But no one else had ever said such a thing. Never. And her words spoken so simply unraveled his control. His defenses crumbled, and pain spilled out. Not in sound or action, but it poured out of him, nonetheless. He felt crippled by it, and yet he couldn’t let it show. He was supposed to be protecting her.
“Diana,” he rasped.
She turned to him and stifled a curse. Without warning, she pulled off his mask. He flinched and tried to stop her, but she insisted, and he would not tussle with her now.
“We are in shadow. No one will see,” she said. “No one but me, and I already know who you are.”
She did. And to a depth he thought no one could possibly reach.
“I want to see your face,” she said softly.
“And now that you do,” he said, the words forced out through a throat tight with emotion. “What do you gain?”
She smiled, though the expression was wistful. “What I’ve always seen.” She touched his cheek. “Such passion. Such a pure force of feeling.”
The heat of her palm seared him. The sight of her gaze on his face cut him to the quick. She knew him too well, and he felt too vulnerable this way. And yet, he couldn’t force himself to move away. The feel of her hand was like a brand, and he leaned into it rather than away. He wanted her carved into his very bones, and yet the pain of it weakened him. He had no idea how he managed to stand strong against her caress when every part of him crumbled.
“There it is,” she murmured. “That burn in your eyes. When everyone else seems to be looking for themselves even as they glance at me, you always saw me.”
“You speak in poetry,” he said. “I am a simple soldier now, and a damaged one at that.” He held up his crippled hand, less deformed in appearance now because he wore stiff leather gloves.
She grabbed his hand, enfolding it with both of hers. That meant her touch left his face, and he was bereft by the loss. Then she turned, still holding his hand, as they resumed their stroll.
“Your hand does not seem to limit you. Have you found it a problem?”
How to answer that? It certainly hindered his use of a pistol and a sword, but his other hand compensated well enough. Even deformed by the scar tissue, he could make a fist, and though he could not open his hand completely, he could grasp things and pluck at his guitar, which is what he did to improve his dexterity.
“It is getting better with time,” he finally said. “I exercise it regularly, and it has become more limber.”
“How did it happen?”
He shrugged. Everyone asked him that. “The honest truth is that I don’t know. It was Waterloo. Everyone believes that there is an order to a battle, and there is. But not always, and not for everyone. We were in chaos, and I was grabbing men, trying to get them to hold, to fight, to work with one another. Two men fight better together than apart. Five men can block a horse and its rider with ease. If a company can hold their position, then the battle can be won. But it takes many men working together.”
“And a leader who can make it happen when bullets are flying everywhere.” She turned to him. “You impress me.”
So many emotions continued to tumble around inside him. He did not like thinking about that day, much less being praised for it. In the end, he said what he always did. “I survived. So many did not.”
“And I am grateful that you did.”
He let those words sink in. After her earlier animosity, he had not thought she would say such a thing. After all, he’d been expressly forbidden to cross paths with her at home, for all that he managed the footmen who protected her.
“Why did you block me from coming abovestairs? Surely you understand that I can protect you better with full access to the entire home.”
She slanted him a wry look. “Do not pretend that you have been limited in any way. I know you come upstairs to check the windows and even the roof.”
He had, but he’d had to be scrupulously careful that they not cross paths. “I would never harm you.”
She was silent for a long time, then she sighed. “It took me a long time to accept my marriage. Longer still to find my way. I had to fight with the housekeeper about the smallest things.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know it at the time, but Oscar had dallied with her, and she imagined that she would become his wife.”
“The devil you say!”
“I don’t blame her for thinking it. Oscar often says what is convenient for him. Her fault was in not seeing him clearly enough to know the lie.”
His estimation of her husband was dropping by the second. Up until now, the staff had been universally supportive of the master, for all that he was bedridden. “Now you impress me,” he said. “You married into a disaster.”
Diana nodded. “It took me a year to realize that I would rather be respected than loved. From there, it became easy.”
“Nothing about that sounds easy,” he said. He knew. He’d had to earn the respect of his men, and that had been the hardest battle of all. “Now, you have both—respect and love.”
