“I had a row with my husband.” She took another sip of her tea. “He saw the Duke of Devonshire in the drawing room, and I’m afraid we had an awful exchange.”
“The Duke of Dullness?” Tia wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. “Why on earth should he be jealous of such a boring fellow? I don’t suppose he was doing anything more wicked than regaling you with tales about the country and such drivel.”
Bella couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s dismissal of the duke. Apparently, Jesse wasn’t the only one who had applied the sobriquet to Devonshire. “In his defense, he’s an avid reader. He’s a bit shy, but when you earn his confidence, he’s a lovely man. We enjoyed discussing the novels we’ve read with one another.”
“Drivel, just as I said.” Tia sniffed. “It isn’t as if he was undoing your bodice in the drawing room. Indeed, I daresay he wouldn’t even know how to find the fastenings on a woman’s bodice. What caused the row?”
Bella flushed at Tia’s frank language. “The duke and I were saying goodbye, and I embraced him.”
“Oh dear. I begin to see. I thought perhaps you were going to say Mr. Whitney had received the bills for Clara’s dresses and that was the cause.”
“Hardly that.” Bella grimaced. “It was impulsive and foolish of me to embrace the duke, and it meant nothing.”
“But not to your husband,” Tia wisely guessed. “I think I understand. Men are horridly jealous creatures at heart. I hope you assured him nothing untoward had occurred?”
“Of course I did. But to make matters worse, Mr. Whitney has been very distant since our marriage. I see precious little of him, and I’m afraid I didn’t react well to his anger. I accused him of being inattentive, and I’m sure I insulted him grievously.”
“Never fear, my dear.” Tia leaned forward to give her hand a comforting pat. “Marriage is fraught with misunderstandings and rows. I’m certain I fought nearly every day with Lord Stokey. In my defense, he was an utter blighter, of course. But in the end, all shall wash out for you. I’m certain of it.”
Bella wished she shared her friend’s confidence. “I’ve never had a row with him like this before.”
“Pish.” Tia waved a dismissive hand. “Yours is a love match, yes?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. It was the only fact she knew for certain.
“Then you haven’t a thing to worry about, my dear, as long as you never forget what drew you together in the first place. But pray don’t tarry. Life can be over quite abruptly. If I had known Lord Stokey was about to meet his end, I would have had no shortage of things to say to him.” She frowned, seemingly mired in a long-ago place deep within her thoughts. “I daresay not all of them would have been nice.”
“I’ve done my best to speak plainly with my husband, but I’m afraid I’m a failure as a wife. I don’t know what to say or do,” she admitted, feeling rather small in that moment.
“No one does, my dear.” Tia flashed her a supportive smile. “We all merely act as if we do.”
Bella had never considered that, and it imbued a fragile sense of possibility in her. “But I’m sure he could have found a better wife than I.”
“And I’m equally certain that he could not have, for you’re obviously the perfect wife for him. I can clearly see the love you feel for him on your face whenever you mention his name.” She tilted her head, considering Bella. “I envy you, Lady Bella. Love is dear but worth the price.”
Bella knew her friend was right. Love was indeed worth the price. At least, that was what she’d always believed. She’d loved Jesse for years from afar, and now that he was hers, she couldn’t afford to allow him to slip through her grasp.
“Do you think the price is ever too dear?” she asked, wondering despite herself.
“The price for a multitude of things is too dear, Bella.” Tia returned her teacup to its saucer with a clatter. “But never love, for that is a rare animal indeed.”
Bella stood at the threshold of the door joining her chamber to Jesse’s. He hadn’t come to her tonight, and he’d been polite but distant at dinner. She’d lain in bed for some time, holding her breath, hoping to hear his familiar footfalls approaching her bed. Instead, there had only been silence and the same aching loneliness that had been building within her for weeks.
It seemed that if she wanted their lives to return to normal, it would be up to her. Her friend’s suggestion was vivid in her thoughts. She was determined to put an end to their stalemate. Mind made up, she turned the knob and pushed her way inside. She felt her way across the carpet until she reached the gas lamps. As the light flared to life, she discovered that, once more, his chamber was completely empty.
Her heart felt as if it had plummeted to her toes. Where had he gone again? His bed was neatly pressed, the coverlet undisturbed. She was beginning to think her husband was a ghost. Until she heard it, a low, keening cry from somewhere down the hall.
Worried, she secured her dressing gown at her waist, took up a candle, and stepped out into the hall, trying to determine the direction of the sound. The cry came again. She moved along the corridor in the darkness, following the unmistakable sound of someone hollering as if the hounds of hell were upon his heels. Unless she was wrong, the voice belonged to Jesse.
At last, she stopped outside the chamber where she thought the noises were emanating from. Thumps sounded from within, along with another cry. She didn’t waste a moment in sweeping open the door. In the dim glow of the flickering candlelight, she could make out a form in the bed. Some books and other items littered the floor, presumably knocked from their perch atop a nearby washstand.
“Jesse, is that you?” She tentatively entered the room.
