It had been an odd day. So odd that even at this late hour he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. There were so many things to think about. So much indecision it was all sending him mad. He didn’t have all the answers—but what he did know, with complete certainty, was that he needed Effie.
She looked so lovely in the candlelight, bare toes just poking out from under the hem of her unbelievably distracting coral evening gown, nothing but a pencil holding up her hair and blinking back at him as if he’d just spoken to her in a foreign language rather than admitting he was desperate to kiss her. ‘May I?’
To his utter delight she answered by launching herself at him, knocking him back against the door as her lips greedily found his. It was this honesty he adored about her. There was no artifice about Effie. No deception. No games. She wanted to kiss him and he desperately wanted her to. It was strange—a few short weeks ago he had been convinced no woman would ever want to kiss him again and he had mourned all those faceless, voiceless, soulless women as if he known each one personally, yet now he couldn’t care less because none of them interested him. Why would they when the only woman he could ever imagine kissing again was the one currently in his arms? He’d craved this all day, which was no mean feat when one considered the day he’d had, but it was true. She had possessed him, thoroughly bewitched him, and despite the war currently being waged in his head he had counted every second just waiting for the chance to hold her again.
He felt her hands burrow beneath his coat and smiled against her mouth. He hadn’t misread her desire yesterday. She was as desperate for the contact as he was and he felt gloriously alive again. Perhaps not entirely whole, not at all his old self, but not the shadow he had been when he had come here to Rivenhall completely broken. Something was shifting. He was changing. But she was here and nothing else mattered.
Which was a dangerous game while her passionate exuberance was scrambling his wits and driving his body mad with longing.
Not ready to put a sensible stop to it yet, he poured his heart and soul into the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her and not entirely sure if he would ever let go. Almost immediately, things got out of hand and he revelled in that, too. She ground her hips against his arousal, moaning as his lips found her ear. Her neck. Her shoulder. At some point, he must have lifted her and reversed their positions, because Effie’s legs wrapped themselves around his waist as he held her suspended from the ground using only the door and the hard press of his body, losing himself entirely in the moment. Losing himself in her. The urge to tear the buttons from his falls and plunge himself deep inside of her was the only thing which brought him up short.
He tore his lips away and rested his forehead against hers, gulping for air, his body aching for release and his head whirling like a frantic spinning top.
‘Did I do something wrong, Max?’
The bark of laughter came out of nowhere. ‘No, Miss Naive. You did everything right. Too right—when I am desperately trying to be a gentleman and about to fail miserably.’
‘Oh.’ She was pleased with herself. He could hear it in her voice and he liked that, too. No games. No lies. Just Effie.
He gently lowered her to the ground and stepped back, trying and failing not to notice how scandalously wanton she looked with her lips all swollen, those sultry dark eyes molten and one sleeve hanging off her shoulder as her straining breasts rose and fell against the silk. Thank the lord the pencil had held or he’d be completely done for, although it looked precarious. ‘Perhaps we should talk for a little while.’
‘About what?’
‘About...’ He considered suggesting something inane to do with the antiquarians or the dig, but knew there were more important things which needed to be said. ‘About me.’ Max exhaled loudly to calm himself, feeling more vulnerable than he had since those first months in his sickbed after his world had fallen apart. ‘Because I have all these confusing thoughts suddenly crashing about in my mind and I cannot make head nor tail of them. And seeing as you are the cleverest person I have ever met, I was hoping you could help me make sense of them because I have to face them, Effie. I don’t want to, but I know I must.’
‘All right...’ Her concern was instant and genuine. ‘We should probably sit in that case...’ She wandered to the bed and was about to lower herself on to it when he held up his hand.
‘Not there! Have a care, woman! How am I supposed to have any sort of rational, let alone important conversation with you sat on my bed looking like temptation incarnate?’
She smiled as if he had just given her the most beautiful compliment and took herself to the chaise near the window instead. ‘Is this better?’
‘Only slightly, but it will have to do.’
Max propped a hip on his mattress and racked his brains as to where he should start. ‘Because I kept catching him staring, I told Percy about my burns this morning and he said the strangest thing...’ It was probably the wrong place entirely, but as his insightful comment had come directly after Effie’s outburst about Max regretting their first kiss, it joined with it to plague him and make him question everything he thought he believed. ‘It was quite philosophical, actually—he said he didn’t doubt an experience like that put everything else into perspective... And it set me to wondering, because I used to be level-headed. I used to be pragmatic and philosophical and optimistic, but I have no clue exactly where my perspective on things went because I am no longer sure I have any.’
