When You Wish Upon a Rogue

by Bennett, Anna

  Sophie blew out a long breath and stood. Her frothy white nightgown swished around her lithe legs like foam on ocean waves. “I trust you, Reese. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t. But trust is a two-way proposition. You have secrets too.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked simply, hoping she couldn’t tell that inside, he was shaking like a rabbit.

  She walked toward the bed, turned, and leaned her back against one of the tall posters. “I want to know everything about you. What are the things that make you happy? What are the things that keep you awake at night?”

  “There’s a long list of things that keep me up at night.” A hundred haunting images flashed through his mind, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Are you sure you want to know what they are?”

  She nodded soberly. “Why don’t you take off your boots and join me on the bed? I’ll turn down the lamp; I always find it easier to talk about difficult things in the dark.”

  She had a point. Maybe with the lamp turned low, she wouldn’t see the sweat on his brow or the panic in his eyes. He tugged off his boots, cravat, and waistcoat, then joined her on top of the soft feather mattress. She slipped under the covers, and he stayed on top—just so there wouldn’t be any accidental contact.

  Once they’d both settled their heads on their pillows, he inhaled deeply.

  And prepared to unleash the demons.

  Chapter 19

  Reese’s heart pounded, echoing in his chest like artillery fire. Most days, he spent a considerable amount of energy trying to avoid thinking about his time on the front lines—and specifically his last week there.

  But now Sophie was lying beside him, asking him to remember those days. To walk through those minefields and relive the horror so that she could understand. For her, he was willing to subject himself to the pain and misery. She deserved to know how damaged he was, how broken. Even if exposing the wounds left him bloody and raw.

  Though the bedchamber was fairly dark, Sophie’s eyes glowed encouragingly. He focused on her like a sailor spying a lighthouse through a storm.

  “It feels like another lifetime,” he began, “but it was only a few months ago. I was on the front lines in Portugal, when a messenger arrived at our encampment—with an urgent message for me.” The memory, vivid and raw, made him shudder involuntarily.

  “Before I read the letter, I think I knew what it would say. The dread in my bones was so cold, so heavy, I had to force myself to break the seal on the letter. When I did, the nightmare was unleashed. Edmund was dead.”

  “Oh, Reese,” Sophie said, her throat thick with empathy. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful—especially when you were so far from home.”

  “I couldn’t help but think that I should have been here with him. That maybe I would have been able to prevent it.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You cannot blame yourself, Reese. Not even a little bit. What happened to your brother was a tragic accident—and accidents, by their very nature, are unpredictable.”

  “He was the one person I’d always been able to rely on,” he said. “My mother took ill when I was a child, and after she died, my father turned angry and cruel. Edmund was the one who always looked out for me. He devoted much of his life to raising me and taking care of the estate.”

  “No wonder you were so close,” she said softly.

  Reese let out a shaky breath. “Do you want to know the ironic thing? Edmund begged me not to purchase a commission in the army. He said that it was too dangerous. That he couldn’t bear the thought that I might not come home.”

  “I’d feel the same way if I thought my sister was placing herself in danger,” she said. “We always worry about the ones we love.”

  “That’s just it.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I didn’t worry about him when I left. He was supposed to be safe here. I never dreamed any harm would come to him.”

  “It must have been a terrible shock,” she said soberly.

  Every muscle in Reese’s body coiled tight, and his arms twitched with pent-up emotion. “It should have been me,” he whispered. “Instead of him. He should be alive now. God, fate, the universe—whatever you want to call it—made a mistake.”

  Sophie reached out a hand like she wanted to touch his cheek, then pulled back, her eyes shining with regret. “Edmund shouldn’t have been taken from this world in the prime of his life—but that doesn’t mean you should have been. Sometimes awful, tragic, pointless things just … happen. It’s why we need to be thankful for every day we have on this earth.” She paused and swiped at her eyes. “I’m thankful that you’re here, too—and that I’ve had the chance to know you.”

  Reese breathed in through his nose, then slowly exhaled through his mouth, trying to let the anguish drain out of him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sophie.”

  “Maybe not. But I know you’re a good, kind person.”

  He snorted at that. “If I was, I’d sleep a hell of a lot better at night.”

  “You’re not going to scare me away,” she said serenely. “I’m here—and I’m not going anywhere. You say that I don’t know you, but I want to. Desperately. So why don’t you start by telling me what it is, exactly, that haunts you.”

  His fingertips tingled and his head began to buzz. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

  As though she could sense his distress, she scooted a little closer to him. The scents of rain and earth and sunshine filled his head, calming him slightly. “I assume it’s related to your time in the infantry.”

  He nodded, grateful that she seemed to understand.

  “Tell me,” she said gently. “Drag the monsters out of your head and name them; perhaps then, you’ll rob them of their power.”

  “I made a promise to my men. To my friends,” he choked out. “I told them that I’d always fight beside them, that I’d never desert them. They knew I couldn’t promise that we’d all make it home alive, but I swore I’d stand by them, no matter what.”

