Oliver stared out the window as he began. “You might already know of the rescue expedition to Ethiopia two years ago.”
“The hostages included British women and children, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes. Conditions were terrible from the onset. The country was not equipped for our arrival. Ports were built in October to allow the expedition party to land. My ship, along with the support ships, arrived in the Gulf of Zula two months later in December. The terrain in the Horn of Africa didn’t even have roads on which to march.”
“Wasn’t the commander-in-chief from the Corps of Royal Engineers?”
“Sir Robert Napier, yes. His skills were needed as it was no easy task to move thirteen thousand soldiers, twenty-six thousand camp followers, and over forty thousand animals, including forty-four elephants that were brought along to carry the heavy guns.
“It took nearly three months to make the four-hundred-mile journey. We dug wells as we went and even employed a de-salinating technique to create fresh water from seawater. Napier was clever enough to negotiate treaties with the local chiefs to keep the supply lines open as we went.”
“A wise decision on his part,” Hawke added.
“After traversing the hot plains and farmlands, we entered the mountains. Ropes and pulleys were used to haul supplies up the steep hills and cliffs, further slowing progress. Toward the end, we were on half-rations.”
“Thirsty and starving.” Hawke shook his head. “Terrible conditions.”
“Many soldiers marched barefoot, their boots long since worn through.” Oliver swallowed hard as the story became more difficult. “I led an advance guard sent to clear the way for the final destination—the fortress of Magdala where the hostages were held. We didn’t realize until it was nearly too late that the only route was blocked by thousands of armed Abyssinian soldiers on the hillsides who launched an impressive attack.”
“Damn.”
“It was a bloody battle.” Oliver paused, the sights and sounds of that day far too clear in his mind. He was not proud of the actions he’d taken nor did he regret them. At least, that’s what he told himself.
His goal had been to fulfill their orders and save as many fellow soldiers’ lives as possible. Yet he couldn’t release the sight of what he’d witnessed, what he’d done. “Many of those we fought were no more than children. Young boys with fear in the back of their eyes even as they ran forward to attack.”
“That must’ve been difficult.”
The memory still made his heart ache and filled him with guilt. “Fighting young boys in hand-to-hand combat...” He shook his head. “The entire situation infuriated me. It still does.”
“I can understand why, but it doesn’t sound as though you had any choice. At times, it’s kill or be killed.”
“But my anger twisted somehow that day. I had no fear. Only rage.” Oliver rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the memories and remove the blood from his hands.
His friend tilted his head to the side. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Hawke, I killed so many that day. My lack of control may have prevented the deaths of some of my men, but releasing that restraint broke something fundamental deep inside. Nothing I do seems to fix it.”
“From what I understand, you overcame seemingly insurmountable odds that day. You were credited with saving your unit.”
Oliver shook his head, trying to find the words to explain. “That same feeling has threatened time and again. Uncontrollable rage flows through me, and it’s all I can do to contain it.”
“Is that why you left the Navy?”
“Yes, I feared what might happen. So I removed myself from as many situations as possible that might bring it out, but that hasn’t solved the problem.”
“What do you think will happen if you experience it again?” The calm curiosity in Hawke’s voice frustrated Oliver.
Annoyance thrust him to his feet. “I don’t know, and I certainly don’t care to find out.” He turned to pace the length of the room before returning, hoping to calm himself. “At times, the smallest irritation threatens to anger me to the point I worry I’ll do something I’ll regret. There is no place for that sort of anger in civilized society.”
“And?”
Oliver turned to glare at his friend.
Hawke raised a brow. “Finish the sentence. I can tell from your tone you have more to say.”
He could hardly believe Hawke was pressing him like this. Not when he’d just explained his limited control. But he said out loud what he’d only thought about until now. “And that means there is no place in society for me. I’m better off remaining in my library with my books.”
“I see. When was the last time you unleashed your anger?”
“I don’t know, but it threatens daily.”
At Hawke’s questioning look, he spun away, trying to think of the last time. “Last night at the ball.”
“Nothing happened of which I’m aware. You didn’t do anything other than leave early.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” Hawke asked. “I realize crowds bother you.”
“Yet you insist we meet in them.” Feeling his anger build, Oliver tried to tamp it back down.
“That sort of anxiety is fairly common for those who’ve been in the military. Often, with exposure and time, the feeling will lessen. It has for me and others as well.” Hawke rose to look Oliver in the eye. “But when did you last lose control completely?”
Oliver ran a hand through his hair. “When I saw that pig, Malverson, with his hands on Julia.”
“I thought the man yet lived.”
Oliver stared at Hawke. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that if you’d truly lost control, he’d be dead. Name another time.”
There was some truth to what Hawke said, Oliver realized. “Not since I left the Navy, I suppose.”
“Do you suppose or do you know for certain?” Hawke’s sharp tone had Oliver thinking harder.
“For certain,” he admitted after further consideration. “Though that isn’t without concerted effort.”
