To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(10)

“They used to come to me only in my dreams, Vale,” the young man cried. “Now they come even when I wake. I see a face in a crowd, and I imagine it a Frenchie or one of those savages, come to take my scalp. I know ’tisn’t so, but I can’t convince myself. Last sennight, I struck my valet and knocked him down just because he startled me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if it will end. I can’t rest!”

“Hush,” Vale murmured, almost as a mother would a child. His eyes were sad, his mouth twisted down. “Hush. It’ll end. I promise you, it’ll end.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there, too, wasn’t I?” Vale answered. With one hand, he took the bottle gently from the other man’s hand. “I survived and so will you. You must be strong.”

“But do you see the demons?” the young man whispered.

Vale closed his eyes as if in pain. “It’s best to ignore them. Turn your mind to lighter, more wholesome images. Don’t dwell on the morbid and hellish thoughts. They’ll capture your mind if you do and will pull you down with them.”

The other man sagged against the wall. He still looked unhappy, but his brow was clearing. “You understand me, Vale. No one else does.”

A footman came from the other end of the hall and caught Lord Vale’s eye. Lord Vale nodded.

“Your carriage is already waiting. This man will show you the way.” Lord Vale placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Go home and rest. On the morrow, I shall call ’round, and we shall go riding in Hyde Park together, my friend.”

The young man sighed and let himself be led away by the footman.

Lord Vale stared after them until they disappeared around the corner. Then he tilted his head back and drank a long swallow from the bottle of wine.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered when he lowered the bottle, and his wide mouth twisted in pain or another less understandable emotion. “Goddamn it to hell.”

And he turned and strode away.

A half hour later, she saw Lord Vale again. He was in the ballroom, slyly whispering in Mrs. Redd’s ear, and Melisande would never have believed this careless rogue the same man who had comforted his friend, if she had not seen it herself. But she had seen it, and she’d known. Despite Timothy and the hard lessons learned about love, grief, and loss, she’d known. Here was a man who kept his secrets as close as she did her own. Here was a man she would fall helplessly—hopelessly—in love with.

For six years, she’d loved him, though she knew he did not know her. She’d stood and watched as Emeline became engaged to Lord Vale, and she hadn’t turned a hair. After all, what use was mourning when the man would never be hers? She’d watched as he’d engaged himself again to the insipid Mary Templeton, and she’d been serene—at least on the outside. But when she’d realized in that church yesterday that Mary had actually thrown Lord Vale over, something wild and uncontrollable had risen up in her breast. Why not? it’d cried. Why not try and claim him?

And so she had.

Melisande tilted the button until the candlelight flashed off its polished surface. She would have to be very, very careful how she proceeded with Lord Vale. Love, as she so well knew, was her Achilles’ heel. Not by word or deed must she let him know how she really felt. Melisande opened the snuffbox and placed the button carefully inside.

She undressed and extinguished the candles before climbing into bed. Holding the covers up, she let Mouse bustle underneath. The bed trembled as he turned around and then lay down, his smooth, warm back against her calves.

Melisande stared into the darkness. Soon she would be sharing her bed with more than little Mouse. Would she be able to lie with Jasper without revealing her terrible love? She shivered at the questild at thtion and closed her eyes to sleep.

ONE WEEK LATER, Jasper drew his matched grays to a halt in front of Mr. Harold Fleming’s town house and sprang down from his phaeton. His new phaeton. It was tall and elegant, had cost an extravagant amount of money, and the wheels were absolutely enormous. He was rather looking forward to driving Miss Fleming to an afternoon musicale. He wasn’t looking forward to the musicale itself, of course, but he supposed one must end up somewhere when driving a phaeton.

Tilting his tricorne at a jaunty angle, he bounded up the steps and knocked. Ten minutes later, he was cooling his heels in a rather boring library while he waited for his fiancée to appear. He’d actually seen this library only four days before when he’d called upon Mr. Fleming to discuss the marriage settlement. That had been an entirely tedious three hours, brightened only by the fact that Miss Fleming had been quite right: She did indeed have an excellent dowry. Miss Fleming herself had not appeared once during his visit. Not that she was required for the business meeting—in fact, it was usual for the lady involved to be absent—but her presence would’ve been a welcome break.

Jasper strolled the library and inspected the shelves. The books seemed to be all in Latin, and he was just wondering if Mr. Fleming actually read everything in Latin or if he’d bought the books by the crate at a booksellers when Miss Fleming entered the room, drawing on her gloves. He hadn’t seen her since that morning in the vestry, but she wore nearly the same expression: a look of mingled determination and faint disapproval. Oddly, he found the expression rather charming.

Jasper bowed with a flourish. “Ah, my dear, you are as winsome as the breeze on a sunny summer’s day. That frock enshrines your beauty like gold does a ruby ring.”