He sat down beside her and thrust his bad leg out in front of him. “I was wounded aboard the Amphion during the Battle of Cape Santa Maria in October 1804.”
She shifted a bit so she could look at his face. “I don’t know that battle.”
“Probably because it wasn’t much of one. Spain hadn’t yet declared war on Great Britain.”
“Oh, wait, I do remember! That was the battle where three Spanish treasure ships were captured and brought back to England before they could reach France. And then Spain declared war on us.”
“Exactly.”
She stared at him. “But I didn’t think anyone on our side was wounded in that battle.”
“There weren’t many—four on the Lively, though they had two deaths as well. And only three of us wounded on the Amphion.” His jaw flexed. “My wounds were the worst.”
“Tell me,” she said as she took his hand and laid it in her lap.
He looked at her with a tortured gaze. “I’ve never told anyone what happened, you know. Not even Beatrice, and she was the one who fought to keep me from dying.”
“You can trust me,” she said again. It was the only thing she could think of to say. It was true, but she wished there was a way to ease his pain. “But if it hurts too much to talk about it—”
“No. I want to tell you. I need to tell you. You see, I was barely conscious for the first year after I was wounded, living in a fog of laudanum. By the time I could tell anyone, I didn’t want to.” He shot her a faint smile. “But I think I must now. How else am I to stop reliving it?”
Her throat was raw with unshed tears. “I’m not sure you will ever stop reliving it,” she said. “It’s part of who you are. But perhaps sharing the burden will make it a little lighter? That’s what I hope anyway.”
He reached up to cup her cheek. “Always the optimist, eh?”
“For other people, yes. For myself, not as much as I’d like.” She squeezed his hand. “But I plan to be an optimist for you.”
“Good. Beatrice could use someone to take over her job. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t much of a sunny-natured fellow even before I was wounded.”
“Really?” she said sarcastically. “What a shock.”
He smiled and chucked her under the chin. “You always make me laugh.”
“I try.” She shot him an arch smile. “Though I’m still waiting for you to tell me how you were wounded.”
He nodded. “It’s not a very interesting story, to be honest. Without going into too much detail about strategies and such, our four navy ships waylaid four Spanish ships. One of them, the Mercedes, fired broadside at my ship, the Amphion. We returned fire. Somehow we hit the magazine of the Mercedes, which exploded while we were very close to the ship. I was up on the forecastle, and near enough that the lower right side of my body was raked by the explosion. It seared my right thigh, and severed some muscles of my right calf.”
His eyes grew haunted. “It wasn’t just that either. For the next hour it was hell on earth around us. I had seen some pretty awful sights during my years in battle, but mostly the results of hand-to-hand combat or cannon. This was the worst. In the explosion of the Mercedes, all but forty of its two-hundred-and-eighty crewmen died—two-hundred-and-forty men screaming, drowning, parts of bodies raining down—”
He caught himself. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all the grisly details. Suffice it to say, the battle was over very quickly. The Mercedes sank. Two of the other ships surrendered. The last ship tried to escape but was captured.”
“And I imagine you weren’t conscious for most of it.”
“Actually, I was in a great deal of pain for most of it, but I was lucky in that I was treated more swiftly than most because of my rank.” He took her hand. “I narrowly escaped having my leg amputated. Fortunately, our ship’s surgeon didn’t believe amputation should be a first resort.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Sadly, yes. Many a sailor has found himself under the saw, whether he wished it or not.” He squeezed her hand so hard that she thought he might break it, but she didn’t let on.
He released her hand. “I was fairly delirious from the pain, but I was still capable of protesting such an action. And thanks to the surgeon’s feelings on the subject, I was spared.”
“Show me,” she said gently. “You told me that I wasn’t hurting you this afternoon, but I can’t really believe that without seeing the damage.” When his face clouded over, she added hastily, “But only if you wish.”
“I do wish.”
As he removed his Hessians, she rose to light a candle from the coals in the fireplace, then went around the room, lighting candles so she could see. Meanwhile, he stood to dispense with his trousers and drawers. His shirt was long enough to cover his privates, and she noticed as she went back to sit on the settee that he’d kept on his stockings.
But there was still plenty to see.
She trailed her fingers over a long swath of his thigh where it looked as if his skin had been mauled and later healed into a mass of raised flesh. When she ran her fingers lightly over it, he sucked in a breath.
“I warned you,” he said in a tense voice. His apprehensive expression fairly broke her heart.
“Yes, you did,” she said, purposely adopting a matter-of-fact tone.
Even though she ached inside for what he must have suffered, she realized now that she had to hide it. When she had unwittingly let her pity show this afternoon, he hadn’t handled that well. Perhaps, in time, he wouldn’t mind so much, but for now she had to be careful.
She returned her attention to his thigh. “I assume that this is the part that was burned?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see how deeply his wounds affected her. “It seems pretty bad. Does it still hurt?”
“No,” he said in a clipped voice.
