Tarnished Honor Page 13

  Damn.

  “What are you doing in the bushes?”

  Hiding. It should be obvious. But then, Dingle was not the sharpest arrow in the quiver.

  He was also not the most attractive arrow—in the quiver or elsewhere. It was probably ungracious of her to notice, but though he was a noted hero of Waterloo, he had a weak chin. She did so prefer a strong chin. Square. Covered with black bristles. Dented in the center.

  Not that anyone specific came to mind. He did not.

  Not in the slightest.

  Aside from that, Dingle had nostrils. Cavernous nostrils. As his nose was slightly upturned, a small woman, such as Fia, could see all the way up into his brain. Or so it seemed. He also had the unfortunate habit of salivating through his words. Everything he said was wet. It was rather disarming.

  Suffice to say, of all the men attending Charles’s reunion house party, Dingle was one of her least favorites. Probably on account of the inadvertent spray. Although, if she were being honest, none of the men here truly registered as prospects, despite the fact that most all of them seemed inclined to court her.

  And Charles, damn him, was determined to find her a husband. He paraded one prospect after another before her in an endless stream. Not one of them held a candle to the tall, valiant cavalryman who had ruined her for all others.

  It had been a relief when Chelsea arrived, and not only because Fia had missed her friend. But because Chelsea could assume some of the suitors. Dingle, perhaps…

  “I do say, Miss Lennox, Fia, if I may call you that.” She forbore reminding him he already had. “I was hoping we could take a stroll together beside the loch.”

  She smiled. Or grimaced. Whatever. “That would be lovely.” She glanced at the sky, searching for the lightning bolt that would surely strike her down.

  Dingle took her arm and she attempted valiantly not to flinch.

  As they strolled to the loch, he pattered on about this and that and whatnot. Fia nodded and murmured something vague and encouraging on occasion, but she wasn’t listening. There didn’t seem to be a point.

  There didn’t seem to be a point in much, these days.

  Odd, wasn’t it, how desolate she was? Now that her future was secure? Charles had assured her of that, that he would feed her and clothe her and help her find a decent husband. She would never have to worry about anything again.

  How odd that life had been much more exciting when she’d been unsure.

  But then, Daniel factored greatly in that excitement.

  She missed him terribly. Every day. And she had to acknowledge, had she not been thinking of him each and every day, all day—and all night—Dingle or Fitzgerald or Crumm or any of Charles’s other friends might have seemed more appealing.

  Pity Daniel was the only one she wanted.

  Pity he didn’t want her. At least, not enough to overcome his damned pride. Or his guilt. Or whatever excuse was keeping him away.

  If he wanted her—really wanted her—he would have come by now.

  Charles had invited him to this party. He could have come. She could only assume he had not because she was here.

  Which was ballocks.

  “Fia! Fia!” She glanced up and, with great relief, saw Chelsea making her way across the lawn, one hand on her bonnet, as the breeze had sprung up.

  “Oh thank God,” she said under her breath.

  “I beg your pardon?” Dingle sputtered.

  “Look, it’s Chelsea. Isn’t she lovely?” she gushed.

  “Not near as lovely as you, Miss Lennox.”

  “Nonsense. She is much lovelier.” She leaned in and clutched his arm. “And I understand she has a generous portion.” Wicked of her, tossing her very best friend to the wolves, but honestly, she’d had quite enough of Dingle’s spittle.

  “Oh Fia, darling. I’ve been looking for you.” Chelsea’s eyes were large as she approached. “I do apologize, Mr. Dingle,” she said with a curtsey and a smile in the general direction of his nostrils. “But I must steal Fia from you. There’s something to which we must attend at once.”

  Dingle’s face fell—which had an unfortunate impact to that crumbling chin—and released her. “I say. That is a shame. We were having such a charming conversation.”

  Well, he had been.

  “Maybe another time, Mr. Dingle?”

  “Wonderful.”

  Not if she could help it.

