differences. “What happened, Dev? What happened to us?”
“A war happened, madam. A lifetime intervened.” He gave a harsh laugh. “During that time I nearly died. Sometimes I think I did die, between the wounds I bore and the fever that came afterward.” Again his long, powerful fingers traced the silver scar at his jaw.
“But surely that will change.” India looked at him in confusion, fighting desperately to retain some shred of hope in the face of this detached flow of words. “Eventually, you will remember. Little things at first, then more.”
“No.” He cut her off harshly, his eyes burning. “Do not delude yourself. The doctors shake their heads and cluck, but they make no assurances.” He ran his hands through his dark hair. When he looked up, the wrenching desolation in his eyes made India’s breath catch.
“So you see, I’m afraid I can be of no use to you. You will of course have your man of business call on me and present the proper documents. If the marriage is legal, some sort of settlement will be made.”
“It was perfectly legal,” India said tightly.
He studied her face, his expression hard. “I see. Was the union consummated?”
India flung herself to her feet, color staining her cheeks. “You dare to ask such a thing?”
“I must. You claim to be my wife, may I remind you? Unconsummated, a marriage is an easy matter to break through annulment. But consummated, or with heirs, the business will be a great deal messier.”
This clinical recitation was more than India could bear. “Messy? Is that how you think of it? I waited for you! I watched every load of wounded carried back into Brussels. I searched the roads at dawn and stopped every English soldier, desperate for even a scrap of news. Week after week, I waited.” Her lips trembled and she caught back a ragged sob. “All that time I stayed and worked, tending wounds I could hardly bear to look at. It was little enough to do when I hoped that one of the soldiers might have some news about you. Sometimes I thought I saw you walking out of the dust, that old teasing smile on your face. And then the fevers came. Even then I worked on until one day I was struck down, too.” India felt deathly cold as she continued. “They say I came very close to dying one night, my lord. Shortly after that…” Her eyes glittered, pools of pain. “Never mind. Just tell me how you can look at me and call our past — our marriage — messy.”
Devlyn Carlisle muttered a low curse and strode toward her. “Sit down. There is no purpose in—”
India drove her trembling fists against his chest. “Don’t touch me.” She was on the edge of breaking, and she knew it. But she would never show her pain to this hard stranger with the face of the man she had loved. “You have made yourself more than clear. I-I must go.”
“It is late, madam. Stay here and rest awhile longer. Then I will fetch a hackney. You are in no condition to go anywhere right now.”
India pushed him away, and in the process her fingers splayed, driving against the breadth of his chest. She flinched as a jolt of memory slammed through her.
Memories of warm, hard muscle.
Memories of strong hands and low laughter.
And the gentle, aching pleasures he had shown her in a quiet garden rich with roses while around them a desperate city prepared for war. As the moon climbed through the velvet sky, they had tasted enchantment itself, fighting to hold back an implacable dawn which would tear them apart all too soon.
Trembling, India drove away the memories. They were too difficult to bear. “I must go now. Don’t hold me, I beg of you.” There was a fierce tension in her shoulders as she struggled desperately for control.
Thornwood stiffened. “I am sorry.”
India’s ragged laugh was full of despair. “Sorry? What good does sorry do?” She took an awkward step backward. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears as she stared at him. “Good-bye,” she said.
“A war happened, madam. A lifetime intervened.” He gave a harsh laugh. “During that time I nearly died. Sometimes I think I did die, between the wounds I bore and the fever that came afterward.” Again his long, powerful fingers traced the silver scar at his jaw.
“But surely that will change.” India looked at him in confusion, fighting desperately to retain some shred of hope in the face of this detached flow of words. “Eventually, you will remember. Little things at first, then more.”
“No.” He cut her off harshly, his eyes burning. “Do not delude yourself. The doctors shake their heads and cluck, but they make no assurances.” He ran his hands through his dark hair. When he looked up, the wrenching desolation in his eyes made India’s breath catch.
“So you see, I’m afraid I can be of no use to you. You will of course have your man of business call on me and present the proper documents. If the marriage is legal, some sort of settlement will be made.”
“It was perfectly legal,” India said tightly.
He studied her face, his expression hard. “I see. Was the union consummated?”
India flung herself to her feet, color staining her cheeks. “You dare to ask such a thing?”
“I must. You claim to be my wife, may I remind you? Unconsummated, a marriage is an easy matter to break through annulment. But consummated, or with heirs, the business will be a great deal messier.”
This clinical recitation was more than India could bear. “Messy? Is that how you think of it? I waited for you! I watched every load of wounded carried back into Brussels. I searched the roads at dawn and stopped every English soldier, desperate for even a scrap of news. Week after week, I waited.” Her lips trembled and she caught back a ragged sob. “All that time I stayed and worked, tending wounds I could hardly bear to look at. It was little enough to do when I hoped that one of the soldiers might have some news about you. Sometimes I thought I saw you walking out of the dust, that old teasing smile on your face. And then the fevers came. Even then I worked on until one day I was struck down, too.” India felt deathly cold as she continued. “They say I came very close to dying one night, my lord. Shortly after that…” Her eyes glittered, pools of pain. “Never mind. Just tell me how you can look at me and call our past — our marriage — messy.”
Devlyn Carlisle muttered a low curse and strode toward her. “Sit down. There is no purpose in—”
India drove her trembling fists against his chest. “Don’t touch me.” She was on the edge of breaking, and she knew it. But she would never show her pain to this hard stranger with the face of the man she had loved. “You have made yourself more than clear. I-I must go.”
“It is late, madam. Stay here and rest awhile longer. Then I will fetch a hackney. You are in no condition to go anywhere right now.”
India pushed him away, and in the process her fingers splayed, driving against the breadth of his chest. She flinched as a jolt of memory slammed through her.
Memories of warm, hard muscle.
Memories of strong hands and low laughter.
And the gentle, aching pleasures he had shown her in a quiet garden rich with roses while around them a desperate city prepared for war. As the moon climbed through the velvet sky, they had tasted enchantment itself, fighting to hold back an implacable dawn which would tear them apart all too soon.
Trembling, India drove away the memories. They were too difficult to bear. “I must go now. Don’t hold me, I beg of you.” There was a fierce tension in her shoulders as she struggled desperately for control.
Thornwood stiffened. “I am sorry.”
India’s ragged laugh was full of despair. “Sorry? What good does sorry do?” She took an awkward step backward. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears as she stared at him. “Good-bye,” she said.
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