Page 115 of Scandalous

“Why are you still wearing your shirt? Off,” she commanded, making an imperious gesture.

He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on top of his other clothes. Her eyes ran up and down him in a way that made his stomach clench. And then they stopped on his arm.

Her smile drained away, and her eyes brightened with unshed tears.

“What is this?” he asked, cupping her smooth cheek in his hand, stroking away a tear with his thumb. “Why are you crying, Sarah?”

She reached out and traced the burned ridges of the brand with a slim, sensitive finger, her touch searing him. He grabbed her wrist and held it, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“It happened a long time ago, Sarah. There is no need to weep for me.”

“Foolish man. I’m not crying for you—I’m crying for the little boy who endured this.” She kissed his chin. “Now tell me about the duel.”

* * *

“I understand why she killed d’Armand, but why did she kill herself?” Sarah asked sometime later, shaking her head.

“I have thought about that a thousand times since.” He shrugged. “All I can think is that she had no desire to live. I think her life—the harsh, unrelenting servitude—had simply driven her mad.” His expression was beyond bleak. “I should have seen what she planned to do—I should have guessed from the deadness in her eyes.”

Sarah did not know what to say. How could she ever guess what had been between the two?

“How is Gaston?”

“It is difficult to say. He is a very quiet boy who has been taught to hide his emotions. He is behaving as if nothing has happened.”

“He must miss her terribly.”

Martín nodded, his beautiful eyes unreadable and distant.

Sarah didn’t want to ask, but the words came unbidden. “Did you love her, Martín?”

The question seemed to pull him back to the present. He smiled at her and took her hand. “No, chérie, we were never in love. How could we be? Both of us were forced to do those things with each other. We never even spoke until the day I went to d’Armand’s. I didn’t know of Gaston’s existence until that day. Her life must have been one of constant terror. I think she only had enough love left in her to free Gaston from d’Armand’s grasp.”

“We will have to be gentle with him, Martín. He is just a little boy—our little boy, now.”

Martín gave her a look that made her stomach fall out and then lowered his mouth over hers, kissing her with a ferocity that made her gasp.

He suddenly stopped. “You know I cannot live in England? At least not until I can address the issue of d’Armand’s accusation against me?”

She nodded.

“That might never happen. You understand, Sarah? I might live the rest of my life with the threat of arrest over my head.”

Again she nodded. “I didn’t want to live in England, anyway.”

He pulled away in surprise. “You didn’t?”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “How could you think that kind of life would satisfy me?”

He grinned.

“What?” she demanded.

“Oh, nothing.”

She crossed her arms. “Martín—”

“Oh, very well. I was just going to say that I should have remembered you are a woman who needs a cause in her life, whether it is trading your virtue to an unscrupulous captain to save the lives of mutineers or teaching a man to read.”