“Letter?” she repeated dumbly.
“I sent word to Blackheart. I wanted to protect you from the shock of this… He was supposed to tell you.”
An odd part of her brain acknowledged the miscommunication. “He’s in London with your sisters. Help me up.” She was trapped on the ground by her skirts. Instead of Luke rushing forward, however, it was Lord Tempest who offered his hand.
Upright again, she got a better look at Arthur. Either he had been injured and was barely recovered or he had been very ill.
Or he was dying.
Last November, she would have been devastated to see him this way. She would have fallen into his arms, overjoyed. She would have demanded his family send for a physician immediately and usher him to their chamber.
But she didn’t know this man. Had she ever?
“Perhaps we should go inside,” Lady Tempest suggested. “Arthur needs to rest.”
Even if Naomi hadn’t realized something was wrong with him, she would have known after taking one look at his mother. Her son, who had been presumed dead, had come home alive, and yet her eyes were filled with sadness and the lines around her mouth seemed even more pronounced.
“Arthur, you must rest.” Lord Tempest repeated.
“I can walk beside my wife, can I not?” Some of the familiar spirit she remembered was present in his demand. He offered Naomi his arm.
Naomi couldn’t help but send Luke a questioning glance. What did this mean?
Only Luke wasn’t looking at her. He seemed inordinately preoccupied handing Amelia off to the nurse who’d silently appeared.
“Naomi?” Arthur’s voice clipped out her name.
He moved closer to her as his older brother took his mother’s arm and began leading her back toward the house. Arthur motioned to his elbow with a jerk. “I don’t bite.”
His words sounded angry, bitter.
But she was the person who had been wronged. He’d cheated, he’d lied, he’d kept another woman while Naomi kept his home.
She didn’t want to touch him.
“What of your tavern friend?” She met his gaze accusingly, hugging her own arms and pointedly refusing his escort.
In response, he tilted his head.
“Bridget? Are you not going to go to her?”
“Damnit, Naomi, I return, more dead than alive, months after having been presumed dead and you want to discuss a harmless indiscretion?” He asked, voice hard. The look in his eyes remained cold, lifeless almost. “Is this what a man gets for risking his life for his country? Surely, you are joking?”
She thought she saw Luke tense where he stood but must have been mistaken. She wanted to meet his gaze but he turned away from both of them and followed the others inside.
He had chosen to give them a moment alone but watching him disappear, Naomi fought panic that was rising inside of her.
What was she supposed to say to Arthur? Had Luke told him about the two of them? But immediately, she knew—he would not. He’d not make such a decision for her.
She wished he had.
Except…
Arthur was the father of her child and he was a man who’d risked his life for king and country. With a shaking hand, she reached out and allowed Arthur to take her hand.
She felt none of the comfort or pleasure she’d experienced before. His palm and fingers felt moist and cold as he tucked her hand into his arm. And that arm felt almost skeletal. She noticed an abrasion, or scab of some sort on his neck. When she glanced down, she saw a second one on the back of his wrist.
“What happened?” The question came out on a shaky breath. It was he who leaned on her when they began what was to be a slow and tedious process as they limped toward the house.