  He kissed her hand and she was thankful for the gloves Charles had provided. Still, they came back damp.

  She nodded to him and hooked arms with Chelsea and they fairly flew toward the house. “What is it?” she asked, breathless at the pace her friend set.

  “What is what?” Chelsea gusted.

  “What is it that we need to attend to at once?”

  “Oh.” Her grin was naughty. “Nothing. I just thought I should save you from him.”

  Fia’s heart swelled, and then a pang of guilt shafted her. It occurred to her perhaps she shouldn’t have tossed Chelsea to the wolves after all. “Thank you.”

  “I canna help noticing the way your nose wrinkles when he approaches.”

  “It doesna,” she said as they stepped onto the portico of the sprawling mansion that was now her home.

  “Aye, it does.” Chelsea laughed. “I canna blame you, though. None of them are so verra scintillating, are they?”

  “They are not.”

  “Which is why you should consider Charles.”

  Oh dear. Not again. “Chelsea, darling…”

  “He is handsome, is he not?”

  “He is.”

  “And wealthy. And charming. And a good, good man.”

  “I am certain he is.”

  “He is. Valiant and heroic as well.” She waggled a finger. “Only consider how he dealt with Blackbottom’s nephew.”

  “I’m sure Horace shall enjoy life at sea.”

  “Charles did that for you, darling.”

  “I rather think he did it for you, Chelsea.”

  “For all of us then. No matter. It was valiant and heroic.”

  “Aye. He is valiant.”

  “And heroic.”

  “That too. But…”

  Chelsea sighed as they stepped through the French doors and into the morning room that looked out onto the garden. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Fia glanced away. She’d told Chelsea everything, well, almost everything. At the very least, she’d shared that she’d met a man on her travels and she very seriously feared she’d lost her heart to him. Chelsea believed Charles was the cure. He was indeed a wonderful, generous, caring man. But he was not. Not the cure. Certainly not Daniel.

  No one was.

  “Fia, you canna mourn him forever.”

  “I doona intend to.” Just until she ceased to draw breath.

  “You need a husband. You need to forget him.”

  What folly was that?

  She would never, could never forget him. She thought of him all day and dreamed of him at night. In fact, even now, as they stepped into the hall, she could see the outline of his familiar form shadowed in the doorway.

  Her steps stalled. Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered.

  The shadow removed its hat and coat and handed them to the equally shadowy butler, who then shut the door, closing out the blinding light. Fia blinked, willing her vision to clear, but when she opened her eyes, glory, there he was, standing in the foyer, tall and broad and solid and real.

  Not a dream at all.

  When she let go the breath she’d been holding, her head went dizzy and she sank to the ground as darkness rose up to meet her.

  That could not be Fia.

  Not that angel in a beautiful frothy dress with her curls arranged in such a stylish fashion, her eyes shining and lips parted.

  Daniel stared at her, soaking her in, exulting in the sight of her.

  She’d been adorable in trousers and an overlarge shirt, but dressed as a woman, exquisite.

  Una
ble to stay still, he took a step toward her, her name on his lips. But before he could reach her, she went an odd shade of white and crumpled. Thankfully, the woman standing beside her—had there been a woman standing beside her?—caught her and eased her down.

  “Fia,” the woman said, patting her gently on the cheek. “Fia.”

  Heart pounding, Daniel rushed to her and knelt at her side. “Fia, darling.” He lifted her against his chest, cradling her. God, it was wonderful holding her again, drawing in her scent, feeling her warmth, the beat of her heart against his. But still, fear barraged him, making his skin go clammy. Was she all right? Was she ill? He shot a fierce glower at the woman and opened his mouth to bark some query.

  Before he could, Grant’s booming voice echoed in the hall. “I say, Sinclair. What have you done to Miss Lennox?”

  Daniel flinched and shot a glare over his shoulder at his friend. His maybe friend. “And hullo to you too.”

  Grant waved off his scold with a flutter of his fingers. “What happened?” he asked.