He cried out again, twisting in the bed. Fear skittered through her. What if he was ill? She rushed to his side, placing the candle on the washstand before giving him a shake. Hands gripped her arms with painful force, dragging her against the bed and nearly atop it. She saw Jesse’s face then, illuminated in the light, his expression so twisted and rage-filled she almost didn’t recognize him.
“Jesse?” she managed, understanding he was still half-asleep, trapped in whatever nightmare had been plaguing him. “Wake up. It’s me, Bella.”
“Bella?” He blinked, the lines of his face gradually softening, his gaze lucid once more. “Christ, what are you doing in here?”
“I heard someone in distress and followed the sounds to this chamber,” she said, relieved when he eased his punishing hold on her.
“Have I hurt you?” He sat up, his gaze searching her face. “Please tell me I haven’t hurt you.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured, rubbing her arms, still reeling with shock. “But what about you, Jesse? Blessed angels’ sakes, I thought you were being murdered in your bed.”
His expression was as grim as his voice. “So did I.”
Bella frowned, searching his gaze as she tried to make sense of it all. She recalled his reaction to the mere mentioning of shooting at Lady Cosgrove’s party. He had told her then that he suffered nightmares sometimes. But this, it seemed, was far worse than she had supposed. Dear God, he had looked like a marauding warrior prepared to do bloody battle. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping in your chamber? Is this why you’ve hidden yourself away in this far-off room all this time?”
He closed his eyes and passed a hand over his drawn face, appearing suddenly weak. “They’ve gotten worse again,” he admitted finally, as if the truth had been torn from him.
Dear God. And she’d once thought he had a mistress. All this time, he’d been alone and in pain, hiding his agony from her so that she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t worry. He needed her, she realized. This was where he’d been all along, hiding in another chamber just out of earshot from her. Why hadn’t he simply told her the truth? Sadness swept over her, that he had been suffering in silence, that he had to bear the burden of his demons alone. How had they come to be two rather than one as they ought to have been? Someho
w, it had all gone terribly astray.
“Move to the side, if you please,” she instructed him primly. She was keenly aware that he was perhaps nude beneath his bedclothes but she remained unwilling to allow him to endure alone in his torment. Their ugly argument and the hurt she’d been holding onto vanished. She was getting into bed with her husband for the first time in a week. She shucked her dressing gown, leaving the only barrier between them her nightdress.
He watched her, his eyes burning into hers with the smoldering intensity she remembered. After apparently mulling over her request, he decided to do as she asked. The coverlet slipped down as he slid to the side, exposing his chest and a slice of his lean hip. She wanted to divert her gaze but found she could not. She was hungry for him, and there was no denying it.
Bella climbed into bed next to him beneath the bedclothes. His body radiated heat. She caught his scent and a wave of longing slammed over her before she could stop it. Tentatively, she placed her palm on the smooth and muscled plane of his shoulder. For the first time, she felt a round scar low on his back. Before she could even think twice, she traced a gentle path over the old injury.
He flinched and caught her wrist in a punishing grip. “Don’t.”
The strength of his grasp sent a twinge of pain shooting up her arm, but she ignored it. “You were wounded.”
Jesse clenched his jaw, clearly fighting to regain his composure. “Yes,” he hissed.
One-word responses. Perhaps she ought not to push him, but she couldn’t help herself. She had known him as her brother’s friend for years, had known him as her lover and now her husband, and yet he still kept so much of himself from her. She had never before seen a hint of his physical injuries, nor had he mentioned them to her. But the wound was obviously from the past, long-ago healed. On the outside, at least.
“What happened to you, Jesse?” she pressed, wanting to know. The night was heavy with the unspoken.
“I don’t want to talk about the war,” he ground out, his tone as hard as the intricately carved oak of the bed.
“I’m your wife,” she pointed out needlessly. She wasn’t going to allow him to fend her off as she suspected he’d been doing for the last few weeks. “Does it still pain you?”
He still held her wrist but with considerably less force now. “At times,” he allowed.
She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Something about the way he seemed so alone and broken was making her stomach feel as upended as a tipped teacup. Her emotions were riding a runaway carriage. The impasse that had fallen between them with its resulting gulf of anger and disillusionment no longer seemed as strong as it had only yesterday.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, tugging her wrist from him.
He stared, seemingly waging an inner war. “I was shot in the back,” he said at last, “by one of my own men. Fortunately, the bullet missed its mark and only resulted in an ugly flesh wound.”
“You never told me,” she murmured, “not in all this time. I hadn’t realized.”
Jesse shrugged, still radiating a wildness that made her ill at ease. “You can’t go to hell without getting burned.”
Bella turned his words over in her mind. While she knew precious little about the war, it seemed odd indeed to her that he had been shot by another Confederate. She had a feeling there remained something more to his story. “Why would a fellow soldier shoot you?”
He stiffened. “Enough. Leave off your questioning for this evening.”
Her fingers grazed where his skin was puckered and dented once again. It was the only flaw on his otherwise broad and sturdy back. Someone had done him harm, caused him physical anguish, and she didn’t like the feeling her new knowledge gave her. Unlike the gunshot, however, the emotional anguish had never healed. She wanted to make him whole again, but she wasn’t certain if it was within her power to do so.
