She tossed her head, the long chestnut curls brushing her back. “Perhaps the reason I haven’t sought you out is because I’m not ready to talk to you.”
His dark eye flashed, while the one that held the scar caught the light of the moon and shone with an almost unholy light. “That is regrettable, since I intend for us to do it anyway,” he pointed out. “You left this afternoon without hearing all of my explanation.”
“I heard enough,” she said uncharitably, as she moved away, as if trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
He withheld a sigh. “All you did was come to the conclusion that you wanted. I wasn’t fit to visit anyone, let alone write and act as though nothing was wrong. I had tried to take my own life. I have the scars to prove it.” He removed his jacket and tossed it aside, and then rolled up the lower sleeves of his shirt, where two white, jagged marks cut across his wrists.
Her face paled slightly. “Why didn’t you let anyone help you?”
“I didn’t know how to tell anyone what I needed, because I had no idea myself. I wasn’t sure what it was that would help me through the pain of my injuries.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the mantel. “The single thing that seemed to help was going out on the lake and just… thinking. It gave me a chance to clear my head, something that the nightmares when I slept wouldn’t allow me to do.”
She lifted a brow. “It took years for you to clear your mind?”
He wasn’t sure how to explain so that she might understand the depth of his despair. “To fully comprehend it all, you have to imagine things from my perspective.” He found a focal point in the room and concentrated on it, while his mind returned to the past. “I was nineteen years old, eager to make my way in the world, to be someone other than a younger son of a viscount. I wanted nothing more than to carry the glory of being a war hero. What I wasn’t prepared for was the horror I would witness. Men I shared a meal with were cut down right next to me. I couldn’t understand why I survived and their family would be told they weren’t coming home again. It wasn’t always enemy fire that claimed the sailors, but various ailments. They would sweep through the regiment like fire. I saw more sea burials than I ever care to witness again.”
He put his hands behind his back when he realized they had started to tremble. “But no matter what, I persevered. It wasn’t until the Battle of Trafalgar that everything changed. When Nelson died and I was wounded, I thought I had let down the rest of my men. I felt guilty for losing an eye and being forced out of service and into the ship’s infirmary. Rage poured through me like some sort of demon. I screamed in bed every night. I had delusions and thought for sure that I was suffering from madness, but it was the fever I carried from infection. When I was finally brought on shore, the doctor tried to remove my eye, but I threatened to run him through if he did. I had no compassion for anyone or anything. I wanted to continue fighting.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “I was incoherent like that for weeks. Just before I was sent to Bedlam, the nightmares ceased and I was released on my own merit. But the stirring continued to burn within me. I grew restless. I was searching for something to ease the turmoil within me, to ease the despondency, but nothing worked.” He swallowed hard. “That’s when I turned to opium. I—”
“Stop. Oh, please, stop.”
Anthony’s gaze shifted to where Miranda was leaning against the post of her bed. Tears were trailing down her face. Shame washed over him, and he walked toward her. “God, Miranda, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I should have known not to compare your life to mine. I had hardships and loss, it’s true, but nothing like what you endured. My God, how can you forgive my behavior?”
His chest warmed. “There is nothing to forgive. You were speaking from wounded pride. You thought I had forsaken you and moved on with my life while you were still trying to deal with yours.”
She slowly shook her head and lifted a trembling hand to rest on his cheek, on the side with the scar that he had abhorred for so long. “Pride had nothing to do with it. I was upset because I’d loved you.”
He froze. His lungs felt tight. He could hardly speak. “Meaning that you don’t any longer?”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “I don’t know. I care about you. That has never changed, but it’s been fifteen years.” She opened her eyes. “Things change. I’ve changed.We’vechanged.”
He couldn’t dispute the truth. He reached up and wiped away one of her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Perhaps all we need is a reminder.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Can I kiss you, Miranda?”
She couldn’t move.She certainly couldn’t breathe. For so long, she’d dared to fantasize about this very moment. Now that it was upon her, she was terrified that what she’d hoped for all these years wouldn’t be as perfect as she wanted. It would be her very first kiss. She had vowed it would belong solely to Anthony. When she’d claimed she didn’t know if she still loved him or not, she was being truthful. The love that filled her heart was the dream of a girl who was besotted. But the reality of a woman might be vastly different.
Perhaps he was right.
She slowly nodded, the decision made. “Yes.”
She closed her eyes as his head began to descend to hers. With the gentlest of kisses, he pressed his mouth to hers. It was as if the ground shook beneath them. She raised her arms and tentatively placed them on his shoulders, as his hands went around her waist. He didn’t try to touch her or ask for more than she might give. He kept the embrace chaste and innocent.
When he pulled back, she lamented the loss, but she knew it shouldn’t go any further than this. There was still so much that they needed to learn about each other. Things that they had to sort out before further intimacy could take place.
He touched a lock of her hair. “You’re just as sweet as I always thought you’d be.”
And you’re just as perfect, she thought, but she didn’t dare voice the words aloud.
He released her with obvious reluctance and turned toward the terrace. “I should be going.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t mean to climb back out the window!”
“I made it in just fine,” he pointed out.
“That may be, but I don’t want to be responsible should you slip and break your neck.” She walked toward her door and unlocked it, then turned back to him pointedly.
He gave a lopsided grin and said, “I don’t know whether I should be relieved or affronted that you think I can’t manage such a feat a second time.”