“So you’ve managed to control it for over two years now.”
“Only because I’ve remained home most of that time.”
“That was probably a wise decision. Time is a better healer than most realize.”
“It hasn’t healed anything.”
Hawke leaned back against his desk, arms folded before him. “Hasn’t it?”
“Haven’t you heard anything I just told you?”
“Yes. I heard that you haven’t lost control since you left the Navy despite feeling the urge to lash out, which I would like to point out is quite normal. We all have that urge but especially those of us who were in the military. I would also state that anger is a common response to any sort of trauma. It gives us the energy to continue on, and I would venture to say it saved your life.”
“My life is no longer being threatened,” Oliver argued.
“True. But I would suggest your mind is well aware that anger saved your life. It won’t be easy to set it aside. Have you thought of replacing the anger with a different emotion?”
“Is that what you did?” Oliver studied his friend, noting the softening of his expression.
“Quite by accident. Or perhaps it was fate.” Hawke shook his head. “I’m still not certain but grateful for it all the same. The first step in changing how you feel is to forgive yourself for what happened in Ethiopia. You’ve had years to question decisions you were forced to make in seconds. Those young men you fought probably didn’t deserve to die, but neither do you. It’s not your fault they were there. At times, we can only play with the hand we’re dealt.”
Hawke’s advice rang over and over in Oliver’s mind as he walked back home. Could he forgive himself for all he’d done?
Happiness. It felt like a foreign word on his tongue, unfamiliar and exotic.
An image of J
ulia came to mind. If it weren’t for her presence in his life, he would’ve doubted happiness were even possible. He’d feared his darkness would only smother her light. But if he could find a way to forgive himself and allow happiness into his life, what might happen?
Did he dare risk finding out?
Chapter Ten
“One thing, at least, is certain; it would come much cheaper to the country if these budding burglars and pickpockets were caught up, and caged away from the community at large, before their natures became too thoroughly pickled in the brine of rascality.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia braced herself as she walked up the steps to Oliver’s home late that afternoon, aware of the risk she took. An unchaperoned visit was completely inappropriate, but that didn’t stop her from doing it. She’d left her maid and carriage a short distance away, hoping to draw less notice.
After much thought, she’d realized something was bothering Oliver. Some deep part of him was unhappy, as though he fought an internal battle, especially when in a crowded place such as last night at the ball. It was impossible for her to stand by and not try to help. Not after years of watching her father for signs of unease and doing all she could to aid him. She couldn’t stand to see others unhappy, especially those for whom she cared.
Though she realized how unlikely it was that Oliver would appreciate her interference, Julia knocked on his front door.
From her experience with her father and brother, men didn’t want help—as though accepting it would weaken them. But once she overcame their resistance, they often appreciated her efforts.
She handed the footman her card then waited in the foyer. From the footman’s startled expression, Oliver rarely had visitors, much less female ones.
His home was quite lovely, much larger than she’d imagined. Its stately elegance was welcoming with dark wood and warm, calming browns and golds, at odds with the man who lived here.
The footman returned to the foyer. “His lordship will see you now.”
Julia followed the servant toward the rear of the house where he opened a door off the hallway. After being announced, she stepped through the portal only to stop short. The massive room was amazing. Books lined tall shelves from floor to ceiling. Cozy chairs with gleaming side tables were placed here and there as though to invite one to pick a book and take a seat.
The far end of the room near the tall windows held a massive desk. And Oliver. He rose but remained behind his desk, his expression unreadable.
“That will be all, Tubbs.”
The footman departed with a bow, leaving the door ajar behind him.
“Your library is amazing.” Nerves simmered inside Julia as she walked toward Oliver, now filled with serious doubts about the wisdom of her visit.
“Did your father find something of interest?” he asked with a frown, not acknowledging her comment. Dark shadows marked his eyes and the brackets around his mouth were pronounced.
All of that made her more determined to help. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, he needed her.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
His brow rose. “Then to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” While his words were pleasant enough, his tone was far from it.
“I wanted to speak with you privately.” She bit her bottom lip as words failed her. Between his lack of welcome and the coolness in his eyes, she was tempted to depart.
“Oh?” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.
She eyed the wide expanse of his desk. If she sat on the other side, she wouldn’t be able to see the subtle changes in his expression. He hid his emotions so well. Gauging his reaction was a requirement if she was going to attempt to aid him. Plus sitting near him might have the advantage of taking him off guard.
Making up her mind, she came around the side, waving for him to take a seat as she perched on the corner of his desk like she so often did in her father’s library.
But Oliver was nothing like her father. Oliver was a strong, capable man, and she remembered very well how it felt to be in his arms. His scent—that mix of sandalwood and the forest—had awareness filling her from head to toe.
He appeared nonplussed before he sank to his chair as though uncertain how to respond to her proximity.
Good. Perhaps that would lower the reserve he held so tight.