‘Hardly a surprise. There is nothing like a traumatic event to shift perspective on its axis. It is hard to be any of those things when fate deals you a blow. After Rupert died, I was so lost and distraught, I didn’t know which way was up or what I was going to do. I’d put all my eggs in one basket, mapped out my life and had no contingency plan. It took a while to find my feet again and to find a new path. That was the power of one single traumatic event. You were dealt a succession of blows, Max—the burns, the loss of your ship, your crew, your career, your father and your fiancée. And perhaps even your dreams. All in quick succession. Each one of those has the power to tear the ground from under the feet. Combined, I should imagine they are devastating and each would need adequate time to heal.’
He hadn’t thought of it like that. There had been a series of separate catastrophes, some inextricably linked to be sure, but all bundled together into one indigestible mass. Yet in the last few weeks, it had felt as if a fog was lifting and he no longer saw the mass as much as sensed there were separate components to his grief. And she was right about that, too. It was grief which had overwhelmed him. For so many things he hadn’t known where to start mourning them all. ‘I’ve started to contemplate the future again.’ The truth tumbled out. Truth he had not realised until he vocalised it.
‘That’s good. Does it involve the sea?’
How did she know him so well? ‘I think so... Not the navy any longer. I was done with that before the fire.’ Another truth he had not seen coming. ‘Ships, I think... Cargo, perhaps. Or passengers. Maybe both. It’s hazy. Not properly formed. Starting small...’ Some of the tangled thoughts began to unravel and he felt strangely lighter.
‘From little acorns...’ She smiled wistfully. ‘That’s wonderful, Max.’
‘It’s terrifying. I am not sure I am ready to go back out into the world.’
‘You are more ready than you were when I first met you almost two months ago.’
‘True...’
‘And I dare say Eleanor would corroborate that by confirming you are much more ready than you were a year ago.’
That was also true. A year ago he had been in a very dark place. He wasn’t in that infinite pit any longer. More a hole a little deeper than one of Effie’s trenches—but he could see some light now. Quite a bit of it. One of the brightest shining beacons was sat right in front of him. How could he sail the seas and leave her behind? Yet another tangled thought to swirl among the mess. ‘It’s probably all too soon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I still can’t see the wood for the trees. Still can’t make much sense of it all.’
‘Scientifically speaking, the best way to work through a difficult problem is to break it into chunks and go through it systematically. Start at the beginning and work from there.’ She settled back, her cheek propped against her hand. ‘Perhaps it is time to re-evaluate some of those things and look at them with fresh eyes? The fire happened, what, a year and a half ago? Do you have misgivings about what you did?’
‘No. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did and I had to do what needed to be done to save the ship and the crew. We were all in the thick of it.’
‘And after that?’
‘Six months of blurriness. Pain, laudanum and stupor.’
‘Then do you recall where you were a year ago?’
‘Eleanor’s house. Feeling very alone and very sorry for myself.’
‘Why?’
He slanted her a disbelieving look. ‘All of the above.’
‘That’s not true, is it? Your sister told me once the worst was past and the threat of death was gone, you were full of fight and optimistic about your recovery. What changed?’
‘I saw myself.’ A lie. That had come after and he suspected Effie had worked that out already. ‘Miranda...’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
No. But how could he ever move forward if he didn’t? ‘Nelson was an ugly bugger. A great man, but nowhere near as pretty as his portraits would have you believe. He’d lost most of his teeth to scurvy, so his face had caved in. He was blinded when a shell exploded and, aside from ruining the look of that eye, it also ripped his entire eyebrow off and took a chunk out of his forehead. His arm was missing and he had more nicks and scars on his face than a face should carry, but both his wife and Emma Hamilton still loved him to distraction. He wore those scars like medals—proud badges of honour—and nothing kept him down. That inspired me. I assumed my face would heal, my stunning fiancée would still marry me even with a few battle scars and I’d be back sailing the high seas in no time. But Miranda recoiled in horror the first time she saw me.’ He’d tried to hold her hand. Had needed to know everything was going to be all right. ‘I assumed it was because it was all such a mess...the wounds were still open, some were festering, it must have been disgusting.’
‘You hadn’t seen it, then?’
‘No... Unbeknown to me, Eleanor had forbidden anyone from giving me a mirror in case I was so horrified by what I saw, I wouldn’t be able to cope.’ He felt his throat constrict at the memories he had tried so hard, but never entirely been able, to bury. ‘As time went on, they healed and the threat of infection was over, but Miranda still recoiled. I could see I disgusted her, but...’ He felt the bile rise at the memory. She had made him feel hideous.
‘You still gave her the benefit of the doubt.’
