvia approaching him from the sloping path leading down the steep escarpment. The urge to flee overtook him, and he nearly returned to his pile of clothes to retrieve his eye-patch. But, hopelessness kept him where he was. What did it matter if she saw the mess that had been made of his face without the protection of his patch? She had already seen the one thing he’d wanted to hide from her—the uncontrolled violence and despair that he wrestled with every day. It made no difference for her to see him this way—as he truly was.

  So, he rose to his feet but took his time coming forward to meet her, his bare feet dragging in the damp sand like lead weights. She was swathed in a forest green cloak, the hood pulled up over her head and the folds whipping in the wind. She wore a long-sleeved gown of somber gray, her hands covered with gloves that matched her cape. The rising sun illuminated her as if she’d just come straight from heaven. God help him, Gideon wanted to go to his knees and beg her to save him, to bring him peace. He’d been in pain for so long, fighting against what felt like demonic forces tearing him apart from the inside. Just now he was weary, and wanted nothing more than to surrender to the need growing within him as he looked upon her.

  He needed to stand strong. To give himself over to her the way he wanted would only endanger her. Last night’s episode had been a potent reminder of that. So, as she came near, drawing to a stop just out of arm’s reach, Gideon steeled himself for the pain of tearing himself way from her yet again. It was what needed to be done.

  Her gaze swept over him, her lips parting as she took him in from head to toe. He must look like an uncultured barbarian in nothing but his breeches, his chest bared to the elements and speckled with seawater and sand. He had braced himself for her reaction to the sight of his naked right eye and the twisted red scars cutting across his eyebrow and lid, marring the top of one cheekbone. The fainter scars would be easier to notice without the distraction of the eye-patch, and each one burned under her scrutiny—the faint white notches speckling his jaw. The eye itself had been transformed to a milky white—a veneer that dulled the hazel of the iris in a disconcerting manner.

  However, she showed no outward reaction to his disfigurement. There was no shock or disgust, no sympathy or curiosity. There was only the grim acceptance that must come easy for a woman who had witnessed men in all manner of conditions. Likely, she had seen worse during her time as a nurse. Gideon fidgeted with the desire to turn away and hide, but he held firm.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing ye,” she said when he simply stood there staring at her with a mouth that refused to form words. “I noticed ye swim every morning. I rose early to help prepare for the arrival of our first patients, but there is nothing for me to do until they are here, so I thought … we must talk, Gideon.”

  He swallowed and forced his tongue to work. Just because he had made up his mind to maintain distance between them didn’t mean his wife was not owed an explanation and an apology. He would give her what he could, even if he was incapable of offering her everything else.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted, unable to think of anything else. “I would never have reacted as I did had I known it was you.”

  Sylvia shook her head adamantly, one hand appearing from the confines of her cloak to reach out to him. She faltered as if thinking better of it, and dropped the hand back to her side. Gideon’s heart squeezed at the evidence of what he’d done, the fear he had instilled in her. Part of him yearned for her touch so much he ached from head to toe. What he wouldn’t give to press her palm against his chest and revel in intimate contact … any contact that was sweet and pure. Another part of him was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to endure it.

  “Maxwell explained it to me as well he could. It was my fault for approaching yer blind side and not announcing my presence. Ye were caught off guard.”

  “You didn’t know,” he protested, hating the idea of her blaming herself.

  “Still. I’ve nursed enough wounded soldiers back to health to have known better. It is nothing. I wasnae hurt.”

  “How can you say that?” he demanded, a desperate edge creeping into his unsteady voice. “Of course you were hurt. If not physically, then at least emotionally. Look at you … afraid to even reach a hand in my direction. And why shouldn’t you be? Even I don’t know if I could bear for you to touch me.”

  Her shoulders slumped and her eyes grew mournful as she took a tentative step toward him. “My fear has nothing to do with what ye might do to me. If I’m afraid it’s because I never want to see you as I did last night. I’ve wanted to hate ye for what ye did to me, Gideon, but now …”

  “Now, you pity me, as everyone else does.”

  “It isnae pity I feel.”

  What did she feel, then? Compassion? Of course, that was a part of her very nature. He knew that well enough. Was there something more to her emotions where he was concerned? Could it be that she still loved him? The hope that sparked within him grew too fast to snuff out, escalating into a roaring fire that made him heedless to the cold.

  “It would be all right if you hated me. I deserve it.”

  “I might have agreed wi’ ye before last night. But, Maxwell told me enough that I think I could understand if ye’d explain it to me. Ye’ve been changed by what ye saw and did in the Crimea, Gideon. Anyone can see that.”

  Changed. What a simple word encompassing the truth of what had happened inside him. The monumental shift of his mind and soul had rocked him to his core, re-laying the very structure of him from the inside out. Everything had been affected by the Battle of Balaclava. He’d worked for months to learn to compensate for his missing eye, never having realized how something as simple as eyesight ruled a person’s everyday life. He’d needed to learn to feed himself, to walk and keep his balance, to judge distance as best he could. Even lifting objects from a table or the floor had taken practice. And none of that even came close to touching on the other ways he had been altered.