She folded her gloved hands in her lap and swallowed back her worry. While her behavior was bold, that didn’t make her certain as to the outcome of her visit. “I realize we do not know each other well, but it’s come to my notice that you seem unhappy. I wondered if you might like to speak about it. That often helps alleviate problems. Or perhaps there’s something else I can do to aid your unease?”
Without thinking about how forward she was acting, she leaned over to place her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, hoping he’d let her in, trying to decipher at least one of his secrets.
~*~
Oliver stared into her eyes, amazed at the beam of sunlight resting on the edge of his desk. Her gown was a pale turquoise that reminded him of the sea at dawn and deepened the azure of her eyes. Her hat was more a small bouquet of silk flowers and ribbons than an actual hat and held various shades of that same color. The heat of her hand, despite her glove, penetrated his very bones and spread slowly through his body.
He wasn’t prepared to speak with her. Not yet. He hadn’t decided how to proceed with her. Hawke’s comments that morning made him realize he needed time to think things over, yet here she was, and he had no idea what to do about it.
About her.
About her offer.
As her warmth traveled up his arm, seeping into every cell, it loosened the grip of restraint he’d held tight since Tubbs had announced her presence. He’d told himself not to touch her. To suggest she leave as quickly as possible. But how could he when she made him feel like this?
Alive.
He blinked, attempting to break the spell she’d cast over him. He needed her to leave. Quickly. Before he gathered her into his arms. “I don’t know to what you’re referring.”
“Oliver.” She spoke his name in a hushed, reverent tone, compelling him to respond, to share his deepest demons.
But he knew that path led to madness. If he told her what bothered him, why he acted as he did, she’d leave and he’d never see her again. While that would allow him to easily remove her from his life, he wasn’t ready for that.
A part of him might believe chasing her away would be wise, but he refused to lose the chance to hold onto her, to bask in her light. Nor could he tell her the truth.
Where did that leave him?
“I doubt you’re inclined to confide in me,” she continued, her hand gripping his arm more tightly, sending another wave of heat along his length.
Her lilac scent filled his senses, dragging his thoughts exactly where he didn’t want them to go.
“But if there is something I can do, anything at all, to ease your unhappiness, please know I would be delighted to do so.”
One idea came immediately to mind. It would definitely ease his unhappiness, perhaps only temporarily but it was still so tempting. He told himself her constant reaching out to touch him was only a habit of hers, a mannerism she used with all the people she knew.
But those light caresses she employed each time she was near him were breaking down his defenses brick by brick. The wall was more difficult to rebuild than he’d imagined. He feared with a few more moments of her hand on him, his walls would tumble down, leaving only rubble at her feet with no barrier between them.
Drawing a deep breath, he moved his arm to the side of his chair and out of her reach, hoping to stop the tidal wave of need threatening to engulf him. The need wasn’t only for her physically, though his desire was stronger than anything he’d ever experienced. It was for being a part of her world, for a chance to share her light.
But he couldn’t risk that until he knew for certain he wouldn’t smother
her brightness.
“I can only imagine what you might have gone through while serving in the Royal Navy. Was it difficult?”
“Difficult?” He tried to focus on her words rather than her close presence. “At times.”
Those blue eyes looked deep into his soul with trust and kindness, neither of which he deserved. She reached out again and trailed her fingers along his hand, both soothing him and stirring him in equal measures.
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Her words and quiet voice invited him to share.
He was almost tempted to tell her, something he’d never done except with Hawke this morning. But no. Those stories needed to remain in the dark where they belonged.
At that moment, with her hand on him, he could think of only one way to distract her. To reverse their positions in more than just the physical sense.
Slowly, he rose, taking her hand in his. Her eyes widened as he drew her to her feet. He stood as close as possible and lay his hand alongside her cheek. The alarm that shone in her eyes shifted, sharpening.
“Nor should you,” he whispered as his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Will you tell me?”
“No.” He captured her lips with his, devouring her as unwanted memories crowded his mind. The taste of her shoved them back into the shadows once more.
Her lips parted beneath his as though eager to deepen the kiss. The feel of her arms around his neck surprised him. Then her gloved fingers tangled in the hair that brushed his collar. Damn if it didn’t feel good, nearly as good as she tasted.
He slid his hands along her back, finally settling on her waist for a long moment. But that wasn’t enough. He moved to tease the swell of her breast.
A tiny gasp escaped her. Taking that as a sign of encouragement, he gently touched her breast, annoyed by the barriers of fabric and corset that separated them.
“Oh,” she said on a breath, leaning back ever so slightly in the circle of his arms, her eyes closed.
The elegant line of her neck drew him, and he kissed its length. He ran his finger along the bare skin above the top of her gown, amazed at the feel of her softness. Her sigh made him want to please her more. The swell of her breast beckoned and he dipped his fingers lower, seeking the tip. The feel of it caused him to pulse with need even as she moaned.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 11
