He was backing her into a corner. Demolishing every flimsy argument she erected between them in order to prevent him from getting to the ultimate truth. The insurmountable argument.
“Or course not, Michael. But I’m still skeptical. What if I don’t ever recover from this? Could you bear that?” she challenged, sure she had scored a point.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. If I get to hold you like this and talk to you and laugh with you for the rest of my life, I could more than bear it. I would consider myself a lucky man indeed.”
At her dubious look, he added. “You think I can’t possibly mean it, don’t you? Ah, Josie. If you only knew what my life has been like all these years without you. I can’t claim to have suffered as much as you did. I don’t think anything can compare to that. But I haven’t been happy either. After you left, after I thought you had forsaken me, I went back into the army in an almost suicidal rage, feeling my life had no meaning anymore.” He cut her a quick look before his eyes became distant once again, as if gazing at distant and painful memories. “I’m surprised I survived the war, to be honest.”
She was ashamed to realize that she had been so immersed in her own problems, she had never stopped to consider that his life may not have been charmed either. But the picture he painted now, the idea that he might have been killed, that shemight have lost him forever… It was unbearable. She held him tighter.
“Even after I returned and took up my place as the duke, loneliness has been my constant companion. I can’t claim to have lived like a monk, but every affair I’ve engaged in left me feeling empty, dissatisfied. Until I eventually couldn’t even muster enough enthusiasm to pursue them. I haven’t had a partner in over two years. I briefly considered marrying, but I couldn’t summon any interest for that either.”
His eyes turned back to her. She felt his intense gaze but was too cowardly to meet it.
“I’ve felt more alive in these past weeks than in the previous twelve years. So yes, being with you in any capacity would be a vast improvement over what my life has been. But, Josie.” He waited until she looked at him. “You will get better. I promise. I have complete faith that you will recover. I think you enjoyed what we did before. Or were you pretending as well?”
“No. That was real,” she confessed in a small voice.
“Then that’s a start. It took trust. And there’s real desire between us. Maybe we moved too fast this time, but there’s no need to rush. I’ve seen even extreme cases of soldier’s heart improve once they are in a safe and peaceful environment. You will improve with time. And I’ll be here to help you and protect you along the way. Not for me, but for you. Because you deserve happiness and healing. And love.”
Love. The only thing she had ever wanted. From the only man she wanted it. She wished she could believe him, but she knew he was only saying that because he still believed, in the end, he could help her get better. Yet what really ailed her, he couldn’t fix. But his words still helped, soothed. As did this embrace. She felt calmer. A bit more hopeful that she had felt in her life.
She was not used to anybody caring for her, loving or nurturing her. Her family had never done it. And certainly noone had in the harem. The only time she had felt loved in her entire life had been the too-brief week she had enjoyed with Michael twelve years ago.
Between them, there was only love, acceptance, and warmth. Maybe, just maybe, it would help heal her ravaged soul.
CHAPTER 31
Hehadtoldherthe truth. He would wait a lifetime for her. What he had not imagined is that it would be so damn hard.
Michael trudged up the stairs and down the long hallway to his bedroom. The whole house was asleep, and he should be too, but he had dawdled in the library until the clock had struck one in the morning, the lone bell chime shaking him out of his stupor. He had been reading for hours, reluctant to go to bed where he knew he would only toss and turn with his need for her.
And yet it was not a frustrated desire that made him suffocate until he wanted to break something. It was her skittish gaze, her timid manner, and her subdued spirits that made murderous rage swell in him. Impotent rage for all she had suffered that had changed her from the spirited girl she once was to this guarded woman. His failure to protect her weighed heavily on his soul, as did his inability to take away her pain now.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that she avoided being alone with him. She retired early, before his mother, and, since the duchess emerged late in the morning, Josie took her breakfast in the nursery with the child.
He managed to steal a few moments alone with her in the afternoons while she worked on her perfumes in the corner of the conservatory. He had offered to set up her workshop in a larger room, but she insisted she was comfortable here and liked to be surrounded by plants and light. He suspected the main reason was that she feared starting another fire, although he was confident the fire at her estate had not been caused by her perfumery ingredients. Regardless, the conservatory ambiance seemed to do her good. She did like the outdoors.
What were her living conditions in the harem? He had visited Ottoman palaces during his time in the army. His rank and pedigree as the son of a duke had granted him access to the highest echelons of Ottoman power. The palaces were usually lavish, featuring large and airy courtyards, decorated with gardens and fountains. But if that was the only type of outdoors she was allowed to enjoy, it would soon feel very confining.
A muffled whimper stopped him dead in his tracks. Was that a cry? He looked at the door ahead as if he could see through it. That was Josephine’s bedchamber. Was she unwell? Was she crying? More whimpers, rising in pitch to soft, broken cries.
Good God, had someone dared to invade his home to harm her? He was storming into the bedroom even before a sharp, guttural cry disrupted the night’s quiet.
There on the bed, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the sheer drapes, Josephine fought against some unseen monster. Tears escaped through her closed eyelids as her face twisted with grief and her body contorted, her arms flailing as if to strike her nemesis. The covers wrapped abouther legs, impeding their effort to kick them off as if the bed was about to swallow her whole and she was fighting for her life.
Not an external threat then, but an internal one. Indecision froze him in place. Every instinct urged him to vanquish whatever demons were tormenting her. But barging in on her was a tremendous invasion of her privacy. After what had transpired, he didn’t want her to think—
Shallow, uneven gasps, followed by a keening moan.
Every thought fled except one. He needed to end her torment.
“Josephine, wake up. You are having a nightmare,” he uttered in a voice that had commanded regiments.
Nothing. She was in a hell of her own that words alone could not penetrate.
Reaching out a hand, he touched her shoulder, shaking it slightly. “Wake up, Josie.”
Another almost inhuman cry, incoherent talking.
