Samantha James (15 page)

And Anne couldn’t help but laugh along with him. By Jove, she couldn’t. It was disarming, that smile. Wholly charming, that laugh. For both were so rare, so very precious, that her heart surely stopped.

Later that afternoon she glided into his study. Simon was just lowering himself into his chair.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were here!”

“I’ve only just returned. And my boots, my lady Anne, are immaculate.”

Was that a twinkle in his eye? It surely was. She smothered a smile. “Ah. I shall have to thank Duffy then, won’t I?”

Simon chuckled, then leaned back in his chair, eyeing her curiously. “Was there something you needed?”

Anne held up the cloth in her hand. “I was going to dust off your desk while you were out.”

“I won’t be long.” He pulled out a ledger from one of the drawers. “I’ve several entries to make here and then—”
Suddenly he broke off. His gaze had fastened on the wall next to the doors.

“Where is the painting that was there?”

A rush of heat climbed up her neck, clear to her cheeks. It seemed she’d been well and truly caught. As it happened, a little sooner than she anticipated. She hadn’t been trying to hide it from him—as if she could! But she hadn’t known she would be present when he noticed the painting was gone—and more aptly, its replacement…In truth, that was her real concern. Which was why she’d planned to tell him at supper, before he saw it…

“I moved it to the drawing room,” she said brightly. “There was a wall there that simply cried out for a painting of a quaint old bridge…”

In its place was a tapestry map of Yorkshire, with Rosewood Manor at its center. She’d found it in the library, hung in a dark corner. Now she moved to the tapestry and tugged on one corner.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist. I thought the colors of the carpet in this room would bring out the red and gold in the threads.” Anne held her breath.

Simon had yet to remove his gaze from the tapestry she’d hung a scant half hour ago. Anne’s nerves were screaming. She’d been quite rash, she realized suddenly. Perhaps foolish as
well! How she wished he would say something. Anything!

“Of course, if you don’t like it—” Her lips felt stiff from struggling to maintain her smile. “I’ll have it removed straightaway—”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “It does look as if it belongs here, doesn’t it?” His eyes skidded back to her. “Thank you,” he told her softly.

She was about to step away when he stopped her. “Wait,” he said. He sifted through the post he’d dropped on the corner of his desk. “There’s a letter for you. From your cousin, I think.” He held it high.

Nearly an hour later Simon saw her sitting on the bench beneath the bank of windows behind the staircase. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, her chin resting atop her knees. Between the fingers of one hand, she clutched the letter.

He frowned. “Anne? What’s wrong?”

Her head came sharply around. He’d startled her, he realized.

He nodded at the letter. He knew it was from her cousin. “Is all well?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

She was trying overly hard to convince him, he decided. “It would seem not,” Simon said grimly, taking a place alongside her. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not,” she denied quickly. Too quickly, Simon decided.

She tried to duck her head before he could see, but Simon had already glimpsed her distress. Reaching out, he snared her chin between thumb and forefinger. His gaze captured hers. “You are,” he said quietly.

Anne opened her mouth. She considered arguing, then discarded the idea just as quickly.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I know it’s silly—” She gestured vaguely, hoping she didn’t sound as lame as she felt, but fearing that she did. “It’s just that I—I miss everyone so much. I miss them all quite dreadfully, I fear. My mother and Alec. Caro and the children. Aidan, though I confess I’ve gotten used to him being away.”

Regret pierced his chest. Regret, and more than a smidgen. High in Simon’s mind was the way Anne had looked when they’d departed London for Rosewood. Hardly surprising, considering the circumstances of their wedding had been tenuous at best.
Tenuous?
mocked a scathing voice in his head. Oh, but that was laughable.

“It’s certainly not dreadful,” he said. “And it’s not silly. They’re your family. Of course you miss them. I’ve seen you all together, you know. I would be shocked if you claimed otherwise.”

He watched as Anne smoothed the letter with both fingertips, the gesture as eloquent as anything she might have said.

She sighed, the sound wistful, her smile rather
misty. “Caro said that Alec’s decided to stay in Town with Mama until Christmas,” she found herself confiding. “I expect I’ll have a letter from Mama shortly. Caro said she’s been writing volumes. She and John are nearly ready to move back to their town house. She and Mama have been busy shopping for the nursery—she and John are expecting again, you know. Izzie has decided she is not to be called Izzie, but Isabella Cecelia—it’s her second name, you see. Oh, and they bought Jack his first pony.” Her laugh was breathless. “Quite the sight, I gather! Caro said Jack’s squeal must have surely been heard across the Thames—”

All at once, she halted. Her gaze veered to his face. Uncertainty flickered over her features.

