No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(41)

She did, but she moved warily, as though he might pounce on her at any moment. Or perhaps she feared she would pounce? He could only dream.

He leaned against her desk and she sat in the chair closest to the fire. When he was warm again, he cleared his throat, trying to decide how much to tell her. “We started out as a troop of thirty. We were chosen by Lieutenant Colonel Draven. He selected me first and asked me to lead. I picked some of the other men, men I knew or had served with, and others he chose because they had special skills. He’d been asked to form a troop like ours weeks before he ever tapped me, and he’d been watching and making lists of men who would serve our purposes.”

Her brow wrinkled. “A troop like yours? What sort of troop was it?”

“A suicide troop,” he answered baldly. “Draven looked for the best, the brightest, and the expendable. None of us were expected to survive the first mission, much less the entire war.”

She stared at his face. “But why would any man agree to serve in such a group?”

“Not every man Draven or I asked agreed. All of the men who did agree had one response in common.”

“What was that?”

“Draven began every interview with the same question: Are you afraid to die? The men who said no, the men who had the skills we needed, were the men chosen.”

She looked away from him and into the fire, seeming to consider all he had said for some time. The fire popped and crackled, and Neil began to think she wouldn’t respond at all. But then she looked up at him. “And you answered no? Is it true? You aren’t afraid to die?”

Neil gave her a wry smile. “Oh, I’m afraid to die. I’ve seen men die in the most horrible ways you can imagine. I’d be a fool not to fear death after what I’ve seen.”

“But you said—”

“I never said I wasn’t a fool. More accurately, I was half out of my mind. When Draven approached me about leading the troop, I was half-mad with grief and rage. I wanted to die. He saw that.”

She shot up quite suddenly. “And so he used that grief against you and sent you to your death?”

Was she indignant on his behalf? Neil wasn’t certain how to respond. No one had ever become indignant for him before.

“You have it wrong, sweetheart,” he said. “Draven didn’t send me to die. He gave me a reason to live.”

Neil had never thought of it this way before, but it was true. Draven’s missions had given Neil new purpose, new focus. He’d been able to think of something beyond the death of Christopher. He had still wanted to avenge Christopher’s death, but he’d also wanted to keep his men alive. The more he’d come to know the men of his troop—Ewan, the Protector; Rafe, the Seducer; and the others like Jasper, Phineas, Duncan, and Nash—the more he’d wanted to keep them alive. Draven had saved Neil, even when Neil hadn’t wanted to be saved.

But it begged the question, the one Neil asked when he was sober and sweating from the nightmares: What had Draven saved him for?

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

Neil cut his gaze to her. He’d almost forgotten she was there. Almost. “My apologies, Lady Juliana.”

“Julia,” she said, shuffling uncomfortably. “I suppose if we are to live so closely for the next few days, you should call me Julia.”

He nodded. “Julia suits you.” It did. With her wild, copper hair—the wildness being partly his fault—her deep-brown eyes, and her wide smile, Julia had an informal and nurturing sound that fit her. “But paragon of virtue that you are, I’ll continue to refer to you as Lady Juliana.”

She scowled at him. “I simply thought we might be friends.”

He raised a brow. “I have friends. I don’t want to kiss them.” And that was the least of what he imagined doing with Juliana. No, he did not feel friendly toward her at all.

“Thank you for telling me about your part in the war. The boys are fortunate to have you here. They need a father figure.”

Neil held up his hand. “Don’t imagine my presence here to be any more than it is. I am here to keep you safe from Slag and to bring you home to your father. That is all.”

She took in a breath. “No, I wouldn’t want you to do any more than what my father hired you to do.” She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm. That was a mistake. The softness of her skin and the feel of her warm flesh beneath his reminded him he wanted to kiss her again. But she did not turn to look at him, her gaze fixed on the door.

“I am not a servant to be hired. I’m here as a favor because your father and mine are such good friends. And if you want the truth of it, I would prefer—I think we would all prefer—you simply go home.”

She turned to look directly at him then. “I am never going home. This is where I belong. These boys need me.” She pulled her arm away, cradling it as though he had burned her.

“Do they need you or do you need them?” Neil asked.

Without an answer, she swept out of the room.

Neil was left to his own thoughts and desires. The empty room seemed larger without Julia in it. He sat back on the couch and stared at the fire. Why the devil had he kissed her? He was a man in control of his passions, so why had he allowed them to get the better of him tonight? Yes, she was attractive. Yes, she made his blood thrum when she was near. Yes, he wanted to both throttle her and trace her curves with his hands, but that didn’t mean he should act on those impulses. Her father had asked Neil to keep her safe, not seduce her.