To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(65)

She bit her lip and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly. “I survived.”

He folded his arms across his chest then and leaned his head against the squabs, his eyes closed as if he slept, though she doubted he did.

She bowed her head. He’d survived, and she was glad, truly, but at what cost? What he’d endured had changed him. It was as if he’d passed through a fiery furnace, burning away all the parts of him that had been soft or sentimental, leaving a fire-hardened inner core, impervious to pain or feeling, perhaps impervious to love as well.

She shivered at the thought. Surely he felt something for her?

They spent the rest of the carriage ride home in silence, and it was only when the carriage slowed before Blanchard House that she glanced out the window.

She leaned a little forward. “There’s another carriage blocking the way.”

“Is there?” Reynaud said absentmindedly, his eyes still closed.

“I wonder who it could be?” Beatrice mused. “Now a gentleman is getting out, and he’s handing down a very elegantly dressed lady. Oh, and there’s a small boy as well. Reynaud?”

She said the last because he’d suddenly sat up and twisted around to look out the window.

“Christ,” he breathed.

“Do you know them?”

“It’s Emeline,” he said. “It’s my sister.”

HE’D DREAMED OF this moment for nights on end during his captivity: the day when he’d finally see his family again. The day when he’d see Emeline.

Reynaud climbed slowly down from his carriage, turning to help Beatrice alight. Her face was excited, beaming with curiosity, wonder, and joy, as if she reflected all the many emotions he ought to be feeling right now. He hooked her hand through his elbow and approached the small group of people gathered on the top step of Blanchard House. The man was turned toward them with a face that looked impassive from this distance, but it was the woman Reynaud focused on. She’d only just now noticed their presence and was turning quickly. Her face went blank, and then an expression of rapturous joy spread over it.

“Reynaud!” she cried, and started down the steps. The man—it must be Hartley—caught her under the arm, slowing her, and for a moment Reynaud felt anger rise in his breast.

Until he saw why Hartley urged her to slow down.

“Oh, my,” Beatrice breathed.

Emeline was quite obviously enormously pregnant. Seven years ago, she’d been a young mother and a bride. Now she was married to a different man and was expecting her second child. He’d missed so much.

So much.

He and Beatrice reached the bottom of the steps just as Emeline and Hartley made the street. Emeline stopped suddenly, staring at him, then reached out a hand, touching his cheek in wonder.

“Reynaud,” she breathed. “Reynaud, is it you?”

He covered her fingers with his hand, blinking back the moisture in his eyes. “Yes, it’s me, Emmie.”

“Oh, Reynaud!” And suddenly she was in his arms, and he was awkwardly hugging her close around the bulk of her belly. She felt so sweet, his little sister, and he closed his eyes, simply holding her for a moment.

She pulled away at last and smiled, the same smile she’d had since the age of ten, and then frowned. “Oh, fustian! I’m going to cry. Samuel, I need to go inside.”

Hartley whisked her inside the town house, and Reynaud and Beatrice followed more sedately. The boy trailed his mother, but he darted glances over his shoulder at him. Reynaud remembered Daniel as an infant, hardly able to walk the last time he’d seen him. Now he was almost as tall as his mother.

Reynaud nodded at the boy. “I’m your uncle.”

“I know,” Daniel said, dropping back to walk beside them as they moved down the hall. “I’ve got a pair of your pistols.”

Reynaud’s eyebrows rose. “Do you?”

“Yes.” The boy looked a bit worried. “I say, can I keep them?”

Beside him, Beatrice smothered a giggle. Reynaud turned a quelling look on her before addressing the boy. “Yes, you may.”

They were in the sitting room now, and Beatrice left his side to order tea and some type of refreshments.

“Did the Indians draw those birds around your eye?” the boy asked.

“Daniel.” Hartley spoke for the first time, his voice even. He said nothing more, but the boy ducked his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Reynaud nodded and took a seat. “Yes, the Indians tattooed my face.”

Beatrice returned at that moment and met his gaze. Her eyes were filled with sympathy, and the sight warmed his chest. She sat down next to him and tucked her hand under his.

She cleared her throat. “I’m Beatrice Corning.”

He squeezed her hand in gratitude.

Emeline sat a little straighter, rather like a birding dog at the sight of a grouse. “Tante Cristelle said you were engaged to be married to my brother.”

Beatrice glanced at him and then said brightly, “Yes. We hope to have a small wedding soon. Miss Molyneux didn’t tell us you were coming. Were you expected?”

“Evidently not.” Emeline pursed her lips. “I wrote, of course, to say that we’d be coming, but the letter must’ve gone astray. Samuel has business to attend to in England, and I’d hoped to visit with Tante. As it was, we quite surprised her with our arrival in London, and then she startled us with her news that Reynaud was alive.”