  “Please,” she pleaded, taking another step toward him, then another, until only a few inches separated them. Gideon felt the warmth radiating from her, wanting desperately to sink against her soft, welcoming body. “I want to understand. I want to help—”

  “No,” he interjected firmly. “You cannot help me. I won’t let you endanger yourself. Don’t you see? I didn’t stay away because I regretted marrying you, or found some new amusement to occupy me. I do not know what I’m capable of, and didn’t want to risk you being harmed. How I wish that this was the worst of what happened to me.”

  She didn’t bat an eyelash when he gestured toward his face. She simply stood still and listened, hands folded before her.

  He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I stepped onto that battlefield Captain Gideon Whitlock, but left it someone else entirely. Do you understand, Sylvia? The man you married is gone. He may as well be dead.”

  Sylvia nodded slowly as if ruminating over his words, her trembling chin telling him she was on the verge of tears. “And did ye not think to give me the chance to prove that I could love the new Gideon as much as I did the old one?”

  The fissures and cracks that had opened within him upon first sight of her stretched and tore through him, flaying him alive. God, how he loved this woman—this fearless, brave creature standing before him, declaring that she could still love him despite it all. He could deny himself no longer. Closing the distance between them, he cupped her face in his hands, mighty tremors roiling through him at the first feel of her skin in three years. His entire body came alive, and he could feel in a way he had been unable to in so long. Sylvia gasped, going stiff in his arms, but wisely keeping her hands at her sides.

  “I know you could. Did you think I ever doubted that you would still love me? It was that possibility that kept me a
way. For, if you could love me as I am now, nothing would stop you from remaining by my side, no matter how much danger it put you in. I would die before hurting you on purpose, Sylvia. I raised my hand to you last night, and left that room wanting to sever that hand from my body, to do away with any part of me that would cause you harm. But it wouldn’t be enough. This thing has a hold on me, and I cannot separate myself from it. As painful as it as, I had to make a choice. I had to separate myself from you.”

  She sobbed, hot tears filling his palms as she wept. Shaking as if battered by a strong wind, she made him want to take her into his arms and hold her as he hadn’t been able to in so long. But, if he did that, she would embrace him. Her bare hands might touch his naked back, and he could be set off again. This was torment, both wanting and dreading something in equal measure.

  “Then ye didnae leave me because ye didnae want me,” she rasped. “It was because ye loved me that ye left.”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it, then. Tell me ye still love me, Gideon. Give me that much, at least, even after all ye’ve denied me.”

  The words burned in his throat like hot coals, burning him away to ash. He stroked his thumbs along her cheeks, swiping away her tears. He’d taken so much from her, and knew these were not the first tears she had shed over him. After all that, how could he deny her this one request? He’d promised himself he would be honest with her, and let her see the truth. There was nothing truer than the way he felt about her.

  Dipping his head before he could think to stop himself, he took her mouth in a tender kiss. The touch of his mouth was tentative at first, seeking permission he was sure to be denied. But, no … she wasn’t denying him. She was opening her mouth with a desperate whimper, inviting him to take more. So, he did. He fit his mouth over hers with a deep groan, his hands threading through her hair. The hood of her cloak fell back, silken mahogany strands twining around his fingers as he drank from her mouth. He sucked at her lower lip, nipping at the plump bit of flesh before plunging his tongue into her sweet depths. She sobbed against his mouth, chasing his lips when he tried to pull away as if the same desperation that had welled up in him had overtaken her, too. He acquiesced, telling himself it wasn’t selfish to plunder her mouth as he’d longed to do for so long. He was giving her what she wanted, while also taking something for himself. Gideon vowed to lock it away and hold onto the memory in the dark hours to come. This kiss would be enough; it had to be enough to satisfy him from here on out.

  He tore himself away before he was tempted to take more—to push her down onto the sand, hitch up her gown, and bury himself inside her. Gideon hadn’t touched a woman since their wedding night, hadn’t so much as entertained thoughts of taking his pleasure with any woman but Sylvia. He had yearned and wanted, but never truly been enticed. Not until right now, with her irresistible curves within arm’s reach and her pliant mouth opening to him in such a warm, exuberant welcome.

  Gently setting her away from him, he let his hands fall from her face, and the loss of contact dimmed his entire world. The sky seemed darker, the sensations of the wind on his chilled skin and the sand beneath his feet snuffed out.

  Sylvia brought a shaking hand to her mouth, fingertips caressing over her kiss-swollen lips as she stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He was certain she shared the same shock he did at the discovery that nothing had changed between them. He still wanted her as much as ever, and it seemed something within her felt the same way.

  However, he couldn’t take advantage of that knowledge. Not when he knew it was better they fight the visceral urges pulling them toward one another like a magnet and a bit of metal. It would be easier to make a clean break if they didn’t allow intimacy to complicate the matter, no matter how badly they might want it.

  “I love you,” he declared. “I love you now as much as I did then.”

