by Dayna Quince
Marriage had been a given, but a far off, vague, future event that couldn't compete with the distraction of the present.
Now, when he looked into the future, he only wanted to see Luna. He only wanted to think about what it would be like to wake up with her in his arms, to see her belly grow round with his child, and the years pass with her by his side.
He wanted certainty. He wanted control. He just wanted an answer from her, but if he pushed, she might choose to say no, and then he didn't know what he would do.
If she agreed to marry him, he would speak with her father and secure his blessing. He didn't expect any trouble on that front. He was a titled lord, after all, and despite Theo’s many reckless endeavors, his estate was flush with wealth. He had enough money in his luggage at present for his ill-fated trip with Theo to build Marsden house twice over from dirt to roof.
If her father needed a bit of persuasion, he would happily oblige him. But he couldn't convince Luna with money. He needed to engage her heart, and more importantly, her trust in him. Which might possibly be the most elusive emotion to foster in such a short time.
Christ, it had only been six days since that night near the beach. He recalled meeting her at the very first party four months ago, but their introduction had been brief, and he couldn’t remember what she'd been wearing or what they'd said to each other, but this time… This time, he'd been ensnared, whether by fate or circumstance he didn't know, but he couldn't just walk away from her. Even if she refused his proposal, he was going to stay in England and he was going to fight for her.
He'd stay in Northumberland if he had to. And he'd visit her every day, begging to see her if he must until she saw that his heart was true. He’d lied only out of necessity. After that first night, he'd meant everything he'd said. Thereafter, every kiss, every tender gaze.
His heart belonged to her. It would for all eternity.
He strolled into the room, greeting Selhorst and Seyburn. Luna’s tea had not been enough to dull the pain in his side, so he poured himself a liberal draught of whiskey and swiftly downed it. Dinner was announced and while he hoped to escort Luna in, she was quickly paired up with Lord Chester, and he was left with the nearest Marsden, who didn't at all appear pleased to have been left stranded near him.
“Miss Nicolette, may I have the honor of escorting you into dinner?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and Callen panicked a little as he wondered what Theo might have been telling her. He had a silver tongue with women, the older the more susceptible, but even the younger set were quite enthralled by his wicked humor and mischievous glint in his eyes.
He looked like trouble, and since women were often discouraged from trouble, they quite enjoyed the opportunity to find it at times. Theo reminded Callen of himself in his more carefree years, but those seemed so far away. They were separated by barely a year, almost Irish twins as his mother would say, but Theo's birth had been difficult, and his mother hadn't been able to conceive again.
Callen wondered if that was why she doted on him so fervently. She and Theo had almost died during his birth, according to what his father used to tell him. Callen had only been a babe himself at the time. But just thinking that he could have grown up without his mother made his chest hurt, even after all these years since her passing. She had so much warmth to her and such a giving nature. She never lost her temper, and she never liked to punish them, which is why Theo was the way he was. Sometimes Callen wondered if that was part of the resentment he felt toward him. Theo never seemed to understand how perilous life was for all of them. Theo lived his life as though a bubble of protection surrounded him, of endless chances for him to redeem himself, but he never sought redemption.
Even now, with a swollen lip from his own brother’s fist, Callen didn't feel even a fraction of his earlier rage, but he still had his determination. He would see Theo to that boat if it was the last thing he ever did. And if for some asinine reason he drowned on his way back to shore, then he'd haunt Theo for the rest of his life and forever remind him until Theo's own demise.
They could continue this ever-revolving wheel of resentment and anger into their afterlife. Callen refocused on Nic, Theo's latest target for his charm. He must be under her skin already but he prayed not her skirts. He’d made himself an ally, and Callen wasn't in the mood to argue with her. One angry Marsden was enough for him in his weakened state.
“Whatever it is my brother has said I've done, I’d like to call a truce for this dinner. It's been a rough day,” he said.
She put her nose in the air and turned her face away. “Fine. But is it true?” she asked. They had fallen behind everyone else. Callen's gait was slower than the others.
“That you were shot intercepting Theo’s duel?” she whispered to him.
He slowed them until they stood just outside the door to the dining room and all the others had gone in.
“Who told you that?”
“Luna did. She and I talked about the both of you this afternoon before dressing for dinner. She said the two of you fought.” Her gaze scanned his face. “I can see that's true.”
He raised a brow. “You don't trust the word of your sister?”
“Of course I do. She's my sister. I was just making the observation that I can see there are visible marks from the fight, but no black eye.”
“It's not our first fight. We learned as lads not to aim for the eyes. Our father would become very displeased when he discovered we were fighting. And they tend to be unsightly, especially once the blue and purple turn to green and brown. Not at all charming or well received by hostesses during elegant gatherings.”
“I see.” She pivoted as if to go into the dining room but then paused. “And what of your wound? It must not have been very bad?”
“It could have been, but I had the good fortune of meeting an excellent doctor, and I am well on my way to a full recovery.”
“I'm glad, though I still don't quite trust you or your intentions toward my sister.”
Luna must not have told her about his proposal.
