He closed his eyes, the image of Emily crumpling to the ground, her eyes wide with shock, the midsection of her ivory gown stained crimson, indelibly carved in his mind.
“I fired, and my shot hit Lewis,” he said, his voice a rough rasp. “I dropped my pistol and ran to Emily. Although she was still alive, there was no doubt her wound was fatal. I… I held her, trying to stop the blood, but to no avail. With her dying words she pleaded with me to escape. To leave America, go where no one could find me. She knew her father would either kill me or make certain I hanged for Lewis’s death, and no doubt try to blame me for her death as well. She begged me, over and over, not to let that happen. She desperately wanted me to live, to have a full and happy life. She loved me and did not want me to die.”
Fixing his gaze on Catherine, he pressed his palm against his chest, and said in a ragged whisper, “I felt her final heartbeats against my hand after I finally promised her I would do as she asked. And then she was gone.”
His voice broke on the last word. Then silence hung heavy in the air as he relived the horror of that chilly day with a gutting, vivid clarity he’d forced from his mind for years. The day he’d lost everything. His home. Life as he’d known it. The sweet, gentle friend who’d been his wife.
He coughed to clear the tightness in his throat. “After saying my good-byes to Emily and making certain that Adam would see to her, I kept my promise. Several hours later, using a false name, I sailed away from America.”
Dragging his hands down his face, he tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “For the first five years, I lived… recklessly, not really caring if I lived or died. It was a very dark time for me. Lonely. Bleak. Empty. I’d done what Emily had asked me to do, yet I hated myself for doing it. For running away. For all my actions that had led to her death. I felt like a coward, and that I’d compromised my honor. I actually hoped that her father would somehow find me, yet he never did.
“But one day, your brother found me-just in time to save me from the machete-wielders, a rescue I wasn’t immediately grateful for, by the way. Since I had nothing better to do, I returned with Philip to his camp, and for the first time in five years I had a sense of belonging somewhere. Your brother not only saved my life, but through him, I found the will to live again. To make something of myself. He was the first real friend I’d had since leaving America, and my friendship with him changed my life. I eventually managed to bury deeply that horrifying day on the dueling field, but when that shot was fired in London, when I saw you on the floor…”He briefly closed his eyes. “I relived my worst nightmare.”
He drew in a deep breath, feeling utterly depleted, yet lighter than he had in a decade. He turned toward Catherine. Her hands were clenched in her lap, and she stared into the fire. He desperately wanted to know what she was thinking, but forced himself to remain silent, to allow her to absorb all he’d told her. A full minute passed before she spoke.
“Does Philip know all this?”
“No. None of it. I’ve never told anyone before.”
He wished she would look at him so he could see her expression, read her eyes. Would she look at him with disgust and shame-the same way he’d looked at himself for years? Unfortunately, he feared the fact that she steadfastly did not look at him told him everything.
Finally, she turned and gazed at him, her eyes solemn and bright with unshed tears. “You loved her very much.”
“Yes. She was a quiet, lonely, gentle girl who’d never hurt anyone in her entire life. We’d been the best of friends for years. I would have done anything to protect her. Instead, she died protecting me.”
“Why, after remaining silent all these years, did you tell me this?”
He hesitated, then asked, “Before I tell you, may I have use of a piece of vellum and a pen?”
There was no mistaking her surprise, but she rose and walked to the escritoire near the window, sliding a sheet of vellum from a slim drawer. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” He sat in the delicate upholstered chair and picked up her pen. From the corner of his eye he watched her cross to the fireplace. After several minutes, he joined her there and handed her the vellum.
She looked at the markings with a confused expression. “What is this?”
“Egyptian glyphs. They spell out the reasons why I told you about my past.”
“But why would you write your reason in a way that I cannot understand?”
“At your father’s birthday party, you commented on Lord Nordnick’s methods with regards to Lady Ophelia. You said he should recite something romantic to her in another language. This is the only other language I know.”
Her startled gaze flew to his. He touched the edge of the vellum. “The first line reads You saved my life.”
“I do not see how you can say that, as it is my fault that you were hurt tonight.”
“Not tonight. Six years ago. The morning after I joined Philip at his camp, I came upon him sitting on a blanket near the banks of the Nile, reading a letter. From his sister, he told me. He read me some amusing snippets, and I sat there listening to the words you’d written him, filled with envy for the obvious affection in which you held each other. He went on to tell me a bit about you, the fact that your marriage was unhappy, the joy you found with your son, and also about Spencer’s affliction. After we returned to camp, he showed me the miniature you’d given him before he’d left England.”
He briefly closed his eyes, vividly reliving that instant when he’d first laid eyes on her image. “You were so lovely. I could not fathom how your husband did not worship the ground you walked on.
“From that moment on, with every story Philip told me about you, my regard and admiration grew, and I believe I anticipated your letters to Philip even more than Philip himself. Your bravery, fortitude, and grace in the face of your marital situation and Spencer’s difficulties touched me deeply and inspired me to examine my deep shame and guilt over my past and the dissolute manner in which I’d lived my life since leaving America. Your goodness, your kindness, your courage inspired me to change my life. Redeem myself. I knew that someday I would return to England with Philip, and I was determined to be a person that Lady Catherine would be proud to know. You showed me that goodness and kindness still existed, and you gave me the will to want that again. I’ve wanted to thank you for that for six years.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Catherine’s heart thumped in slow, hard beats from his words and the utter sincerity in his dark eyes. She swallowed. Her heart ached for him, for the despair he’d lived with for so long. “You’re welcome. I had no idea my letters had… inspired you so. I’m very sorry for the pain you suffered, and I’m glad you were able to find peace within yourself.”
Without wavering his gaze, he released her hand, then reached out and touched the edge of the vellum. “The second line reads I love you.”
Catherine went perfectly still, except for her pulse, which jumped erratically. His feelings for her blazed from his eyes, without any attempt to hide them.
“My mind understands that my social status and past renders me not good enough for you. But my heart…”He shook his head. “My heart refuses to listen. My logic tells me I should wait, take more time to court you. But I almost lost you tonight and I simply cannot wait. Our friendship, our time together as lovers, everything we’ve shared, every touch, every word, has brought me more joy than I can describe. But being your lover is not enough.”