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. Trembling, 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 were moist and cold as he tucked her hand into his arm. The arm itself 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, limping along as they began what was sure to be a slow and tedious journey toward the house.
“I was taken prisoner,” he answered shortly.
“And the others?” Did this mean that none of the men had been killed as a result of the ambush?
“Burned alive.”
She stumbled at the words and the picture they conjured in her mind, almost against her will. Luke had never told her exactly what had happened. It was so very like him. He’d done what he could to protect her from thinking Arthur had…
“But they spared you.” It came out both a question and an observation.
“In light of your lukewarm welcome, I could almost believe you are disappointed by this,” he said as though she’d made an accusation.
“That’s not what I said.” She took a breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to provoke him just now. Not today, with his family nearby and him struggling to remain upright. “Of course I am not disappointed. You are a father now. You have a daughter.”
She did not remind him that he had a wife. What wife wouldn’t be thrilled at the return of a husband she’d presumed dead? And it wasn’t that she was disappointed. She’d never wished him dead.
But…
Luke had arrived at the entrance ahead of them and waited there, holding the door wide.
For her and Gil.
Arthur seemed to spot him just after she did. “If it wasn’t for Luke,” he said, his lips twisting with some emotion she couldn’t name, “I’d likely be dead in that hut. These past months have been a living hell.”
Naomi finally was able to lock her gaze with Luke’s. He’d had far more time adjust to Arthur’s return from the dead. He lifted one corner of his mouth ruefully. He seemed resigned and sad.
The panic she’d felt before was nearly full-blown now. She needed to speak with him alone. She needed to find out what happened. She could not go on with Arthur as her husband. He’d lied. He’d cheated.
She loved Luke.
While Naomi waited for her vision to become accustomed to the darkness of the parlor, Mr. Webbs stepped forward to assist Arthur to the nearest settee.
“You should be in bed.” Lady Tempest was seated already, wringing her hands in her lap.
“I’ll have time enough for that,” Arthur replied, more tersely than Naomi thought was strictly called for. Heshouldbe in bed. His hands had felt cold to the touch, and yet, beads of perspiration dappled his brow and the skin just above his lips.
Naomi had so many questions. Arthur might have returned alive but he was not well.
“Take care, Gil.” Luke grimaced in Arthur’s direction as he edged toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me. My Lady, Tempest, Na—Mrs. Gilcrest. I’ll leave the four of you to… catch up.”
“I’ll see you out.” Naomi knew it wasn’t proper, but the realization that it would be even less acceptable to visit him at Crescent Park spurred her across the room. She couldn’t wait even a day to be alone with him—to touch him.
Lady Tempest hardly seemed to notice, all of her concern directed toward her son, but Tempest sent Naomi an enigmatic glance as she walked stiffly across the room. Undeterred, she slowed her pace, slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind her.
She would have thrown herself into Luke’s arms, but he put a hand up to stop her and stepped backward, restoring the distance between them.
Naomi’s breath froze in her lungs. Although the circumstances were completely different, her heart recognized this feeling. A crumbling keystone, a shattering.