‘I thought things would improve. Clung to that thought. My father died then. We had never been particularly close because he was a difficult man as I’m sure my uncle would testify. He tried on several occasions to heal the breach between them, but my father would have none of it. I have no idea what they fought over, but I do know he never forgave me for running away to sea rather than going to university and training to be the Earl I was destined to become. We rarely saw one another when I came home on leave. I preferred to stay at my sister’s house and he preferred to avoid me when I did. We never ever sorted it out or mended the breach between us either...even when I was on the brink of death myself. I recall he visited me twice and both times he was adamant none of it would have happened if I’d obeyed him as I was supposed to... And then it was too late. I was still too ill to attend the funeral and while Eleanor went, she asked Miranda to sit with me. And it all came out. She was dreading the prospect of marrying me, even admitted gazing upon my face made her feel physically sick. She claimed she needed time and, because I still foolishly hoped she would come around, I offered her a termination of our engagement.’
‘An offer she gratefully accepted.’
‘She did—but not before assuring me that she probably did only need time and that it was more a postponement than a termination. And that once my scars had healed... I demanded a mirror that same day because I wanted to know how long they would actually take to fully heal and...well...’
‘You realised they were always going to be there. How did that make you feel?’
‘Hideous. Ashamed.’ Should he tell her about the young mother? ‘Shortly after that, Eleanor bullied me into getting some fresh air. It was early. We crossed the road from her house to the empty park and we fed the ducks. A woman arrived with her son to do the same. She took one look at me and hastily covered the child’s face to shield him from the sight.’
‘Oh, Max...’ He saw tears glisten in her eyes. ‘People can be awful.’
‘It was the last straw. I suppose I lost all hope of everything then.’
‘That is always easier.’ She shot him a wry smile at his obvious consternation. A sure sign she was about to give him a swift kick up the backside. ‘Admit it, Max, giving up is always easier than daring to dream. Expecting disappointment is easier than hoping for happiness. Accepting shallow Miranda’s or that stupid, thoughtless woman in the park’s assessment of what you were gave you the excuse to give up.’
‘Are you suggesting I took the easy way out?’
‘No... I’m suggesting you took the natural path—the fragile human path first as we all do when hope seems lost—but that now you are ready and able to brave another. That is human nature, too. When we get knocked down, inevitably we have to get back up. History is peppered with examples. Would you like me to recite some?’
‘Don’t you dare.’ Now he was smiling, too. He’d just told her that he had scared a woman in a park and repulsed his fiancée and he was smiling. Clearly it was a day for the miraculous. ‘Perhaps time really does heal all wounds?’
He watched her gaze wander to the sheet covering the big mirror and seriously considered shutting her down before she dared ask what he knew she was going to, but didn’t. ‘What do you see now when you look at your reflection?’
‘I try to avoid it.’
‘I know...’ She walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘But you cannot avoid it for ever.’
She tugged him to the mirror and then ripped away the sheet, forcing him to stare at his own reflection while she gazed up at his face. ‘Do you want to know what I see?’
She didn’t wait for his answer.
‘I see a man who has survived the worst and lived to tell the tale. I see a man who put his entire crew before himself and sent every one of them home to their families alive. I see a man who is lost, but is trying to find his way again. A man who loves his sister even though she drives him mad. Who digs trenches for a peculiar stranger who he allows to trespass on his land. One who insists on accompanying a woman home to keep her safe. Who claims he wants to be left alone, but actively seeks me out. A man who can predict the weather and charm the most toffee-nosed snob into his way of thinking. Who carries a few scars that I no longer notice because I only see the hero who lies beneath them, who thinks too deeply and cares too much what others think of him.’ In the mirror, he watched her smile the same sultry smile she had allowed him to see last night after their kiss. ‘A man who wears his breeches too well and, in my humble opinion, fills his coats better than any other. Whose eyes dance with mischief. A man who isn’t the least bit intimidated by a woman who is far cleverer than him...’
‘I wouldn’t go that far...’
Lilacs and roses enveloped him before she reached out to trace the ugly disfigurement on his cheek and he forced himself not to flinch or pull away, while he anxiously watched their reflections to see if she was tempted to. Then felt humbled and elated and overwhelmed that she didn’t.
‘I see the man I want to kiss again—because his kisses are divine and they make me feel like a woman rather than an oddity. And nobody has ever made me feel like that before, Max...only you.’
It was more a whisper than a kiss, but more potent because of it. Her lips brushed over his, then slowly worked their way across his scar to his neck. Her teeth nipped his ear while her fingers wove their way into his hair and when she kissed his mouth again it was achingly soft, but bold and sensual. ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day... You... Me... All alone.’ She took both his hands and placed them on her body and the question he hadn’t dared ask suddenly blurted out.
‘Do you see a man who you might consider for ever with?’
She paused and turned towards the mirror to gaze at his reflection while he gazed at hers. ‘That depends...on what you see when you look at me.’
If she was expecting a long speech, she was about to be disappointed. There was only one answer he could give at this significant and pivotal moment, and that was the truth. ‘I see the woman I love, Effie.’
And then he saw exactly what she was feeling in the unfathomable depths of her eyes before she said the words he so desperately needed to hear. ‘Then for ever sounds perfect...because I love you, too, Max. I think I always have.’