Page 76 of An Extraordinary Lord

“Merritt,” she pleaded for mercy, “I don’t need to—”

“We were coming back from a party and were caught up in a riot. The carriage was overturned, the doors ripped open. She was pulled out into the street by the mob.” He sucked in a pained breath. “They killed her—hekilled her. A man with a hammer struck her in the back of the head as she was trying to crawl away.”

She shuddered in his arms. To have seen his fiancée killed like that…Good God.A tear of grief for him slid down her cheek.

“Christ! I felt so helpless.” His agony was palpable, and he tightened his arms around her as if afraid she might be torn from him just as Joanna had been. “I couldn’t keep her with me inside the carriage, couldn’t fight them off… I wasn’t the man she needed to keep her safe.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” Yet even as she breathed out the words, she knew he wouldn’t believe them. He’d been punishing himself since that night, and there was nothing she could say that would bring him peace. But she loved him enough to try. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one could have stopped what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head. “I failed her that night.” His voice ached. “And I’ve been failing her ever since.”

Icy realization of what he meant sank over her. She turned in his arms to search his face. His expression was hardened by guilt and shame, and by something else so cold and dark that it made her shiver.

When he said nothing, simply holding her gaze with that same terrible expression, she knew why he’d put himself at such risk, why he rushed into the heart of the riots—

He was chasing a ghost.

Her blood turned cold. No…not chasing. “You’ve beenhuntinghim.”

He released her and turned away. Not looking at her, he yanked on a pair of trousers tossed over the back of a chair and began to pace the room. He scoured his hand over his face as his shoulders tightened visibly.

“That’s why you went into the army, too, isn’t it?” she guessed, but she knew she wasn’t wrong. “Not to learn to fight but to learn to hunt.”

The fighting, the swords, the knives…prowling the streets, stopping the riots—it all made dreadful sense now. So did the futility of what he was attempting to do. He wanted to prove to Joanna’s memory that he loved her, that he would find her killer and put everything to rights.

But the task was impossible. That healing wouldnevercome.

“I went into the army so I could get away from London and all the memories here. Learning to fight was simply a bonus.” He paused in front of the cold fireplace and stared down at it. “The day I left for the Continent, I went to the churchyard and placed flowers on her grave.” He paused, a single heartbeat of agonizing silence. “That morning should have been our wedding day.”

She ached to reach for him, to wrap her arms around him and ease his pain, but she knew he’d only push her away. He wasn’t ready to be comforted.

“When I had the chance to learn to fight, I took it—every type of fighting, every weapon I could get my hands on, every master boxer and fencer who was willing to teach me.” He reached for the iron poker but stopped short before jabbing it into the ashes, as if he simply needed the solidity of it in his hand. Like a weapon. “I swore to myself that I would never be helpless again. I mean to keep that promise.”

“From what I’ve seen,” she murmured, “I think you’ve achieved it.”

“Not at all.” He replaced the poker and turned away from the fireplace to slowly approach her. His mouth twisted ruefully as if at some private joke she didn’t understand. “Even now, after all the training and fighting, I still can’t protect the people I care about.”

He reached out and touched the blood stain on her shift. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“That’swhy you’re impossible for me, Veronica. Because I can’t protect you.” He cupped her face between his hands and placed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there as if he, too, yearned for all they could never have. He rasped out, his voice raw with guilt and dread, “If I lost another woman who was in my care…it would end me.”

She whispered painfully, “Merritt—”

Without warning, he jerked back and cocked his head toward the door. His body tensed, and Veronica felt his heartbeat jump beneath her hand as it rested on his chest, her own pulse immediately matching his. Quick fear licked at her toes.

“What’s—”

He tapped his finger against her lips in a warning to keep silent, then pointed at the door.

She held her breath and listened, straining to hear over the pounding rush of blood in her ears—

A footstep on the stairs.

His eyes darted down to hers. A low warning glowed in their dark depths…Someone’s in the house.

He pulled her silently to the bed, gestured for her to lie down, and stretched out next to her.

“Don’t move,” he mouthed as he gently put her head down onto the pillow where she could pretend to be asleep.