Taking a deep breath, she asked, “What happened to you after… after you were carted off with the dead?”
He visibly tensed. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by a shadow that darkened his features. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But I want to know,” she prodded. “How did you survive?”
He turned his face away. “It matters not. What matters is that I did survive.”
“Dominic—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I should go.”
Her heart dropped. “Please don’t,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You have no right to ask me such questions,” he responded gruffly.
The words stung. “No right?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “I am your wife. Or does that mean nothing to you?”
“I don’t want to dwell in the past.”
“Then let me in,” she pleaded. “Let me understand. Let meseeyou.”
His expression softened—just barely. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“You used to trust me,” she whispered. “You once told me about your father. How he treated you… even the time he shot your dog on the hunting trip.”
His head jerked slightly. “I told you that?”
“You did,” she said. “Among other things. You were quite talkative when the laudanum first took effect.”
He stared at her, wary. “What else did I say?”
“You showed me the scars. The ones he left behind.”
Dominic inhaled sharply. “I did?”
She nodded. “But I know there are others—ones no one can see.”
He lifted a hand and touched the jagged scar on his cheek. “Scars are reminders of our past.”
“They are also proof that we survived,” she said. “That we lived through the worst and came out the other side.”
His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful now. “What scars do you bear?”
She gave him a weak smile. “More than I care to admit.”
He moved to the chair beside her once more, this time lowering himself slowly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take them from you.”
“I don’t,” she said. “They’re part of me now. They remind me that the hurt is over, and I came out the other end stronger than before.”
Dominic leaned forward. “People see this,” he said, motioning to his face. “But they don’t see the rest.”
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”
He met her gaze, wary but curious. Then, he nodded.
She shifted to the edge of the bed, reached out slowly, and traced the scar on his cheek with gentle fingers. “I see a man who survived what others could not. A man who protected the helpless. A man who feels deeply, even if he tries to pretend otherwise. I see strength. I see kindness.”
He looked away. “I’m no such man.”
