Authors: Diana Quincy
Chapter Three
Elena closed her eyes and took a deep inhale on the cheroot, clearly relishing the taste. “Your Lord Sinclair,” she mused on her exhale. “I think he would not approve of a lady smoking,
verdad
?”
“
Verdad
.” Rand sat with an arm slung over the side of the sofa, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingertips. They were ensconced in the cozy upstairs sitting room of the house she’d rented during her brief stay in town to receive her commendation from the prince regent. “You,
carida
, are going to shock all of the English before your visit here is over.”
Next to him, she smiled and tucked her long legs beneath her, adjusting so that she sat facing him.
Handing over the cheroot, Elena studied him. “What is it,
carido
?”
“Nothing.
Nada
.” He took a deep drag. “It is just strange to be back home after all of these years.”
“I think it is your senorita.”
“She is not my lady. Kitty is betrothed to Sinclair.”
“And you do not like it, no?”
His gut twisted, but he forced a shrug. “He seems a decent sort.”
She reached for the cheroot. “You should pursue her. She is not yet married.”
“Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”
“I think you grow bored with me.”
He ran a light hand over her shoulder. “You could never bore me.”
“Me, perhaps not.” Puffing on the cheroot, she gestured in the general direction of her bed chamber. “But we are finished with each other in that way.”
Rand sighed, unwilling to refute the truth of it. He and Elena never lied to each other. Although she was a beautiful woman who he admired, the thought of bedding Elena no longer appealed as it once had. His diminished interest followed a familiar pattern; he never stayed with any woman for long. “Do I owe you an apology, my love?”
“No, we were always
compadres
first,
verdad
? Lying together was just a pleasurable pastime for both of us.”
“Very pleasurable,” he said gently.
She shooed aside the platitude. “You must pursue your lady.”
“It is too late.” He placed his emptied glass on the side table, grimacing at the pain that shot through his shoulder. “I have nothing to offer her.”
She made a dismissive sound. “Ridiculous.”
“It’s true. The boy who left her no longer exists.” He rubbed his shoulder. “And the man who returned is…complicated.”
“Have you experienced more bouts?”
He shook his head. “No, but one never knows when I will experience another.” He looked at her with stark eyes, feeling dead inside. “It’s been that way since Talavera.”
Compassion etched her face. He knew she understood his demons; Elena had faced them herself. “We can never forget,
mi amor
, not really. But that is not an excuse to stop living. We must create the future we desire.”
Shaking off the melancholy, he asked, “What is it that you want, Elena?”
She shrugged. “To do as I please. After my visit here, once your prince has bestowed my award, I shall return home to my people and live as I choose.”
“Coming close to death certainly does change how one sees life,” he mused. “Society’s dictates no longer seem so important.” He rose to go. “I cannot imagine you living any other way.”
She watched as he reached for his coat. “If you prefer not to be alone, you are welcome to stay in my guest chamber.”
“I don’t think so.” Pulling on his coat, he bent to brush a kiss atop her head. “If these past few weeks aren’t proof of my malady, then I don’t know what is. No sane man would reject the pleasures offered by the most beautiful woman in Spain.”
“You most assuredly have a malady, but it has nothing to do with me,” she said. “It has to do with a certain senorita who looks like an angel and has promised herself to another.”
“Balderdash.”
“And when you decide to rejoin the living,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “I suspect she will be yours for the taking.”
“She was never meant to be mine,” he said gruffly against the weight pressing on his chest. “It was my mistake to have ever thought otherwise.”
...
“The last straggler arrives.” Rand and his eldest brother, Arthur, the Marquess of Camryn, watched their younger brother make his way across the grass toward them.
“You’re late,” Cam said when Will reached them.
Rand took amused note of Will’s rumpled appearance and unruly short golden curls. “I see you didn’t bother to dress for the occasion.”
A slight frown marred Will’s forehead. “We’re unlikely to encounter anyone here.”
