AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Twenty-Eight
From her shall read the perfect ways ofhonour.
—Shakespeare,Henry VIII
Nicholas should feelshame. Instead, he felt purged of all the filth—the years on the continent, Badajoz, Daniel. He’d not wept since he’d been a child. It was both exhausting and euphoric.
He turned at the top of the stairs and headed for his room, pausing at its entrance. Two doors down was Catherine’s chamber. Obligation and debt. He rested his forehead against the doorframe. And love.By God, he loved her. As did everyone else in this insane spectacle. Yet they’d all abused her affection. How was he ever going to show her that his love was genuine? That he would never again ill-treat her so? Could he possibly convince her to live under this roof again?
He pushed open his bedroom door. Several candles flickered light over Langdon’s frown as he pushed to his feet, using his one good arm.
“Sinclair. Welcome home.” Langdon eyed him and hesitated. “Is everything well?”
Nicholas shook off the man’s concern, having had more than enough empathy from Nan. “All is in perfect accord, Langdon,” he lied. “I would like a hot bath and a small bite to eat before I retire.”
Langdon saluted and disappeared, and Nicholas sank into the abandoned chair. There was something unnerving about staring at the empty grate. Home and hearth and all that. The black cavern mocked him. Apropos, he supposed.
A parade of men interrupted his dark contemplations. He glanced at the steaming pails, then returned his gaze to the fireplace. He had men at his beck and call. Few people would refuse his bidding now. Catherine hadn’t bowed to his father. Luxury would have been hers as Daniel’s wife—more than she could ever have hoped for as his. Yet she’d been willing to wait.
“Your bath is ready…Sinclair?” Langdon said.
Nicholas stood, immobile and mute, as Langdon stripped him. Then Nicholas grabbed the robe Langdon offered and strolled naked into his dressing room. He tossed the silk banyan over the chair and sank gratefully into the warmth of the copper tub. Lying back, he closed his eyes.
Time for reconnaissance. Daniel had written to Nicholas of his love. Laurence had been that love. It was not just unacceptable in the eyes of society; to act on that love was a capital offense. Nicholas ducked beneath the water before surfacing with a shake of his head. His father had demanded the unthinkable of Catherine. She had agreed, not for love of Daniel but for love of all of them. Nicholas stared at the crimson jacket that hung in stark contrast to the newer wardrobe, its pride belied by the small tear and the thread that dangled where his badge of honor had once sat.
He slipped under again. Resurfacing, he wiped the water from his eyes and stared once more at his jacket. He’d done what was best for his battalion at Badajoz—secreted them to the side, waiting, despite the cries of battle. Finally, taking advantage of a lull, he’d rallied them forward, and his division had breached the impenetrable wall. He was ashamed of the aftermath, but he was proud of his strategy and his courage during the siege. Proud he’d been decisive, with an eye to the survival of all his men.
He stepped from the tub and reached for the drying cloth, drawing it slowly down his chest. Catherine had faced the same dilemma. Sit idly by or make a decision. She had been strong and decisive, had sacrificed her dreams for the sake of others. No, not for the sake of them but for the very safety of them. He did not doubt she loved him, although she had sacrificed their love on the pyre of their brothers’ recklessness. Still, he could not fault her for it. If possible, he loved her all the more for her loyalty and compassion.
He tossed the towel to the floor and strode back into his room.
“Sir? I’ll grab your robe,” said Langdon.
“Leave it, Langdon. That is all. Go have some dinner with Nan.”
Langdon raised an eyebrow but said nothing before obediently leaving. Nicholas stood in the middle of the room, lost for a moment. Then, coming to a decision, he pulled open the door, strolled through the sitting room, and tugged opened the next room’s entrance. He paused, taking in the hint of jasmine that lingered, then he pushed the door quietly closed.
If she was truly his, he would abolish this room and demand she share his. He inhaled deeply. He could smell her. She’d made incredible sacrifices for her brother, for his brother, for him; he knew he didn’t deserve her. The room was dark, but he was familiar with where the bed sat. If he could lie with her scent upon the sheets, perhaps he could sleep this night.
His knees softly hit the frame. He pulled back the coverlet and crawled in. Stretching out, he rolled onto his side, holding the pillow tightly and breathing deeply. “Oh, Catherine, I love you so,” he said quietly, longing for her.
“Nicholas?”