“I have only honorable intentions toward Luna,” he said.
Her gaze narrowed on him, and she surveyed his face as if she could see inside him and read his true intentions. He held still for her inspection. She nodded once, and then by unspoken agreement, they turned and entered the dining room to find their seats.
Later that night, Callen only stayed for one drink in the billiard room and then went to find his bed. He eased out of his jacket and waistcoat and pulled his shirt from his breeches before reclining back into the chair by his hearth with a glass of brandy.
He had the kettle warming over the fire and Luna’s special mixture of powder and tea leaves sitting in the cup. It wasn't a bad evening per se, but he'd found little time to speak to Luna, and his brother had avoided him altogether.
It was amazing how jovial and carefree Theo could seem when in the company of others, and yet so cold to Callen one moment and then concerned the next. But he never approached him; he conveyed his emotions through a glance, and Callen understood each one. Because even when they hated each other, they still connected on that primal sibling level of unspoken understanding.
It made Callen review how he felt about his brother, about his motives, and about whether he could truly be redeemed. He wanted to believe in him, but he’d reached the end of his tether.
They could go no further together. Callen wanted to move on with his life, and he wanted to do it with Luna.
Callen stared at the flames and sipped his brandy until he could hear the water simmering. He set down his glass on the small table next to his chair and swung the kettle away from the fire.
Callen sighed heavily as he pushed himself to his feet. He lifted the hot kettle with a towel and poured steaming water into the teacup. He set the kettle down and resumed his contemplation of the fire from the chair.
In his mind, thoughts of Luna filtered in and out, things he wished he could say to he
r, explanations he could give her, but he didn't have much hope at this point.
Callen had made a mistake. He’d gotten too comfortable covering for his brother.
Callen never could have dreamed how his feelings for Luna would grow, and how that lie could be the one thing standing in his way. He always thought it would be Theo. Yet, it wasn't Theo that made Luna refuse him today but the lie he’d used to cover up for Theo. Something he should have confessed almost immediately when his feelings began to grow, but he just didn't know how.
Honestly, it hadn't even entered his mind. They didn't talk about it—no, that wasn't true. Callen recalled now how he’d said plainly that the mission would never be over because at that point in time, it felt like he had nothing else to do in his life but look after his brother.
How wrong he'd been and how foolishly shortsighted. No wonder she doubted him. His judgment had become so clouded of late, but he was going to fix it. He'd make it up to her anyway he could.
If only… If only he had another chance to speak to her.
Callen picked up his teacup and blew softly on the surface of the reddish-brown liquid. He dipped the tip of his finger in, and it didn't feel too hot so he threw the whole of it back and downed it in one swallow.
He grimaced. The oil didn't taste bad, but it had a tendency to stick to his tongue in an unpleasant way. Callen took another sip of his brandy to wash it down and then he stood, stretching as much as he could, his back and his side sore after his tussle with Theo.
Callen was getting too old for fisticuffs. He certainly felt his age tonight, and he briefly wondered why he hadn't thought of marriage sooner. Perhaps he could've sent Theo away long ago, but now he realized it wasn't about Theo. It wasn’t about his age.
It was about the way Luna made him feel.
And then he knew why. Suddenly it seemed so very clear.
He loved her with that same blinding urgency that seemed to hinder his judgment toward his brother.
It was because of love. All of it.
Callen loved her and he wanted to spend the remainder of his life showering her with his love. Maybe one day, should he ever have a son like Theo, he would truly understand his mother and father. Callen couldn't imagine not caring for his own child made with a love greater than any force on earth. He leaned over his lap, balancing his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.
Christ. Nothing in the world had prepared him for this.
He couldn't place when it had begun, but he was already in far too deep, beyond reason and logic and straight to pure need. He just needed her, whether she was angry or annoyed, with a deep bone-throbbing ache.
Callen squeezed his eyes closed and waited for the tea to take its effect, hoping that with the brandy, it wouldn't be long before he could fall asleep. He almost didn't hear the soft knocking on his door, but its persistence snapped him out of his daze. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, focusing on the door. Only then did his mind make the connection that it must be someone wanting to enter.
Callen stood and pulled his dressing gown from the back of the chair and drew it on, tying the sash at the waist. He didn't know who it could be. Maybe Theo, but he didn't think Theo would wait so patiently at the door instead of just barging in.
Callen opened the door and Luna’s small face peered up at him, her eyes wide, her irises nearly black in the dim hall. She looked like a little bird needing shelter from the storm, bundled as she was in her brown cloak.
All the air seem to rush from his lungs as he stepped back and bid her enter, swiftly closing the door—but carefully, so as not to slam it—and turning the lock.
All his throbbing need turned into a clanging inside of him at her presence, and he could just barely keep himself from reaching for her. She pushed the hood of her cloak back, revealing the same gray dress she'd worn earlier.
“I'm sorry to disturb you but I was concerned about you. I watched you throughout dinner and you seemed…not yourself,” she said. Her gaze slowly lifted to his.
“I am most definitely not myself, not without you.” He knew it was a bit heavy-handed, but his tongue was as driven as the rest of his body to be near her, and these weren’t words of persuasion but pure honesty. It was simply how he felt.