True enough. Perhaps mindful of Rand’s preference for avoiding crowds, Cam had tactfully suggested they walk in Kensington Gardens. Unlike Hyde Park, the gardens rarely drew the hordes—and certainly not the fashionable set.
“Sorry for the delay. I was observing a dissection with Doctor Drummond,” Will explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Cam shook his head. “Rather morbid, don’t you think, even for you?”
“It’s not a hobby as you well know.” Will focused on his fingers, peeling away the dried paint. “The greater my understanding of the anatomy and musculature of the human body, the more realistically I can capture it on canvas.”
“
Human
anatomy?” Rand grimaced. “Good Lord. What happened to horses?”
“I’ve recently progressed to the human form.” They set off walking. “I think you would find Drummond interesting, Rand.”
“I have no desire to examine the innards of human cadavers.”
“He’s very interested in injuries suffered by returning soldiers.”
The war not being a subject Rand cared to discuss, he picked up the pace, pulling a fresh surge of air into his lungs. “I assure you, I am not interested in discussing my injury with anyone. And certainly not with this Drummond fellow. Besides, I thought corpses were more to his taste.”
“I doubt he would be interested in your shoulder,” Will said. “He’s enthralled with nostalgia in general and wind contusions in particular.”
A chill rocketed down Rand’s spine. There was no way Will, or any of his brothers, could know about his malady, a condition battlefield surgeons had taken to calling nostalgia after witnessing odd behavior in soldiers. “And why would that be of interest to me?”
Will plucked a satisfyingly large chip of paint off the back of his hand and held it up for his own inspection. “As a commander in the field, I assumed you would have witnessed these conditions in your soldiers and would naturally have an interest in them.”
The tension in Rand’s shoulders eased. “Indeed. But let us leave that discussion for another time, shall we? Catch me up on your news.”
Fortunately, Will was happy to converse about his work. The trio walked the gardens at a brisk pace until Will took his leave to keep an appointment.
After his departure, Rand turned to Cam. “Have you had any word from Sebastian?” Their brother, Sebastian, had been ensconced in the country with his wife, the Duchess of Traherne, following the birth of their third child.
“They returned to Town yesterday,” Cam said. “But he had other matters to attend to today.”
Rand pushed a branch out of their way as they traversed a rocky patch of hill. “Three children in three years. Our brother isn’t one to waste time.”
“What about you?” Cam asked. “A newly minted earl will have all of the marriage-minded mamas in raptures.”
“My ever-present scowl has kept me safe from them thus far.”
“Charlotte and I saw you at Lady Katherine’s betrothal party, but you departed before greeting us.”
“I didn’t care for the crush.”
“Was it difficult seeing her again?” Cam spoke in careful tones. He alone of the brothers knew the full extent of Rand’s early involvement with Kitty.
He continued looking straight ahead as they walked. “I’m told Sinclair is honorable.”
“He is.”
“Then it is settled. The past is the past.”
“True,” said Cam in an idle tone. “Unless it isn’t.”
“I do not care to speak of it.”
“You almost got yourself killed in that bloody war in order to prove yourself worthy of her. You’re an earl now, higher even than her betrothed. If you want her, go and claim her.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“You put yourself through hell and back for that female.” Cam ran a hand over his head, ruffling his amber mane, which never appeared tidy. “Do you now intend to let her marry another?”
“It was a boyish infatuation that I have long since grown out of.” It was a blatant lie, but he could never subject Kitty to a life with him; he’d never allow her to know the darkness that possessed him now. “If I still wanted the lady, do you think I would have gone to India after I resigned my commission?”
Cam shook his head. “I’ve never understood your decision to be away from England for so long.”
“It isn’t so very complicated. There was a fortune to be made in India and being the second son behooved me to seek it. That’s quite enough about me. How is Charlotte?”
“Exceedingly well.” Cam’s choice of a wife had surprised him. His brother’s tastes had always run to voluptuous beauties. Rand had met Charlotte for the first time a few weeks ago. With her willowy form and even features, the marchioness was nothing like Cam’s former paramours, yet his brother had never seemed happier. “She seems to suit you.”
