needed
care. My maids are too innocent for such a thing and Avery and I have done it
so many times before.” Her words sped out of her mouth like a coach racing down
the lane.
“You’ve
taken other men into your bed and bathed them?”
If
it was possible, her skin became even redder. “Uh, no. In the war. And, with my
husband. I-I helped soldiers in the infirmary.”
She
avoided looking directly at him.
“Then
you really are an angel,” he said softly. He’d seen the horrors of war. The one
year he’d spent in the Iberian Peninsula had horrified him. The senseless
brutality, the raping of innocent girls, villages being burned down to root out
the enemy. The worst was watching soldiers in his regiment at the edge of
sanity, firing on their own kind. If he never set foot on Spanish soil again,
it would be too soon.
He’d
sold his commission and never looked back.
Wait.
He remembered that. “I remember,” he
whispered. He rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands. “I remember!”
“What?
What do you remember?”
“Spain.
I served in Spain for a year.” He grimaced. “The worst year of my life.”
“That’s
wonderful!” she said. Then she shook her head, her eyes wide. “I meant it is
good that you have not lost all of your memory. You know you were a soldier. If
you remember that, then surely you will regain the rest.”
Of
all the blasted things for him to remember, that was the thing still in his mind. If he could light a torch and burn it out of
his brain, he would.
“From
your mouth to God’s ears, madam. I should hate to be left with only the bitter
and no memory of the sweet.”
He
stroked her hands again. He needed to feel her warmth, to feel her pulse race
under his touch. The past could not be undone, but the future was a die that
had yet to be cast.
“Will
you sing to me again?”
“What?”
Her dark lashes lowered and he could hear a tremor in her voice.
“I
should like to hear you sing now that I am fully awake to enjoy it.”
“I
cannot think of the words at the moment.”
He
suspected it might be the fact that his hands had travelled up her wrists,
massaging the supple skin. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even if it
was as chaste as this.
“What
if I start and you join me?” He continued stroking the soft skin, but slower
now. “As I walked forth one summer’s day,
to view the meadows green and gay, a pleasant bower I espied…”
“Standing fast by the river side,” she
sang with a clear voice, soft and airy, “And in’t a maiden I heard cry, Alas, Alas, there’s none e’er loved as I.”
He
closed his eyes and let the world disappear apart from her voice.
“Then round the meadow did she walk,
catching each flower by the stalk.”
When
the words died, he looked back at her.
“You
were not singing,” she reproached.
“Forgive
me, madam. Such flow’rs as in the meadow grow… ”
They
continued in harmony, their voices twining and merging together, hers lifting
them toward heaven and his gliding under hers. Until she faltered and blushed
in the last verse.
“The green things served her for…”
“—Her bed. The flowers were the
pillows for her head,” he continued on, though he couldn’t help but smile.
The song was anything but bawdy, yet the lady could not say the word ‘bed’.
He
finished the rest of the sad song, never letting go of her hand.
“You
have a beautiful voice,” he said. “Almost as lovely as your face.”
“Thank
you. Though I suspect you are still recovering from the blow to your head. You
should hear Miriam sing.”
“The
only voice I wish to hear is yours.” He kissed her wrist and felt her tremble
under his mouth.
“Practicing
your charm?”
“I
do not need practice.”
“Perhaps
not.” She eased her arm away from him. “Maybe I am the one who has forgotten.”
He
leaned into her. “I would be happy to teach you.”
The
corner of her mouth formed a half-smile. “Oh, I am sure
care. My maids are too innocent for such a thing and Avery and I have done it
so many times before.” Her words sped out of her mouth like a coach racing down
the lane.
“You’ve
taken other men into your bed and bathed them?”
If
it was possible, her skin became even redder. “Uh, no. In the war. And, with my
husband. I-I helped soldiers in the infirmary.”
She
avoided looking directly at him.
“Then
you really are an angel,” he said softly. He’d seen the horrors of war. The one
year he’d spent in the Iberian Peninsula had horrified him. The senseless
brutality, the raping of innocent girls, villages being burned down to root out
the enemy. The worst was watching soldiers in his regiment at the edge of
sanity, firing on their own kind. If he never set foot on Spanish soil again,
it would be too soon.
He’d
sold his commission and never looked back.
Wait.
He remembered that. “I remember,” he
whispered. He rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands. “I remember!”
“What?
What do you remember?”
“Spain.
I served in Spain for a year.” He grimaced. “The worst year of my life.”
“That’s
wonderful!” she said. Then she shook her head, her eyes wide. “I meant it is
good that you have not lost all of your memory. You know you were a soldier. If
you remember that, then surely you will regain the rest.”
Of
all the blasted things for him to remember, that was the thing still in his mind. If he could light a torch and burn it out of
his brain, he would.
“From
your mouth to God’s ears, madam. I should hate to be left with only the bitter
and no memory of the sweet.”
He
stroked her hands again. He needed to feel her warmth, to feel her pulse race
under his touch. The past could not be undone, but the future was a die that
had yet to be cast.
“Will
you sing to me again?”
“What?”
Her dark lashes lowered and he could hear a tremor in her voice.
“I
should like to hear you sing now that I am fully awake to enjoy it.”
“I
cannot think of the words at the moment.”
He
suspected it might be the fact that his hands had travelled up her wrists,
massaging the supple skin. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even if it
was as chaste as this.
“What
if I start and you join me?” He continued stroking the soft skin, but slower
now. “As I walked forth one summer’s day,
to view the meadows green and gay, a pleasant bower I espied…”
“Standing fast by the river side,” she
sang with a clear voice, soft and airy, “And in’t a maiden I heard cry, Alas, Alas, there’s none e’er loved as I.”
He
closed his eyes and let the world disappear apart from her voice.
“Then round the meadow did she walk,
catching each flower by the stalk.”
When
the words died, he looked back at her.
“You
were not singing,” she reproached.
“Forgive
me, madam. Such flow’rs as in the meadow grow… ”
They
continued in harmony, their voices twining and merging together, hers lifting
them toward heaven and his gliding under hers. Until she faltered and blushed
in the last verse.
“The green things served her for…”
“—Her bed. The flowers were the
pillows for her head,” he continued on, though he couldn’t help but smile.
The song was anything but bawdy, yet the lady could not say the word ‘bed’.
He
finished the rest of the sad song, never letting go of her hand.
“You
have a beautiful voice,” he said. “Almost as lovely as your face.”
“Thank
you. Though I suspect you are still recovering from the blow to your head. You
should hear Miriam sing.”
“The
only voice I wish to hear is yours.” He kissed her wrist and felt her tremble
under his mouth.
“Practicing
your charm?”
“I
do not need practice.”
“Perhaps
not.” She eased her arm away from him. “Maybe I am the one who has forgotten.”
He
leaned into her. “I would be happy to teach you.”
The
corner of her mouth formed a half-smile. “Oh, I am sure
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