Reaching for the garter on his injured leg, she glanced up at him. “May I?”
He nodded tightly. As she untied it and drew down his stocking, he talked, as if to keep his mind off what she was doing. “Aside from the woman I told you about, the one who recoiled when she saw this, the only people who have seen my wounds are Beatrice and a handful of doctors.”
She gazed at the withered leg as she unveiled it, realizing that he wasn’t putting his weight on it, which was why he could stand there without needing his cane. “Would you rather sit?”
“Yes, thank you.” He sat down and lifted his bad leg so she could pull off the stocking.
What she saw was truly sobering. There were long dents in the skin where the muscle had wasted away, scars upon scars, and burned flesh that had healed, leaving shiny, misshapen areas.
“How did you survive this?” she said, choking back tears. “You must be very strong-willed. Otherwise, you would have died in the hospital.”
“I daresay I survived because I was only in a hospital for a week. When our ship docked in Gosport, a letter was sent back to Armitage Hall about my injuries, and Beatrice and MacTilly, our Master of Hounds, showed up to transport me home. Beatrice said there was no way in hell she was leaving me in a hospital. And in truth, the doctors had already done everything they could do for me anyway.”
“I’ve always liked your sister.” Gwyn smiled at him. “And now I like her even more.”
“She was fearless. She got me through infections and fever and God knows what else. I was only half-conscious for most of the year I was in her care, so I don’t remember much. Between the laudanum and the whisky she poured into—and onto—me, she did whatever she had to do with me. And whatever she did worked. Though it’s a miracle I didn’t develop a craving for opium when it was all past me.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t about to let her sacrifice go for naught. Not that she would have let me. There was no fighting her. She was determined to see me survive, and in the best possible situation she could manage.”
Gwyn struggled to conta
in her tears. “Then I owe her a debt of gratitude.”
“So do I,” he said hoarsely. “Because without her, I wouldn’t have lived to meet you.”
He leaned over to kiss her, so sweetly that it nearly broke her heart all over again. Then he drew back to pin her with a yearning look. “Gwyn, I know I’m not what you probably want, and I know that you would probably prefer a husband who lacks my difficulties, but . . .” He took a steadying breath. “Will you marry me? Take me as your husband with all my flaws? Have my children?”
Those last words were a sword cutting through all her happiness. “The problem is, well . . . I’m not sure I can have children.”
She wasn’t entirely surprised when he eyed her with astonishment. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”
Oh, Lord, this was so hard. It had been easier telling Beatrice. “Because in addition to seducing me years ago, Lionel also got me with child.”
“You bore that arse a child?” Joshua said in a hollow voice.
Her stomach roiled at the thought of telling him all this. But she had to. If he truly wanted to marry her, he needed to know. “I didn’t bear the child. I lost it when I was four months along. And the midwife who secretly cared for me afterward said she didn’t think I’d be able to have any more.” She cast him a wan smile. “That’s the other reason I haven’t married. Because every man wants a son to carry on his name. And I don’t know if I can provide one.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I don’t understand. Why on earth would you think you can’t have a son?”
“Not just a son. Any child.” With a sigh, she began to tell him everything she’d told Beatrice. He asked questions and made comments that showed he was thoroughly unfamiliar with the inner workings of women.
“So,” he said, “if I’m understanding you correctly, you think you can’t have children because of what one midwife said about your womb.”
“And because I lost my first child. My only child so far.”
“That’s not saying much, because you’ve only shared a man’s bed twice. And it’s too early to know about that second time.” He lifted a brow. “I hear that the fellow who bedded you has his own problems.”
“Joshua, do be serious,” she chided him.
“I’m trying, honestly. But—” He scrubbed his face with one hand. “You said that your maid didn’t agree with her friend’s assessment? That means there’s a good chance that the midwife is wrong.”
“And an equally good chance that she’s right.”
“True. Personally, I agree with my sister. Before you decide what the future might hold in that regard, you should talk to your mother. She has a wealth of experience in having children.”
“Yes, but then I’d have to tell her that I gave my innocence to Lionel. That isn’t something I relish revealing.”
He rubbed his chin. “All right. Then tell her you’re asking for a friend. Perhaps Beatrice. Say that you want to know if one miscarriage is a sign that there will be more.”
“Beatrice might not appreciate my dragging her into it.”
“Very well,” he said, obviously getting more annoyed by the moment. “Then perhaps you could see another doctor, who could examine you to determine if the midwife was correct. Or perhaps you could see another midwife.”
It was just as she’d feared—learning of her inability to have his child was changing everything. “Or perhaps you will simply have to accept that I might never have children.” When he said nothing, she said, “It’s not my fault, you know. It’s just the way my body is made.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t blame you for that. It’s just that—”
“You were hoping for children.”
His gaze swung to her. “I was hoping for children with you.” He took her hands in his. “And I’m not entirely convinced it’s impossible.”
“I didn’t say it was.” She arched one brow. “But I could find myself with child, endure weeks of anticipation, then still lose the babe.”