  “She fainted,” the other woman said. Daniel glanced at her and realized, to his surprise, she was rather lovely as well. But then she turned her gaze on him and scowled and he thought he might want to revise his opinion. “She saw him, and fainted.”

  “Understandable,” Grant said. “He is rather horrifying.” There was no call for him to chuckle. “By the by, Chelsea Grant, meet Daniel Sinclair. Sinclair, my sister, Chelsea.”

  Chelsea’s eyes narrowed on Daniel’s face. “You’re him?”

  “I, ah… Him, who?”

  In response, she smacked him. It wasn’t a hard smack and only to the shoulder, but he felt it.

  “Shall we just leave Miss Lennox on the floor or do you think at some point we might want to move her somewhere more comfortable?” Honestly, sometimes Grant was an ass.

  Daniel sucked in a deep breath and lifted her up. She was like thistledown in his arms.

  Chelsea led the way to a sitting room filled with comfortable chairs and Daniel settled Fia on the divan. He knelt beside her and took her hand in his and stroked it, gazing at her precious face. She was so still, so pale, it startled him. “Could we get her some water?” he asked.

  Charles nodded to Chelsea, who flushed. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She whirled in a flurry of skirts and hurried from the room. Once she was gone, Charles arranged himself in a Hepplewhite, draping his leg over the arm, and fixed Daniel with a sharp look.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  ”You invited me.”

  “Aye. But you declined.”

  Daniel scowled at him. “I changed my mind.”

  “Because you wanted to attend the party?”

  “Naturally.” Such a lie. For the last month he’d been haunted, tormented, suffused with thoughts of her, memories of their time together, a blinding craving for more time with her. Forever with her.

  One morning, as he’d been banging around his enormous and empty castle—utterly alone—it suddenly hit him.

  It didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Not money or honor or choices or regrets.

  Nothing mattered if a man was all alone. If he had no one to share his life with, his hopes, his fears, his dreams. He’d suddenly seen what she’d been trying to say. He’d seen the walls he’d built to keep everyone out, to keep her out.

  They worked. They were strong. Indomitable.

  And they walled him in as well.

  He had to break them down. He couldn’t live like this. Not cold and alone and bereft.

  He loved her. Needed her.

  And he’d been a fool. A proud, lonely fool.

  He found himself on his horse that morning, before he knew what had happened, heading up the north road for Wick. With that decision, some weight on his soul had lifted and he knew he would not, could not return to Dunbeath without her.

  He only hoped it wasn’t too late. Only hope she hadn’t forgotten him. Or given up on him. Or found someone else.

  “There’s no other reason you came?”

  Was Grant still in the room? Was he still talking? “Sod off, Grant.” Daniel shot him a glare and his friend’s lips tweaked in that annoying smug smile.

  “I say, this is rather inconvenient. Having you show up like this with no warning.”

  “You did invite me.”

  Grant ignored this salient fact. “I’ve been working verra diligently to keep my promise to you, you know.”

  “What?”

  Grant fluttered his fingers in Fia’s general direction. “To find a suitor for her.”

  Something very nasty coiled in Daniel’s gut. Was he too late? Was there someone else? A growl emanated from his throat.

  “I am her guardian, after all. It’s my responsibility to be sure she makes a brilliant match.”

  “She’s mine.” A snarl from the depths of his soul. It echoed in the room, feral and desperate.

  There was no call for Grant to laugh as he did. “Honestly, Sinclair. I’m not sure you’re the right man for her.”

  “What?” Every muscle bunched. Who the hell else was there?

  “She’s made quite a splash with our old compatriots.” He leaned forward. “Dingle is quite taken.” Dingle? “And Crumm finds her an excellent companion.” Crumm? “And—”

  “Stop. Just stop. Fia is mine and you know it.”

  Grant’s golden lashes batted. “Yours?”

  “Aye. I love her and she loves me. We are meant to be together.”

  “But she and Dingle would make such lovely children together.”