  “But then Edmund died,” Sophie said, her voice tinged with sadness.

  “Yes.” Reese turned on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I didn’t want to leave them, but I … I had to see to my brother’s final arrangements. I had to say goodbye to Edmund.”

  “I’m sure your men understood.”

  “They couldn’t have been more supportive.” He’d been half in shock at that point, and yet he remembered saying goodbye to Conroy and the others. They’d given him bracing slaps on his shoulders and promised to make him proud. Brave and charismatic with a wickedly dry wit, Conroy was a captain, and the obvious choice to take over in Reese’s absence. In an uncharacteristically sober moment, he’d given Reese’s hand a firm shake and told him he’d make a fine earl.

  That handshake and those words had hit him like an ice bath. It was the moment he’d realized he’d never return to the front lines. Never fight alongside his friends again.

  “The very next day, it happened,” he rasped out.

  “What happened?” Sophie asked.

  “A surprise attack on my troop.” Reese’s stomach clenched with a potent mix of anger and pain. “They fought valiantly, but Conroy and two others were mortally wounded. They died on the battlefield,” he said, his voice somewhere between bitter and hollow. “Brutal, tragic deaths. And I wasn’t with them.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands and blinked up at the ceiling, too ashamed to look Sophie in the eyes. “You asked what haunts me,” he said raggedly. “It’s the memory of their faces as I left them. They tried to act tough, keeping their chins up and puffing their chests out. But we were close as brothers and I could see the fear, cold and stark, in their eyes. They were scared out of their bloody minds, Sophie. But I still rode away that night. Still left them there to fight alone.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Reese,” she said firmly—like she believed it. Like it was the end of the story.

&
nbsp; At last, he turned to look at her, hoping to drive home the truth. “I broke my solemn promise. I came home; Conroy and the others didn’t.”

  “I’m so sorry about your friends.” The raspiness in her voice made his eyes sting. “I understand why the memory tortures you. You loved them, and you felt responsible for them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I stand by what I said earlier. It wasn’t your fault,” she said fervently. “And if you want to find a measure of peace, you must believe that.”

  He nodded, pretending to be agreeable. But the truth was that he didn’t deserve to find peace. The sleeplessness, the nightmares—those were his penance. A constant reminder of his failings as a human being.

  “In any event,” he said, “now you know what haunts me.”

  “Thank you for confiding in me,” she said sincerely. “Despite what you might think, nothing that you told me changes the way I feel about you.”

  “No?” he asked, skeptical.

  “Actually, it does change my feelings,” she admitted, and his stomach clenched again as he braced himself for what came next. “Now that I know some of what you’ve been through, I admire you, care for you, even more than I did before.”

  Reese released the breath he’d been holding and managed a weak smile. “You also asked about what makes me happy.”

  She smiled back and looked at him, expectant. “I did.”

  “That’s an infinitely easier question with a much shorter answer. There’s only one thing that makes me happy, and that’s being with you.”

  * * *

  Sophie longed to reach out to Reese. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and make his pain go away. She wanted to will him to believe that all she said was true. But mostly, she wanted him to know that she loved him.

  He’d just bared his soul to her, and words … well, they simply didn’t feel adequate to express the emotion in her chest.

  His large, tanned hand rested on the coverlet between them. It would be so easy, so natural, to lace her fingers through his. The problem was that Sophie already knew that holding his hand wouldn’t be enough. She’d want to wriggle against the hard planes of his chest and press her lips to the skin above his collar. She’d insist on slipping her palms inside his shirt and running them over his shoulders and down his back.

  And still, she’d crave more of him.

  Worse, she knew that if she ever had a taste of physical intimacy with Reese, it would be infinitely harder to say goodbye to him. So, even though her whole body ached with the need to hold him, she couldn’t.

  Nor could she reveal the depths of her feelings—not when she was about to accept a proposal from another man. Since it would have amounted to torture for both of them, she settled for giving him a muted version of the truth.

  She gazed at him lying next to her, more vulnerable and handsome than ever. “Earlier tonight, outside the tailor’s shop, you told me you wished things were different.”

  “I remember,” he said.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she was grateful for the relative darkness. “I wish things were different, too,” she said.

  “How?”

  “I wish we were both free to follow our hearts.”

  He gazed into her eyes but didn’t say anything—at least not out loud. But the expression on his face revealed more than he probably knew: relief, frustration, and affection.

  Sophie didn’t delude herself into thinking that Reese loved her like she loved him, but they had a connection that was deep, intense, and true. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she imagined that maybe years from now, sometime after she was married to Lord Singleton and after Reese had battled his demons, they’d still think of each other.

  Maybe they’d remember how they felt on this night and take comfort from the knowledge that they’d been friends … and more. No matter what happened, they’d always share this connection.

  “Your eyelids are drooping,” Reese said, his voice affectionately gruff. “Why don’t you rest?”

