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“Now the truth,” she said, her finger drawing a mast and sail on the ship that had unconsciously appeared in her pattern.
“When our ship was boarded, the captain and first officer were killed immediately.” Caroline’s eyes snapped up to his face. Her shock must have been evident but not the kind he had come to expect, only worry on his behalf, so he continued. “The rest of us were so frantic, so young and inexperienced that over half of the crew was slaughtered. Seven of us were able to hold the captain’s deck, and another nineteen held the bow. Fifty men manned the ladders and kept any of Frenchmen from descending. That would have sealed our fates if they had. They were French, but not naval,” he clarified. “We were eventually able to throw off the riggings and prevent any more from boarding but as I was doing so, I found myself surrounded and out of reach of my companions. I was now the ranking officer, and I ordered them to drop the sheets rather than save me. We could save the ship and those who were still alive, or maybe just one man. Me.” The unsaid words hung between them. He had ordered his crew to set sail knowing that it would mean his death, so that once they were well away, they could pick off the remaining attackers, trapped aboard their vessel, one by one.
Caroline felt her heart pounding in her throat. She could not find the will to look away. He was a hero and yet for every moment since he had been looked upon with horror and pity. He had been shamed, even by his own family, for his service. That, she realized, was why he had never left the royal navy. His own men would never look at his scars and see a broken man. They would see an Admiral worth following.
“I fought every last man around me until I could barely stand and I couldn’t know how much of the blood was theirs or my own. We were a small ship, and fast, so once we broke free there was no catching us. It took every man that was capable to keep the ship limping along but we made it back to England. I don’t remember much of the return journey if I’m being honest.”
“You received honors,” she stated. It was not a question.
“A few,” he nodded. And yet she recalled that his father had still been furious at what he had referred to as his son’s abandonment.
“Have you told this to Lady Blackwell?” Caroline could not imagine that the lady would ever stare at her betrothed with anything but awe if she had heard the full story.
“No,” he admitted.
“Why ever not?” she cried. It was absurd. The base facts were the same, but they were two entirely diverging stories. She wondered how many others knew this version and had no doubt that beyond his men there were less than she could count on one hand. She was honored to count herself among the few.
“I thought it best to wait until she could look at me without flinching. It’s not a topic that she prefers.”
Caroline released an agonized groan. How could the world be so callous and cruel?
“I am sorry,” she wanted to soothe the pain away, but it was not her place. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him that he was worthy of Lady Blackwell’s love. She wasn’t convinced that the lady was deserving of his, but Caroline told herself that did not matter. He had committed his life to Lady Blackwell, and she had no doubt that he had given the lady his everlasting devotion. If only the lady could see the value in that promise.
“I do not need your pity,” he said, taking a step away from her as if he had been slapped.
“It is not pity,” she assured. She stepped forward and again she placed her hand against his cheek, this time her full palm, to prove that she had no fear of his harrowing tale. Her hand retreated, and she stepped back before the heat in her cheeks, and admittedly her body, could rise.
“Then what is it?” He was hesitant, unaccustomed to any other response.
“I’m not sure…,” she admitted. “Perhaps a mutual understanding.”
“You’ll have to explain,” he huffed, but he sounded hopeful. Hopeful that she did not pity him. Hopeful that someone else might understand.
“When my mother died, everyone treated me like I was forever broken,” she began. “Even my own father. He never looked at me the same after her death.”
She explained, in cautious terms so as not to reveal too much about her true status, that people had pitied her. She told him how those she had known her whole life now treated her with kid gloves and whispered in her presence. She revealed that when she would go out into public other women would bemoan the fact that she was alone and offer to take her under their own protective wing. She hadn’t wanted charity. She hadn’t wanted to be coddled or told that her life would never be the same again. She had loved her mother, missed her dearly, but she had been told she was broken and so she had felt broken. She had since learned that she was not broken.
“It came to pass that I could not even bring myself to leave our home, for fear of such treatment,” she said. “It was easier to stay locked away from the stares and the whispers and the hurt. I could not experience anything wonderful without being reminded how tragic it was that she was not there to share it with me. Whenever I went out, their looks and words made me relive my loss, like I couldn’t escape it. And so, I stayed away.” The truth of her words rang clear between them. Even Caroline had not realized the full depth of her feelings all these years until the words were spilling out of her. “I locked myself away because I was tired of being pitied. I think now, that I let them pity me because it was easier to hate them then to face starting over with a whole new life… without my mother.”
A sob caught in her throat and she forced back the tears. She would not cry. The hurt was an old one. How did it still feel so fresh? Would there always be a gaping hole where her mother’s love should be? She bit her lip and forced back the tears.
The duke looked down upon her with awe at her words, at her ability to put his feelings into her own words and experience, and released a shallow breath.
He closed the distance between them, placing his hands upon her slender waist, and leaned his forehead against her own. She had thought he might kiss her. More shocking, she had wanted him to kiss her. He was restraining himself, had so much restraint. She trembled in his hands, considering what might happen if she turned her face up to his. Was there any chance that Lord Robert knew the truth? Or perhaps some instinct inside of him was crying out for her love? Did he know that she was indeed his equal? No, that could not be. If he knew, he would not be holding her so with time held suspended between them.
She would only have to move a few inches and their mouths would be joined. But she remained frozen, sure that such a movement would startle him like a stag in the wood. Still, she wondered…
“Emily,” he murmured. The name snapped Caroline out of her stupor. She pulled away with a jerk, shocked at her own thoughts. He did not know her. He did not even know her true name.
She had respondedto him as Miss Caroline Graves, as a woman whose response to a duke was if not equal, at least of her standing. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She wasn’t Emily, had never been and never would be. He had only ever known her as Emily Baker, the maid of all ridiculous things. He did not know Caroline, Miss Caroline, she corrected in her mind. He might seem a decent enough man on the surface, at the level that she might have witnessed as the noble lady she had lost herself in the moment before, but she was still a prisoner and there was still a very real possibility that he and his father had no qualms with such seedy business dealings. Hadn’t her own father given warning after warning about this family? She could not trust him. She cursed herself for having allowed her guard to slip.
She stepped hastily away.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s not your fault,” she replied in haste. “You were thinking about someone understanding you and what it would feel like if Lady Lydia could see such things.”
He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I was not thinking of Lydia…”
