Page 58 of A Remarkable Rogue

“Nate,” she breathed. Her lips were barely able to form his name. “I’m so sorry.”

He gave no indication that he heard her and continued to stare dully into the mug. “By the time I reached home, Sarah was dead, and the baby died a few days later.” He tossed back the whiskey, then shoved the empty cup away as if all the drink in the world would never be enough to ease his pain. His hazel eyes glistened as they rose to meet hers. “I had a son.”

She inhaled sharply, and her hand flew to her chest as his words sliced into her. She blinked rapidly, unable to stop her tears.Good God. He’d lost his son…

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice strangled as she repeated his words to her from that morning.

He gave a single, sharp nod, but was he truly agreeing or simply making the motion? “For years, I thought it was because I wasn’t there when she needed me, because I put my army career before my wife.” He paused before admitting, “My life ended that day.”

“I know,” she whispered. “When they told me Michael was dead, I wanted to die myself.” Only now, seven years later, was she finally beginning to feel alive again.

She slowly reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

He stiffened. Then he accepted the solace she offered and laced his fingers through hers.

“You still mourn her and your son,” she continued, so low the words were nearly lost beneath the crackle of the fire.

“I grieve for them, certainly.” He traced his thumb over the backs of her fingers, and she trembled as he said quietly, “But mourning…I don’t know anymore.”

“Yet you don’t want to betray their memory.” She looked down at their joined hands, and they blurred beneath her burning eyes. “Even now, simply talking with me like this, you feel as if you’re betraying your wife.”

His thumb stilled. “That’s the problem, because I don’t feel that it should be a betrayal, not anymore. That I should have the right to start living for the future.”

He released her hand and leaned back in the chair. Whatever small moment of connection they’d discovered dissolved away. He reached across the table not for her hand but for the whiskey bottle.

“But wanting to move on, wanting to live when she’ll never again…” Not bothering to pour the whiskey into the mug, he raised the bottle straight to his lips. “That’swhy it feels as if I’m betraying her.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “And for the life of me, I don’t know how to move past that.”

Sixteen

Nate slumped low against the straight back of the wooden settle and grimaced into the fire.

Sydney was upstairs in the bedroom. Even now, he could hear her moving across the creaking floorboards. She’d been there for the past hour after they’d finished a dinner nearly as silent as the day’s ride. He’d carried up hot water for her so she could bathe away the mud still smeared across her face and the layer of dust she’d picked up from the road. Then he left her, prepared to spend the night on the rug in front of the fire. Alone.

Not that he didn’t want her. From the moment he met her, he’d wondered what it would be like to be with her, to trail his mouth across her naked flesh and experience her body’s excited response to his.

Now he also wanted to simply hold her in his arms, safe and protected, and watch her as she slept.

But he’d never let himself do either.

Blowing out a harsh breath, he stripped off the borrowed jacket, along with the waistcoat and shirt beneath, and let his braces dangle around his hips. He didn’t care if she came downstairs and found him half-naked. No need for modesty now. He’d already bared his soul to her by telling her about Sarah. What was a bared body compared to that?

He yanked off a boot with a muttered curse and placed it on the floor.

Last night at the party, she’d wanted to seduce him in the alcove, and he’d very nearly let her. After tonight, though, he wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to him again, because he sure as hell didn’t know how to feel about her. Except that he still wanted her.

The second boot dropped.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. Keeping himself from Sydney wasn’t about Sarah, not anymore. He’d realized that at the masquerade when he’d seen Braxton strike her. Hot rage flashed through him that anyone would dare harm her, and he realized then that saving her had become more than just stopping Scepter.

He’d been willing to give his life for hers.

At that moment, everything changed. He no longer felt a sense of betrayal toward Sarah. That guilt vanished, and with its parting, he’d felt as if he’d lost his wife all over again.

Shoving himself to his feet, he stalked across the cottage to the washbasin on the kitchen dresser and splashed cold water over himself. He threw back his head and let the bracing water run down his bare chest, dampen his breeches, and drip onto his bare feet. Only when he shivered beneath the cold wash did he finally reach for a towel to dry himself.

But even that chilly drenching wasn’t enough to drive away the growing heat in his gut.

Worse, he also found himself enjoying the time he spent with her. Unpredictable, alluring, challenging…she was anything but boring. More—she understood him the way no one else did. She knew the same deep love and the inconsolable grief as he did. More important, though, she knew how to live on afterward. He prayed she could teach him how to do that, too. Because the alternative…