And Simon knew why.

He shook his head. “It’s all right, Anne. You can say it.” Bracing himself inwardly, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, marveling at its softness, even as he offered the only assurance he could. “You can say Jack’s name.”

Her eyes searched his—searched endlessly, it seemed. She shocked him by laying her palm against the plane of his jaw.

“Thank you for sitting here with me.” Her tone was very grave, but the merest hint of a smile curled her lips. “Thank you for understanding.”

What she did next shocked him even more.

Leaning up, she kissed his mouth.

The contact was brief, even fleeting—but so achingly sweet, it made his heart catch.

For Simon felt it, that kiss, felt it in every pore of his body…

It burned through him like a flame.

And with a bone-shattering awareness that seared his very soul.

Oh, yes, Simon knew precisely what Anne’s family meant to her. How close they were.

Riding back to Rosewood, he couldn’t get yesterday’s scene out of his mind.

Regret lay heavy in his heart. He’d never really considered how Anne must feel, being torn from them as she’d been. How hard it must be for her.

Not until Caro’s letter had arrived.

It bothered him. It bothered him mightily. A part of him almost wished she’d never confided in him. How much easier it would be!

But now he couldn’t distance himself from it. He couldn’t distance himself from
her
.

Should he send her back to London? Back to her family? A visit, perhaps, he reasoned. Damn! but he couldn’t accompany her. It would soon be harvest, and he couldn’t afford to be away from Rosewood for so long. Yet if Anne returned to London so soon after the wedding—and without him, yet—there might be talk.

And perhaps among her family.

No, he would not put her in that position. He
refused
to put her in that position.

Or was it that his reasons were purely selfish?

It was that which struck a note of truth in his consciousness.

It pleased him, the way Anne took pride in his home. Simon couldn’t deny it. Beyond that first week when maids darted every which way—and in truth, he couldn’t blame her, for the house had been atrocious!—the changes were now more subtle. A vase tucked here and there, the scent of flowers in the hall…He liked it. He liked the little things that Anne had done.

He also liked the way she saw to his needs. He recalled the day in the dining room when she’d dared to tell him it was rude to read his paper…He laughed to think that he’d been so opposed, so very stubborn! But Anne was more
than a match for him—it hadn’t taken long to discover she was just as stubborn! She was tart and outspoken, ever determined, never defeated.

His smile withered.

Yet still his conscience needled him.

If he could not be wholly honest with her, he should at least be honest with himself!

He didn’t
want
to send her away.

Still another thought crept in, unbidden. And once it took hold, it refused to leave.

What if she left…and never came back?

Throughout the long hours of the day, Simon was never able to put aside the tumult in his mind…the maelstrom in his heart.

For these were perilous waters that he trod. Oh, he’d told himself it was better to turn away from his beautiful young wife.

Anne made it impossible.

Every time he looked at her—every time she drew near—desire mounted, a relentless invader. Twice as powerful. Twice as dangerous. Each and every time. Without question.

Without fail.

And Simon was powerless against it.

That was the most jarring truth of all.

His mind thus engaged, he never even saw the speedy little hare that darted across the field in front of him.

His horse reared. The next thing he knew, he pitched from the saddle. He flung out his arm
to break his fall. There was a sickening thud as he landed. His lungs searing, he gasped for air. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the horrifying sensation of being unable to breathe, or the white-hot pain that stabbed at his right shoulder.

Swearing hotly, he caught the reins and dragged himself into the saddle.

Inside the house, Anne hummed a merry tune, passing through the entrance hall on her way to the dining room.

Suddenly the front door crashed open. Anne stopped short. Her eyes widened.

It was Simon, his left arm flung around Duffy. He was disheveled, his shirt dirty, his gait rather crooked. For the space of an instant, she thought he was foxed.

One look at his face and she knew he was not.

“What happened?”

“I was thrown.”

“He’s injured his shoulder, mum!” Duffy cried.

Simon shot him a fulminating look. “My good man, I’m still able to speak for myself!”

Anne pressed her lips together. It appeared her husband was back to his usual disagreeable self. The dolt! Duffy was wholly devoted to him. Didn’t he know it?

He was pale, though, almost deathly so.

“There’s a doctor in the village, isn’t there, Duffy?”