  Sophie sighed, snuggling her cheek against her pillow. “You’ll stay here with me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “At least until you fall asleep. And after that, I’ll be in my bedchamber, just down the hall.”

  She frowned but was too tired to protest. Reese was with her now … and that was enough.

  Chapter 20

  Sophie woke suddenly to a bedchamber that was almost completely dark. Reese no longer lay on the mattress beside her, and for some reason, the hairs on the back of her arms stood on end. Instantly alert, she threw off the covers, sat up, and lit a candle on the nightstand.

  The house was eerily silent, and her heart raced as she tiptoed into the corridor and headed for Reese’s room.

  Earlier that night, when he’d shared a glimpse of the harrowing experiences he and his men had faced, it was clear to her he’d lanced wounds that had only just begun to scab over. She’d seen the raw pain in his face as he’d opened up to her, and she hoped he wasn’t suffering the same way now, hours later.

  The door to his bedchamber was slightly ajar, and she moved quietly as she peered into the room. He was sprawled across the large bed, the sheets tangled around his legs as though he wrestled a ghost. As she moved closer, she could see he was still asleep, but perspiration covered his face and chest, and the expression on his face was tortured.

  He rolled over, thrashing on the mattress, and his low, anguished moan broke her heart.

  “Reese,” she said softly, not wanting to startle him. “It’s me, Sophie.”

  But he continued to groan and struggle against an invisible enemy, deaf to her words.

  “Reese,” she said more loudly.

  He fisted his hands in the sheets and let out a hoarse cry. “No,” he murmured, oblivious to anything, apparently, but the nightmare playing out in his head.

  Oh God. She had to do something. Couldn’t let him suffer another minute.

  She scrambled onto the bed beside him and firmly placed her hands on the sides of his face.

  “Look at me, Reese,” she said. “It’s me, Sophie. I’m right here with you, and you’re safe in your room.”

  He woke with a jolt, grasped her wrists, and blinked at her with wide, wild eyes. His chest heaved and his muscles twitched involuntarily.

  “You’re all right,” she said, smoothing the pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones. “You were having a nightmare.”

  He seemed to be frozen, stuck somewhere between the horror in his head and the hope in his heart. His eyes flicked to his fingers encircling her wrists like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, panting.

  She swallowed and let her palms drift slowly across the rough stubble on his jaw. “Touching you.”

  He released her wrists and closed his eyes. “Sophie,” he said, half warning, half begging.

  “You were hurting,” she said. “I had to do something, anything, to stop the pain.”

  “Even break your own rule?” he said with a weary smile.

  “Even that.” She slid her fingertips into his hair and let the soft, thick strands tickle her palms. Her whole body tingled with a strange, magnetic pulsing, and she wondered if he felt it too. “I was worried about you. Would you like me to fetch you some water? Or a cool cloth for your head?”

  “No,” he said quickly. As though he didn’t dare risk breaking the spell. “I just want you to stay with me. Like this.”

  “If I must,” she teased, tracing the shells of his ears with her fingertips.

  A cloud passed over his face, and he looked away.

  She went still. “What is it?”

  “I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “You touching me. I wanted it more than anything.”

  She tilted her head, puzzled. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want you to pity me. I mean, I know that I’m damaged. Beyond redemption. But I never wanted you to see me that way.”


  Her eyes burned as slowly, deliberately, she stretched out next to him and rested her cheek on his bare, hard chest. She placed her hand over his heart and said, “When I look at you, I see someone who’s brave and loyal and caring. You’re still grieving for the brother and friends you lost, but you’re not broken. This darkness and despair you’re feeling … it’s not forever.”

  “How do you know?” he asked, as though her answer mattered very much.

  She lifted her head and looked deep into his eyes. “I know because Edmund and your men would have wanted you to live your life without taking a single day for granted. And deep inside, I think you know that living a full, meaningful life is the best way to honor their memories.”

  For a few seconds, he said nothing. “Sometimes you can know something with your head, but it takes your heart a while to catch up.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “But you must believe me when I say that my touching you tonight had nothing to do with pity. I’ll admit I was worried about you, but I’ve imagined this moment”—she skimmed her palm over his chest and felt him shiver in response—“for a very long time.”

  “I have too,” he said, low and deep. “It feels even better than I thought it would.”

  Sophie’s belly flipped at his admission. Still, she couldn’t help but notice that apart from initially holding her wrists, he’d made no move to touch her. His hands lay flat on the bed, almost as though they’d been strapped down. “What now?” she asked.

  “That’s entirely up to you,” he said. “But if you’re in need of ideas, I have plenty.”

  “Please,” she said, her voice surprisingly raspy. “Tell me what you think we should do.”

  He leveled a heavy-lidded gaze at her and let out a low growl. “I think we should kiss, long, slow, deep, and hot. I think we should press our bodies together till I can feel your heart beat against mine. I think I should worship every inch of you with my hands and mouth till you cry out with pleasure.” He shot her a lazy, wicked smile. “That’s the abridged version of what I think we should do.”