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“When I was in the army, I helped out a friend, another solider. He left me some money, and I used it to buy the i
“How did you help your friend?”
Another image, of an earlier battle, flashed through his mind. “Billy, Billy Styles was his name. He was trapped beneath his fallen horse. I dragged him free.” And then had used his last lead ball to put down the suffering animal. And hadn’t even realized tears streamed down his face until Billy had told him they were there.
“You saved his life.”
“He was a good man. His leg was broken bad enough that he was finished with the army. Went home to London, but he died two years later from a fever-right around the time I was injured. A solicitor located me and told me about the money. After I healed, I started looking for a place I could call home.”
“And found the Blue Seas I
“Yes. And now it’s your turn.” Doing his damnedest to keep all traces of bitterness from his voice he said, “Tell me all about your wonderful life as Countess Westmore.”
Several long seconds passed. Then she said quietly, “If it’s something wonderful you wish to hear, then I’m afraid I have nothing to say.”
Chapter Five
Cassandra glanced toward Ethan and saw the bewilderment clouding his dark eyes, the frown bunching his brows.
“Are you telling me you haven’t been happy?” he asked slowly, his voice laced with both confusion and disbelief.
She jerked her gaze from him to stare straight ahead. “Yes, Ethan. I haven’t been happy.”
She felt his gaze boring into her, but didn’t turn to look at him. “Because your husband died?”
Until this moment she hadn’t quite known how much she would tell him. But his question seemed to burst a dam inside her, releasing a flood of suppressed anger and bitterness. “No. Because my husband lived. And for ten years made my life a living hell. Those feelings you described, about wanting to go to sleep and never wake up? I know those feelings. All too well.” The words were tight. Clipped. And somehow cathartic to say out loud.
“My marriage was a disaster. A nightmare that thankfully ended when Westmore died.” A shudder ran through her. She turned toward him, knowing he’d see the hatred, the anger in her eyes, and not caring. “I do not mourn him.”
He halted and stepped around to face her, his gaze searching hers, looking for answers. “A nightmare in what way?”
Unable to remain still or look him in the eye, she shook her head and resumed walking with quick, agitated steps, her gaze steadfastly fixed on a tall outcropping of rocks ahead. He fell into step beside her, silent, waiting.
“As you know, I had high hopes for my marriage…” Of course he knew-she’d shared all her hopes and dreams with him. He’d patiently listened to her expound on her desire for a caring husband and lots of children with whom she’d share the sort of warm, loving relationship she’d always craved. The sort denied her by her parents, who’d been bitterly disappointed their only child was a girl-a fact they never tired of pointing out to her. Indeed, she’d known from childhood that the only thing she could possibly do to please them was marry well. When her father had a
“My duty was to marry well and in accordance with Father’s wishes. Westmore’s duty, of course, was to produce an heir. Our relationship began to deteriorate after I failed to conceive during the first six months of our marriage. Things grew progressively worse as time wore on.”
The words began to rush from her now, as if she’d lanced a festering wound and allowed the poison to run free. “After three years of me failing to conceive, Westmore a
She paused, needing to shove back the painful memories that rose up to thicken her throat.
“Bloody bastard,” Ethan muttered. “Did it not occur to Westmore that the fault might be his?”
“It wasn’t,” she said, her tone utterly flat.
“How do you know?”
“Because over the next seven years Westmore impregnated a half dozen of his paramours. Perhaps more. I stopped counting.”
For several seconds silence swelled between them. Then he said in a tight voice, “He was unfaithful to you?”
She couldn’t suppress the humorless sound that escaped her. “Almost from the begi
“What did he say?”
“He made it abundantly clear he wasn’t interested.”
“Abundantly clear how?”
A chill shivered through her and she wrapped her arms around herself. “He…hurt me.”
Ethan halted and grasped her arm, swinging her around to face him. A storm brewed in his eyes and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Hurt you?” he repeated in a low, awful voice. “He…forced himself on you?”
She shook her head. “No. He’d left no doubt he didn’t want me…in that way…ever again.”
Relief flickered in his eyes, then he frowned. “Then what…?” His expression turned thunderous. “He hit you?”
There was no mistaking his shock. And outrage. Both of which were balms for her soul and tightened her throat. It had been so long since anyone had shown the least concern for her. Hot moisture pushed at the backs of her eyes and she fiercely blinked it away.
“He hit me,” she confirmed in a deadly calm voice that seemed to come from far away, and his gaze raked over her as if to check for bruises. “Beat me, actually. It took me weeks to recover.”
Looking him in the eye, she stated the bald truth, one she’d never before admitted out loud. One that would certainly prove to him that she wasn’t the same young girl he’d known. “I think he suspected I’d kill him if he ever touched me again. He never did. But I was tempted to do so anyway.”
She fell silent and realized she was shaking. Breathing hard. And couldn’t bear to look into his eyes any longer. In spite of her trembling knees, she stepped back, and his hands fell to his sides. Wrapping her arms around herself, she began walking again. He fell into step beside her, saying nothing, for which she was grateful, as her throat was too tight to speak. By the time they reached the outcropping of rocks, she felt mentally and physically drained, and she paused in the sheltering shade the promontory provided.
Ethan moved to stand in front of her. Afraid of what she might see, she had to force herself to look into his eyes. When she did, she found him watching her with an intensity that was at once darkly fierce and utterly tender.
“Cassie…” Her name whispered past Ethan’s lips, the only word he was capable of pushing past his constricted throat. A rage unlike anything he’d ever known roiled through him. Bloody hell, she looked lost and alone, her eyes so desolate and bleak. Something inside him seemed to break, leaving a gaping wound through which all the anger and bitterness he’d nursed leaked out to spill at her feet.