“I don’t need a damned doctor!”

Duffy had already nodded. Worried blue eyes met hers. Duffy was struggling a little at his weight. Sending the old man a tiny, reassuring smile, Anne easied her shoulder beneath Simon’s to replace him. To her husband, she sent a ripe glare.

“It wasn’t you I was speaking to, sir!” she said through her teeth. “It was Duffy!”

By the time they entered his room, Simon was almost staggering. His breath scraped in her ear. He stumbled to the bed, sagging onto the mattress.

Anne’s fingers were already on his shirt, plucking buttons from their berth. He brushed them aside.

“Duffy can help me.”

“
I
can help you.”

Anne didn’t mean to snap. But when stormy gray eyes tangled with hers, she no longer cared.

His jaw closed hard.

“I shall be fine. I just need to sit. Now send Duffy back in.”

Anne was blistering. “I am your wife, Simon. I won’t be banished!”

His insistence only crystallized her own. As if in defiance, she tugged his shirt from his trousers, dragging the edges wide. She wasn’t
prepared for the way her throat went dry. The bottom dropped out of her belly. A mat of dark, curly hair covered his chest and belly. This was the first time she’d seen his naked torso.

And it was glorious.
He
was glorious.

Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she sat beside him.

It was then she saw it…

The horrible scarring across the upper quadrant of his back…The skin looked thick and leathery and dark, drawn tight as a drum across muscle and bone. Anne had never seen such scars before. But she knew where they came from…All at once she knew why she’d seen him occasionally rubbing his shoulder.

Something struck me. Part of the ceiling, I think. It knocked me down, but I got up. I kept shouting. Shouting for Ellie. For Joshua. For Jack.

Anne’s heart squeezed.

I swear I could hear them. I swear I could! But—I couldn’t reach them. I couldn’t save them.

She knew he’d gone in after them. Tried to rescue Ellie and his sons. What a fool she was! She hadn’t realized that he’d been burned…

A sharp, ragged breath broke from her throat. She’d yearned to understand him—to know why he was so distant, so aloof! And now, knowing what she did, could she blame him? He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t made of stone. He certainly wasn’t heartless. But the scars he carried were on the inside as well—and those were the
hardest scars of all to heal, she thought achingly.

How could any man withstand such loss? Such pain. She made a faint, choked sound, for it hurt just to think of it.

Simon’s head jerked up, his expression utterly fierce.

Slowly, tentatively, her touch whisper-light, she laid her fingers on his back, the place on his shoulder where those horrible scars began.

Simon recoiled. Visibly. Physically. Pulling inside himself where Anne couldn’t see. It was keenly evident in the proud, rigid angle of his head.

In the flinch of his muscles beneath her fingers.

“Don’t,” he said tautly. He stared straight ahead. “I’m sure it turns your stomach.”

It didn’t. What hurt was seeing his withdrawal.
Feeling
it.

What hurt was knowing the agony he had surely endured.

“Actually it doesn’t,” she said evenly. Even as she spoke, her gaze shifted—along with her hand. But she didn’t pull away. Her fingers drifted over the front of his shoulder. Mottled, purple bruises had already begun to darken and swell. She shook her head worriedly. “This doesn’t feel right, Simon. It’s different than the other side. I hope it’s not broken.”

He dismissed it curtly. “It will be fine by
morning.”

Anne’s chin climbed. If he chose to be difficult, then so would she. “It won’t,” she said shortly.

There was a knock on the door. Duffy peered inside. “Mum? The doctor should be on his way.”

“Thank you, Duffy. Please see that he’s sent up as soon as he arrives.”

Simon was sizzling, she saw. Was it because Duffy addressed her and not him? Oh, bother, she thought. Why was it that men were so convinced they were indestructible? That they dare not display any hint of weakness? She recalled once when Aidan was ill with fever, shortly before he’d left for India. He wouldn’t admit it. No one knew until he collapsed on the stairs one day, frightening her mother half to death. No one could be strong all the time. Not Aidan. Not Alec. Not Simon or any other man. How ridiculous!

He didn’t seem to want her near him. Fine, she thought coolly, rising. Her eyes lit on the wing chair in front of the fireplace. She tugged it around and angled it toward the bed, then installed herself on the seat, squirming a little until she was comfortable.

Simon glared.

Anne savored her satisfaction.

By the time the doctor arrived, Simon was leaning back on the pillows, holding his arm
across his stomach. His eyes were closed, his lashes long, feathery crescents against his skin.

