Page 62 of The Untamed Heart

Eustacia, I—

What the devil had he been about to say?

Eustacia, I am afraid I must leave tomorrow.

Eustacia, I’m terribly thirsty, might I have a cup of tea?

Eustacia, I cannot live without you.

Sadly, the last one seemed the most unlikely. Sighing, Eustacia turned her attention back to the conversation, for there had to be a good reason for a duke and two earls to appear on her doorstep. She doubted any of them were good.

“He wants to murder you,” Lord Darenth said, his mouth full of biscuit.

Eustacia gasped in horror, the slight sound followed by a shocked silence. They all stared at Lord Darenth. He swallowed and glanced anxiously at Lord Sheringham.

“Oh. Sorry. I did it again.”

Sheringham patted his shoulder. “Never mind. It needed saying. I’m sorry, Marcus, but Lucius is right. He’s discovered some rather distressing information.”

“What information?” Marcus asked, sounding perfectly calm, if still annoyed.

Eustacia reached for the shawl around her shoulders and tugged it closer as a shiver of fear slid down her spine. Marcus was in danger. Someone wanted to kill him.

Over my dead body.

It probably ought not to have been the first thought that came to mind, but it was. She had only just found him. He had survived years of war, a bullet wound to the chest, and the weight of guilt so unwieldy it might have crushed a man with less fortitude. Marcus deserved peace, happiness, safety. He had earned it, and she would not sit back and let some murderous bastard take it away from him.

“Keller did assign your order to withdraw from the Hollow Road, Marcus, but he gave it to a dead man,” the duke said, his expression grave.

“A dead man?” Marcus repeated in confusion, which she was grateful for because she didn’t understand either.

“Yes, the kind that don’t move about,” Lord Darenth said, beaming at Mrs Wainwright as she set a plate laden with a massive slice of pie down in front of him. “They don’t tend to be of much use for delivering urgent orders.”

Marcus stared at him and she saw the moment he understood, as she did, precisely what they were getting at.

“I was meant to die there.”

Eustacia sucked in a breath. Keller had meant to kill him, and only Marcus’s bravery and fortitude had stopped his plan from succeeding.

Marcus stood suddenly and strode to the window, gazing out. A little of the garden was visible from here and she wondered if he drew comfort from it. She hoped so. It was proof of life, of the circular nature of everything.

“He was so eager to see me killed, he did not care who else died alongside me,” he said, and though there was no inflection in his voice, they all heard the fury in the words. “We knew the position was vital. We knew we must hold for as long as possible, but my God, it seemed like an eternity in hell. When no order to retreat came, I felt the men’s despair, saw the certainty that they would all die shining in their eyes. And I made them stand. Because of me, they endured it. They trusted me. The French hammered us over and over. I did everything I could to keep my men alive, and we certainly took our fair share of lives that day. But in the end, all we could do was endure. Three hundred men. Three hundred men stood with me that day. Only one hundred and seventeen survived.”

Rage vibrated through the room, echoing in the silence that fell once he stopped speaking. They could all sense it, she was sure. It was in the rigid line of his shoulders, in his clenched fists, the knuckles white.

Eustacia hesitated and then stood. She did not care what they thought, what conclusions they might draw from her actions. Marcus was in pain, and she could not bear to see it.

She went to him and laid her hand on his arm. “Not your fault. It was not your fault. You did everything you could do. You saved everyone you could save. You did not start the war. You did not ignore the order to retreat. You stood, and because of you and men like you—good, brave men who did things no man should have to do—the war was won. I am proud of you, Marcus. Not because you are a hero, but because you did the best you could. You always do.”

“Well said, my duck,” Mrs Wainwright said, her voice choked, before she ran off, crying into her apron as she went.

“Bravo,” said Lord Darenth softly.

“Hear, hear.”

“Quite so.”

Marcus turned to look at his friends’ concerned faces and then looked at Eustacia. He covered her hand with his for a moment, holding her gaze with a look that made her breath catch, before returning to the table.