Page 18 of Along Came a Rogue

He smiled at her question. No one had ever asked him that before, and it would have been an odd question coming from anyone but Emily. She’d always been perceptive, those blue eyes undoubtedly noticing far more than she let on.

“I’m very happy with my life.” Since he was currently sharing a brandy with a beautiful woman who didn’t realize that her dressing robe had gaped and given him a tantalizing view of the swell of her breast— “Exactly as it is.”

As if reading his mind and the wicked thoughts swirling there, she drew her hand away. He resisted the urge to grab after it like some green boy chasing his first woman.

“Thomas never wrote much about his time in the army, at least not about anything important,” she told him, her fingers pulling at the hem of her robe. It fell open around her legs and revealed just the tips of her bare toes beneath, but he wished it would open further so he could see exactly how long those legs of hers had become. “He told stories about all the trouble you two got into, what Spain looks like…Sometimes he complained about the food or the weather, but he never mentioned the fighting.”

“Real heroes seldom talk about what they do in battle.” In his experience, it was the men who saw very little action who told the most stories, their tales always exaggerated and usually lies. Most likely it was because men who had truly seen the fires of battle never wanted to experience them again, not even as memories.

“Thomas was a hero, then?” she asked quietly.

“The bravest of the Scarlet Scoundrels,” he assured her. Then he couldn’t resist adding with a grin, “Except for me, of course.”

But this time she didn’t laugh at his teasing. Instead, she kept her eyes lowered as she twisted her fingers in the folds of her robe. “What happened to him, Grey?”

She meant the robbery, of course, but the solemnity in her voice made him wonder if she didn’t mean something more. “He was walking in Mayfair,” he began reluctantly. Her brother should have been the one to share this with her, but if he wanted to convince her to leave with him tomorrow, then he knew he had to tell her the grisly details tonight. “He’d been to Strathmore House, and on his way home, he was stopped by a footpad.”

Her hand trembled, so he reached slowly to enfold it beneath his. He half expected her to pull away again, but she didn’t move except to draw a deep breath to steady herself.

“The man shot him.” When he felt her flinch, he tightened his hold on her hand. “The bullet entered his side, right here.” He tapped his left side with his free hand. “He lost a lot of blood, so much that he didn’t wake for nearly three days, and when he did, he was feverish, delirious…None of the doctors thought he would live.” In a low voice, he admitted guiltily, “Neither did I.”

Her fingers tightened gently around his to reassure and comfort, as if she knew he shared her pain.

“Thomas wants to see you.” He squeezed her hand. “Whatever’s come between you two, you need to put it aside. For him.”

For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t respond, only stared at him in the flickering shadows of the dying firelight. Then she stood and slipped her hand from his as she walked away.

* * *

Emily stared down into the fire, this time not finding the energy to stir the flames. She was trembling again, not from the grief of knowing how Thomas had been hurt but from the agony of not being able to see him. And she wanted to—oh God, how much she wanted that! But she couldn’t see him, not when her presence might very well endanger his life.

She inhaled deeply. Grey was waiting for her to explain. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back, just as she could still feel the tingling in her fingers where he’d held them. Just holding his hand had given her more comfort than she’d felt since her wedding, and when the warmth and strength of him flowed into her, she’d almost let herself believe that everything could be all right again.

If she’d felt that much comfort from merely holding his hand, then how soothing would it be to be held in his arms, kissed, touched—

“Emily,” his deep voice murmured at her shoulder, sending a warm pulse down her spine.

She gasped. He’d moved so silently she hadn’t heard him approach.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice thick with concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him. But he did. Just his presence here upset her, tearing her between lying to keep him safe and wanting desperately to confide in him, between wanting him to leave and wanting him to wrap his arms around her to hold her close.

Now, with his body near enough to heat her back, every inch of her hummed with long-forgotten need to be wanted as a woman. And with the way his head hung low over her shoulder and his lips poised close to her ear, his ragged breath warm against her cheek—could it be possible that Grey wanted her, too?

She could barely dare to believe that, yet the pulsing inside her was simply too electric, too thrilling to be wrong. Her body knew instinctively what his wanted. But would he act on his desire? If she simply leaned back, bringing her body against his hard chest, would the gentleman in him set her away, or would the rake wrap his arms around her, remove her clothes to reveal her to the firelight—

No. Tears of frustration and torment dampened her lashes because she so desperately wanted what she could never have.

“Come with me to London,” he cajoled, his fingers touching hers as her hand dangled at her side.

Anguish sliced at her heart as the enormity of what she was refusing crashed through her—the opportunity to be at her brother’s side, the chance to be in Grey’s arms. Squeezing her eyes shut, she choked out, “I—I can’t.”

“Why not?” His hands brushed up her arms now, heating her skin as if the sleeves of her robe didn’t exist.

“Because I…I haven’t been feeling well.” His caresses made it difficult to think, and damn him, he knew it, too! “I need a few more weeks, Grey, please.”

“If I come back for you then,” he asked quietly, his lips so close to her ear that they brushed her earlobe with each word, “you’ll return with me?”