Anne hurried to the door. “Hello,” said the man who stood beside Duffy. “I’m Dr. Gardner.”

A big, robust man, Dr. Gardner whisked off his hat. His manner was capable and reassuring, his hands gentle despite his size. Anne stood near while he gently probed Simon’s shoulder.

Finally he drew back. “Well,” he said cheerfully, “it’s not broken. But it needs to be pushed back into place.” He lifted Simon’s right arm, extending it fully. “I warn you, this is going to hurt like the dickens.”

Anne scarcely had time to draw breath, and it was over. She heard a popping sound, and Simon went rigid. His eyes glazed with pain, and his face went pasty white.

It was mercifully quick, however. Still, his breathing was heavy as Dr. Gardner eased his shoulder into a sling. “Leave it in place for a few days,” he instructed. “A little rest and you’ll be right as rain,” he told Simon.

Anne accompanied the doctor into the hall.

“It’s not serious,” Dr. Gardner said. “I’d advise wearing the sling for several days. Hot compresses if he needs them.” He paused. “A pity this happened to the same shoulder. I should imagine he still has a fair amount of discom
fort…” He glanced at her inquiringly.

“Simon is…not one to complain.” Anne felt lame. She didn’t quite know what to say.

They were on the landing now. “I’ll never forget that night,” Dr. Gardner was saying. “His recovery took so long…I saw the beam that struck him”—he shook his head—“it’s a miracle his shoulder wasn’t crushed. And those burns…I’m just a country doctor. I wasn’t even sure how to treat them.” The doctor shook his head. “He was fortunate, I always told him. So very fortunate.”

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused. “We’ve heard about you in the village,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Anne shook his hand. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate you coming so quickly.”

Slowly she closed the door, her mind still whirling.

When she turned, Duffy stood behind her, his expression anxious.

“He’ll be fine, Duffy. Truly.” She sighed. “I’m sorry he was so surly earlier. He’s rather trying sometimes, isn’t he?”

“It’s all right, mum.”

Anne bit her lip. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, mum.”

“The night that Ellie and the boys died…Simon said you were there.”

“I—I was, mum.”

“He went in after them, didn’t he? And you went in—after him.”

Duffy nodded slowly. “He was barely inside when the roof collapsed. I’ll never forget what he said when he woke…He said I should have left him there. That I”—tears stood high and bright in the old man’s eyes—“that I should have let him die, too.”

A hot ache filled her throat. She reached for his hand. “He’s lucky to have you, Duffy.”

The old man swallowed. “I was about to say the same to you, mum.” She gave his fingers a little squeeze, then retraced her steps to Simon’s room.

He was tugging on the heel of his right boot and swearing rather heatedly.

“Oh, that should help immensely,” Anne observed from the doorway. “Would you like some assistance?”

Scowling, he expelled an impatient breath. “I should think it would be obvious. I need help with my boots.”

Anne didn’t move. “As Caro and I have occasionally told Izzie and Jack,” she said lightly, “it’s quite rude to make petulant demands. Besides the fact that they rarely yield results, I find that a little courtesy—”

“Please,” he said brusquely.

Anne arched a brow. “Please…?”

“May I please have your assistance in removing my boots?”

Anne smiled sweetly. “Sir, you had only to ask.”

She very nearly landed on her bum while tugging at each boot, but at last they were off. Dropping them near the end of the bed, she straightened.

Simon was on his feet, fumbling clumsily with the buttons on his trousers.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Lord, but you’re stubborn! Here, let me.”

She stepped up. Her gaze slid down, her hands came up to the level of his hips…

And all at once, Anne wasn’t feeling quite so lofty or so brisk.

She’d already twisted her fingers around the first button. It popped free. Her knuckles skimmed down, down across warm, hair-roughened flesh.

Her heart was suddenly pounding. She nearly snatched her hand away.
Now you’ve done it, Anne!
came a voice in her head. She’d gone quite mad, she realized. What the devil had she been thinking? She hadn’t, of course.

The first button was undone. The second as well. Readying her nerve, steadying her resolve, she attacked the third.

It held fast.

She concentrated harder, ignoring a swell of panic.
Stop being so maidenly, Anne! You can do this. Just don’t look.

She twisted harder, the knuckle of her index finger digging into the knotted grid of spare, taut muscle between the crease of his hips. In her earnestness, she didn’t even think to try to avoid his—