  A fresh deluge of tears poured from her eyes, and she sniffled, holding her hands out to him in a plea. “Gideon …”

  “I can’t,” he whispered, backing slowly away, his heart breaking more with every step. “I do love you, Sylvia. But, I can’t … do not ask me to risk your life and your safety for my own selfish needs. It would be far too easy for me to do that.”

  With one final look at the woman he loved above all others, he turned away. The heaviness in his body threatened to take him to the ground, but he persevered. It would hurt her now to watch him walk away yet again, but in the end, she would heal. He might always be broken, but Sylvia still stood a chance, and Gideon would not take that away from her.

  When all was said and done, she would be grateful. She might even thank him for showing her the painful truth.

  She was better off without him.

  Chapter 7

  Sylvia stood facing the closed door of Gideon’s guest chamber, one hand holding her lamp aloft and the other tangled in the fabric of her dressing gown. A circle of yellow light was all that illuminated the dark corridor, and it seemed the entire house had gone quiet for the night. The majority of the Davies’s guests had departed that afternoon, leaving only the staff and the first three patients, who slept under the watchful eyes of the night nurses on the floor above. There was little chance of anyone catching her, though if they did, there was nothing to fear. The man on the other side of the door was her husband, after all. A woman couldn’t be ruined by visiting the bedchamber of her spouse late at night wearing nothing but a chemise, robe, and slippers.

  However, now that she was here, anxiety plagued her. She’d been so certain of her course upon leaving her room. Gideon had left her this morning just as he had the night before—with fear in his eyes and despair twisting his mouth. But first, he’d kissed her and told her he loved her. That kiss had touched her to her very soul, burning away all her pain and longing like a cleansing fire. For the few moments his lips were against hers, it had all been washed away. She’d been a young girl again, filled with romantic dreams and love for a gallant man in a scarlet coat.

  That kiss had stayed with her through the entire day—as she joined the doctors and other staff greeting and familiarizing themselves with their new patients. It remained on her mind even as she assisted Dr. Wickham lancing the abscesses surrounding a leg wound—one that had been improperly treated and plagued with mild infection since the soldier’s return from the Crimea. Even the sight of inflamed flesh and oozing boils wasn’t enough to push Gideon from her mind.

  Days ago, she had been determined that he would not upend her life again. Now, everything was different. With the revelation of what had kept them apart came a hope she could not free herself from: it was not too late for them to have a real marriage.

  Those thoughts had led to her standing outside his door, hoping he would listen to what she had to say.

  Taking a deep, slow breath, she raised her fist to knock. For a long moment she heard nothing from the other side, and wondered if Gideon might be sleeping. He’d looked exhausted this morning, and might have already turned in for the night. She’d nearly made up her mind to leave when the sound of heavy footfalls warned her a second before the door swung open. Then, Gideon stood before her wearing only his shirt and trousers, his hair a tousled mess. Behind him, she spied his bed in the glow of the firelight, the covers mussed as if he’d been lying there. However, his eyes were bright and clear, though marred with dark circles beneath, so she assumed he hadn’t fallen asleep just yet.

  One hand braced on the knob, he gave her a look filled with wariness and curiosity. Only one of his eyes peered at her, the other covered with the black patch he’d likely put on before coming to the door.

  “Sylvia.”

  “Aren’t ye going to let me in? Ye said a great deal to me this morning, but ye didnae stay long enough for me to say my piece.”

  She was pushing her luck, and she knew it. When he admitted to still loving her, Gideon had given her what she was owed: the truth she’d been denied for too long. She had now come demanding something else, hoping either guil
t or his feelings for her would prompt him to allow it.

  “Please, Gideon.”

  Lips pinched tight, he swept one arm to invite her in. Sylvia hurried over the threshold before he could change his mind, quickly taking in the well-appointed guest chamber with its paneled walls and heavy drapes. The dark gray and blue hues of the decor were cast in shadow, giving the chamber a macabre sort of feel. The shadows clung to Gideon as he leaned against the door and watched her.

  Setting her flickering lamp on the bedside table, she squared her shoulders and gathered the courage to speak the words simmering in her throat. She was taking a tremendous risk, not only for herself but for Gideon as well. He seemed to have found a modicum of stability, if his façade in public were any indication. What if her plans disrupted that, and he broke under the strain? What if he became angry with her for trying to help him after he had insisted it was impossible?

  But, one look in his eyes, and Sylvia realized she had no choice. He still loved her, and deep down she realized she had never stopped loving him. In the midst of all her loneliness, anger, and grief, the fire he’d ignited in her that night in Duddingston lived on. It was a tiny flame now, but still there, warm and alive.

  “When ye neglected to return to Duddingston, I went looking for ye. Or rather, any news of what happened to ye. I feared ye’d died, and no one had thought to tell me since no one knew we’d wed.”

  Gideon flinched as if she’d struck him, and he lowered his gaze. Guilt was written all over his face, anguish marring his brow. She was hurting him to speak of this, reminding him not only of their separation but of the choices he’d made that had wounded her. But, she was hurting, too. She did not want to torment him, but many painful conversations must occur before they could find some way forward.

  “I couldnae find anything indicating ye’d died or been captured, so I did the only other thing I could to find answers. I traveled by train to Sussex.”