  A snort at his side captured his attention and he turned his head to find Fia awake and staring at him with those lovely blue-green eyes.

  “Fia, darling,” he said leaning down to press his lips to her hands. “Are you all right?”

  “Did you say you loved me?”

  He froze. Hell. He had. The hairs on his neck prickled. “That wasna the way I wanted to tell you.”

  “But do you?”

  “Yes. Hell yes.”

  Her face broke into a smile. It had a mischievous mien about it. “How were you going to tell me?”

  What? “I…ah…something romantic.”

  “Such as?”

  Hell. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Fia— Can we talk about that later?”

  She put out a lip. It made him want to suckle it. “I suppose.”

  “For now, I must say, that is, I need to say…”

  “Well?”

  He sucked in a deep breath and rallied his courage and did the most terrifying thing he’d ever done. “Darling, you were right and I was wrong.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. Do go on.”

  “I was so wrapped in the past I didn’t even realize it was holding me immobile. I didn’t realize I was using my guilt as an excuse to stop living, to avoid more pain. But when you left, everything became clear. I want you. I need you. And I don’t care if having you in my life, in my heart, causes me pain, because the pain without you is unbearable.” She didn’t respond, but she did stroke his cheek, which he found encouraging. “So what do you say? Can you forgive me for being an idiot? Would you consider spending your life with me in a drafty old house in Dunbeath?”

  “Darling,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. “I would live with you in a hovel in Dunbeath.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye.”

  “I own one of those too.”

  They laughed and kissed again and kissed and kissed until Grant felt compelled to clear his throat and remind them he was there. Damn and blast.

  Daniel eased away and then helped Fia sit on the divan, settling himself next to her.

  “You do realize you must ask for my blessing, don’t you?” his erstwhile friend asked.

  It was all Daniel could do not to plant him a facer.

  Dinner that night was magnificent, and not only because Daniel had Fia, his Fia, by his side.

  Grant had had th
e right of it, bringing all his friends together for a memorial on the first anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. They sat at the table and ate and drank, and lifted their cups in honor of all their fallen comrades. Then they all told stories of the lost men, stories that had them wavering between tears and uncontrollable laughter.

  It was almost as though they were in the room, each and every one.

  Somehow, through the sharing of their grief and anguish, the holes in their souls became a little less ragged.

  It was only natural that the conversation would turn to the battle itself, and while Daniel dreaded reliving those hours, he knew it was necessary if he was to fully heal, to put it behind him.

  Fia held his hand as the other men told of their experiences, the things they’d seen. Though, with respect to the ladies, they glossed over much. Through it all, her touch warmed him, made the memories bearable.

  Although, when Crumm began talking about the moment they realized they were surrounded by the French lancers, when their men began to fall, he might have squeezed a little too hard. Still, she did not withdraw.

  “I will never forget what you did then,” Crumm said, turning to Daniel.

  He blinked, and a shard of that familiar guilt skewered him. Heat prickled his neck. What had he done? Abandoned his honor, that’s what he’d done.

  “Aye.” Dingle lifted his glass. “Without you we’d all be dead.”

  “To Sinclair.”

  “To Sinclair.”

  Daniel stared at them, one after the other. What the hell were they talking about? He’d run. He’d turned tail and run.

  “Aye.” Grant said, his attention locked onto his glass. He lifted it slowly and met Daniel’s eye. “You saved us all.” He turned to Fia. “He cut a swath through the French lancers, cleared a path for us to retreat.”

  “I…did?” He had no memory of that. No recollection whatsoever. All he remembered was the howling grief at seeing Lennox fall and a screaming panic to escape.

  Crumm laughed. “Like a fooking Hun.” He glanced at the ladies and winced. “Beg pardon.”

  “Never seen a man fight so fiercely,” Dingle said. “You saved the entire company.”

  “Hell, one of them damn frogs gored him in the thigh and he just kept going,” Crumm said. “Angel of Fury, some said.”