She looked away, not wanting him to see how much the memory of her first loss still hurt, even though it wasn’t convenient, even though it had proved providential in many respects. “Given what I went through the first time, I’m not sure I want to go through it again.”
“That is the real reason you haven’t married before now, isn’t it?”
She slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Losing a babe . . . you can’t know how difficult it is. It was hard enough when I wasn’t certain what had happened to the baby’s father and whether I would ever see him again.” Her gaze met his. “But to have it happen to a child I wanted—”
“If you prefer not to have children, that’s fine.” He eyed her closely and dragged in a rough breath. “We won’t have them. We’ll take steps not to.”
She knew such steps existed, but she doubted any of them were particularly enjoyed by men. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I’ll endure anything if it means having you in my life.” He caught her by the chin. “Because you are the most important part of this equation. You and me. Us.”
He brushed a kiss to her lips. “Besides, there are other possibilities. We could take in foundlings. There’s a hospital full of them here in London, I’m told. Surely we could find one in the whole place that suits us.”
That made her smile, as he’d probably meant it to do.
“I don’t care what we do as long as we do it together,” he went on. “If you don’t want to take a chance on having our own child, I am happy to oblige. And I can prove it, too.”
“You can’t prove how you will feel in five or ten years.” She stood and hurried to the door, then unlocked it.
But before she could open it, he rose and came up behind her. She could hear the tapping of his cane and swung around to stare hopelessly at him. Catching her about the waist, he lifted her with one of his incredibly strong arms and set her on the console table beside the door. “I can prove how bereft I would be without you.”
“Joshua . . .”
He kissed her with a desperation she understood only too well, because she felt it, too. She would be bereft without him, too.
And what would it hurt, one more time with him? She had already been with him today, had already risked having a child with him and losing it. What was one more time? Let him prove himself if he could.
Because after this, there might be no more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Joshua would not let her give up on them. They belonged together. She just needed to be reassured that he would take the necessary steps to keep her safe from pain. And he would.
Or he hoped he would anyway. Because just holding her again, touching her again was turning him into that ungovernable beast he kept trying to restrain. The one that desired her more than life.
Apparently, she was rather ungovernable herself, for she took his hand and pressed it to one of her breasts, urging him to fondle it.
He broke the kiss to murmur, “Steady, dearling. We have all the time in the world.”
“You don’t think anyone will come looking for us?” she whispered. “Because my maid is bound to wonder where I am.”
“In that case . . .”
He tugged up her skirts, then caught his breath as she wriggled her bottom so she could hike them up to her waist. Just the sight of her in her silk stockings, with the satiny skin above them, made him hard as stone.
But he had to see her bountiful breasts with their nipples the color of ripe peaches. He craved a taste of those nipples, which would tighten into pebbles the minute he caressed them with his mouth. And thankfully, her daring evening gown, which already showed half of them, made it simple to ease the bodice down to give him what he craved.
“Yes,” she whispered as he bared her breasts. She shuddered when he bent to lick one nipple. “Oh, Joshua, yes. One day, sir, I swear I’m going to see both halves of you undressed. But not tonight.”
“No, not tonight.” He took each breast in his mouth in
turn, already about to explode with need for her. Her nipples hardened, and his cock did the same. “Gwyn,” he said hoarsely. “You unman me, I swear.”
“I rather think I do the opposite.” She parted her legs and gripped his arms to bring him in closer. “You seem quite thoroughly . . . manned.”
He choked out a laugh. “And you, dearling, are a teasing wench.” The kind of wench he could spend the rest of his life with.
Urging her bottom closer to the table edge, he found the pearl between her nether lips and rubbed it, determined to show her that he could hold back his own needs long enough to arouse her no matter how hard he was or how badly he wished to make love to her.
“Joshua!” she cried. “Now who’s the tease?”
The words made him ache to take her. He flicked his tongue over her nipple one more time, then straightened. The pleasure was simply too much. He had to be inside her. He couldn’t wait.
“Come into me, my love,” she choked out as she pulled on his arms. “Please. Please.”
The fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her nearly made him come right there. Which would hardly prove his point.
What point was that? Ah, yes, that he could take measures to keep her from becoming pregnant with his child. He could do it. He could. If that was what it took to have Gwyn as his wife, he could give up anything.
He entered her slowly, his cock stiffening even more from just the tight, hot, velvety feel of her. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No. Oh . . . that feels so . . . so . . .”
“Amazing?” he said hoarsely. “Because that’s how it feels for me.”
“I was . . . going to say . . . incredible, but . . . amazing is good, too.”
“Thank God.” He drove into her up to the hilt, his body tensing with the effort of trying not to come too soon. He wanted to feel her quaking around him first, pulsing and squeezing him in her release. Only then did he mean to pull out.
Finding her pearl once more with his fingers, he pressed it and thrilled to the gasp she gave. She was his, damn it. If he had to go childless the rest of his days, he would. Because he wanted her as his wife.
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