She glanced away and he cursed himself for being such a forward oaf, but he did not think he was capable of subtlety right now.
“How is your wound?” she asked.
He drew off his dressing gown and lifted his shirt enough for her to see the bandage.
“I have not yet changed the bandage if you would like to see it.”
She nodded.
Callen exhaled with relief and removed his shirt, his skin coming alive, his nipples pebbling, exposed to the air and her gaze. She moved closer and he folded his hands behind his head, mostly so he could lock his fingers together as her hands touched him. Her fingers were delicate but strong as they worked the bandage strips free and unwound them, removing the square pad slowly.
“There is a bit of blood on the pad.” She bent at the waist to look closer at the wound. “It seems no worse for the trouble Theo caused earlier today.”
“I’ve felt worse pain,” he replied.
Her gaze hesitantly met his and then pulled away. She went to the pile of linens, a sheet he'd already dissected into strips earlier, and opened the jar of salve. He followed her and remained still as she applied more salve to a fresh pad, placed it over the wound, and began to rewrap the strips around him.
Callen watched it all silently, adoring her with his gaze. He memorized the way the raven wisps of her hair curled around her ears, smiling at how the loose knot on top of her head always seemed to lob to the side in the evenings in halfhearted rebellion.
The rosy glow of her skin in the firelight seemed so warm and soft, like a pearl that he clutched in his hand until it absorbed his heat as its own. His hands itched to touch her.
She tucked the last strip in and stood, brushing her hands of the little threats of lint that came from the sheet.
“There,” she said. “Almost as if the fight had never happened.”
Their eyes locked, but the restraint he saw in her face told him that she hadn't forgotten, and he hated to see her be reticent around him. Gone was the openness of her gaze, the hope, amusement—dare he think—the love she had begun to feel for him.
Callen couldn't stand it. He reached for her before he knew what he was doing, cradling her face, and then her lips were under his.
One brief touch and he pulled away, surprised by his own lack of control.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have done that. I'm not trying to coerce you. It's important to me that you return my affections of your own free will.”
His throat grew tight around the word affection because it seemed so paltry and insignificant compared to the love that burned inside him, far more reckless and all-consuming.
She bit her bottom lip. “It's fine,” she said. “If I’m being honest. I wanted you to kiss me.” Callen reached for her again. But there was still something in her eyes that gave him pause.
“But?”
“But we need to talk. I need to know more about you, more about…who you are underneath the lie. The real you.”
His heart exploded with hope, and he was nearly trembling as he nodded in acceptance. There wasn't a second chair in the room, so he moved the chair by the hearth closer to the bed, and he waved for her to sit while he sat on the foot of the bed.
“Ask me anything you want,” he said. “I will keep nothing from you, I swear. I want nothing to stand between us from now on.” He saw her swallow and then she took a deep breath.
“Tell me about your parents?” she asked. “How did they die?”
Now it was his turn to take a breath. He didn't like reliving these feelings. Every time he talked about it, he couldn't help remembering those dire moments when things seemed so hopeless and the weight of the world was pushing down on him.
“It seems like it wasn't that long ago,” he began, “but the years moved swiftly after they died.” He thought back, pinching his eyes closed before he refocused on her.
“I was at Cambridge. I was two and twenty when I got news my mother and father were both very ill, and I needed to return home. I left Theo at school. He wasn’t up to his usual antics as of yet. He had good standing, and in a way, I wanted to protect him. He's only a little over a year younger than me, but he seemed so young still, very much a boy, and I didn't know how serious their illness had become.
“I’d just been there, not two weeks prior, and they were fine. But when I got home, Sabers, our butler, told me how swiftly they'd fallen ill, and how at first they were in separate rooms. But now, due to the physician’s dire predictions, his mother had insisted they be moved to the same bed. They had the same illness, after all, so she didn't see why she needed to be separated from her husband.
“I went into see them in their room. They were holding hands, but they were shadows of their former selves, and I knew if I had waited even a day longer, I might not have made it in time.”
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.
He acknowledged her words with a slight dip of his head. “The family solicitor, the priest, they were already waiting, and I just stood there numbly as my parents greeted me in weak voices before I was ushered away. It was like they were already gone, and papers were being thrust at me, things to sign, decisions to make, arrangements for their funerals. I remember at one point, I ran from the room. A storm had come up swiftly, and I just stood there as raindrops pelted me, trying to understand all that was happening. Then I thought of Theo there at school, utterly unaware that our parents were about to vanish right before my eyes. And there wasn't even time to summon him.”
“He didn't get to say goodbye?”
Callen shook his head. “He was so angry. I sent for him right away in the vain hope that he could make it in time. I prayed for it. That might be one of the last times I said a prayer. Then I returned inside, but I ignored my solicitor and went straight to my parents, and I just sat and watched them while they slept. When they woke, we talked. We shared the last words they would ever say to me before passing at some moment during the night. They had each other. I saw them in the morning before they removed from the bed, and they still had their hands clasped together.”