Cam’s eyes shined. “She does indeed. In every way.”
Cam allowed him to direct the conversation away from Kitty and they spent the rest of the time discussing other matters as normal people might. Although Rand rarely felt completely normal anymore. When they neared Round Pond, Cam took his leave to join his wife and children for luncheon. Declining an invitation to join him, Rand continued on. Trotting down a slight slope, he inhaled the outdoor air and fragrant flowers, grateful they’d come upon so few people on their walk. Although he could manage crowds most of the time, they still made him uneasy.
A flutter of birds exploded in front of him, bursting out of a low tree so suddenly that his heart jumped and his shoulders tightened. His chest seized and a kernel of panic sprouted deep within him. Struggling to keep it at bay, he attempted to regulate his breaths, deep inhales that came far too quickly.
Lightheaded, he staggered toward the nearest tree and bent over, bracing his palms on his knees. He struggled to slow the fast, sharp pounding in his chest as perspiration blurred his vision. He blinked repeatedly, determined to drive away the blackness hovering at the edges of his mind. Standing upright again, he leaned against the tree and slid to a sitting position, the solid trunk protecting his back. Looking outward, the pond was a blue-brown blur while the green of the trees were indistinguishable dots of color.
Memories that were best left forgotten pulled at his mind. Pain ripped through his shoulder and a volley of gunshots ricocheted in his head. Drowning in despair and terror, he tried to shove them away, to rein his thoughts back into control.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. You are no longer on the battlefield.
The acrid scent of blood and decaying bodies filled his nostrils, making him wretch. Grief tunneled through him, plunging him into darkness and he gave into it, knowing once again that his battle for sanity was lost.
Something furry, wet, and foul-smelling assaulted him, followed by an enthusiastic yelp. Rand blinked at the brown blob, trying to remember where he was. He became aware of the grass, soft and moist beneath him, and realized he was curled up on the ground. As he struggled into a seated position against the tree, the brown blob began to take the shape of a very mangy-looking—and obviously very poorly trained—canine. The creature lapped at his face with such enthusiasm, it likely hadn’t eaten in a while. And from the way it smelled, it hadn’t bathed in at least twice as long.
He tilted his face upward to avoid all of that slobbering, but the creature licked his chin just as heartily. He took several deep breaths to try to calm his jittery body as the grim realization washed over him. Devil take it. He’d had another episode, and there was no telling how long this one had lasted. Thank God no one had been around to witness it other than this mangy whelp.
The odd-looking creature had the square jaw and drooped jowls of a pointer, but was as fluffy as a Pomeranian. Rand ran a hand down its matted fur, his heart rate and inhalations easing to a more settled pattern as he worked his hands through the animal’s damp coat, massaging its body. The creature’s presence proved surprisingly calming. They sat under the tree together for several minutes until Rand began to feel in control of himself once again.
“And who might you be?” he asked the dog after a while, running both hands up and down the animal’s neck. The wiggly canine emitted a cheerful little bark, nudging into Rand’s hands. “You like that, do you?” He smiled, treating the dog to a more vigorous, playful petting.
“Vera, you naughty creature.” A strident female voice called out from across the way. “Come away from there. Assaulting strangers in the park, whatever will I do with you?”
No. It couldn’t be
. But it was. There was no mistaking that melodious voice with an underlying note of strength. As she came up on him at a determined stride, Rand looked up into breathtakingly familiar blue eyes.
…
Edward Stanhope was just about the last person Kat expected to encounter beside Round Pond, sitting under a tree petting her animal.
Far from his usual stiff-spined stance, he appeared relaxed—the lines of his shoulders and lean body falling into an easy posture—as he vigorously petted the creature. He looked a little pale, almost haggard, but the stern countenance that belonged to this new version of Edward eased as he murmured something to the dog.