She looked back up into his guarded face. “Why won’t you let me in, Jesse?”
“You don’t want to be where I am, my dear.” He looked away from her. “One spoiled apple rots the entire basket, as they say. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me by pushing me away,” she countered. She began a pattern of slow, calming circles on his shoulders. “I told you many times that you cannot forever be a man alone.”
“That was a very long time ago, Bella, and you were too naïve to realize what you were in for.” His tone was self-deprecating.
“There’s a difference between naiveté and love.” The assertion was out of her mouth before she could think better of it.
His eyes jerked back to hers. “You don’t want me. You said you wished I’d never returned.”
She frowned, dismayed by her childish need to inflict the same hurt he’d dealt her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of the awful words I said to you.”
“Don’t be. You’re taking the Duke of Dullness for a lover, remember?” His lips quirked into a sneer.
Bella shook her head, once more ashamed by what she had done. “I don’t want the Duke of Devonshire,” she admitted.
“Ah.” He frowned. “Who is it you long for then, my dear?”
Who did she long for? Blessed angels, there was only one man she wanted, only one man she had ever wanted. Bella stared at him, her heart aching with the love he seemed determined not to allow her to give him. “You,” she whispered.
“But you already have me. I’m your husband.”
“And yet you have been secreting away from me in this chamber, devoting yourself to business as if you can’t bear the sight of me,” she pointed out.
“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see this side of me.” His voice was as somber as his expression.
“Being husband and wife isn’t about hiding ourselves from one another.” She cupped his firm jaw. “I want to see all your sides, the witty, the dashing, the silly, the scared. If you’re hurting, I want to know so that I may help you heal.”
“I don’t know, my love. There are parts of me I don’t wish for you to see.” He kissed her palm.
Bella was not about to be deterred by lovemaking, tempting though it may be. “Why did you keep all of this a secret from me, Jesse? Why did you not tell me? I could have helped you.”
“By putting yourself in harm’s way?” He scoffed. “It’s my duty to protect you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, determined.
“You damn well ought to be,” he replied harshly. “I’ve been violent, Bella. When I returned to London, I woke to bloodied fists and holes in my bedchamber wall. I cannot and will not subject you to my madness.”
Her heart ached for him. “You aren’t mad, Jesse. Don’t you see? If your dreams have grown worse, there can only be one reason for it.”
“Do tell.”
The pieces of the puzzle seemed to unerringly fit together in that moment. “What are your nightmares about?”
He tensed, his eyes darkening yet again. “Battle.”
Precisely. She felt as if all the answers were within her reach now. “And when you returned for Clara, where did you go?”
“Virginia.” He frowned. “You know that. I’ve already told you.”
“Yes, and where were you shot?” she asked, hating to blow the dust off his old pains, but convinced there was no other way to confront his demons, perhaps go a long way toward slaying them.
“Virginia,” he bit out. “What the hell is this about, Bella?”
“It’s about fighting the past,” she said, unbothered. “You seem to think that hiding yourself down the hall and lying to me will fix your problems, but in truth it has only made them worse. We’ve grown apart when we should have been growing together. There must not be secrets between us any longer.”
“I didn’t want you to think me mad,” he said, the admission seemingly torn from him. “I hoped the dreams would vanish on their own, in time. I had been able to control them before, but now it seems as if they seek to destroy me.”
“Indeed?” His tone was wry. “Then you must be capable of working miracles, for I’ve been trying my damnedest to figure it out for months.”
“Yes.” She hesitated, not wanting to further distress him but convinced she could help him better understand the dreams that had been blighting him. And perhaps with understanding would come healing. “You buried your memories of war away because they were too terrible for you to recall. When you returned to Virginia, it all came back to you.”
He exhaled slowly, his skin becoming pale even in the low light. “You may be right.” He closed his eyes. “Bella, there’s something I must tell you.”
She slipped her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her, trying to give him solace in the only way she knew how. “What is it, my love?”
He laid his head upon her breast as a shudder racked his strong body. “The man who shot me was Lavinia’s lover. I was in Richmond. The whole city was on fire, or so it seemed. We were retreating when I was shot in the back. I’ll never forget the smell, the crying of the wounded all through the night. A Union detail passed through but I lay there, pretending to be dead. At dawn, I dragged myself to a friendly encampment. Somehow, by the grace of God, they had a medic who attended me, or else I would have died like so many others.”
Dear God. How horrible it must have been to be utterly alone in the night, wounded and terrified. She ran a soothing hand over his hair, holding him tightly to her, wishing she could absorb his pain. “How did you know it was Lavinia’s lover who shot you?”
He wrapped his arms about her waist, his grip so strong she feared he meant to snap her in two. “When I found my regiment, the war was nearly over, and our men were all readying to return to their homes. But there were those who had witnessed what he had done. By that time, he’d already deserted and run off with Lavinia and my daughter. It was too late for retribution.”
Rebel Love (Heart's Temptation Book 2) Page 27
