“Arthur, you must rest.” Lord Tempest repeated.
“I can walk beside my wife, can I not?” Some of the familiar spirit she remembered was present in his demand. He offered Naomi his arm.
Naomi couldn’t help but send Luke a questioning glance. What did this mean?
Only Luke wasn’t looking at her. He seemed inordinately preoccupied handing Amelia off to the nurse who’d silently appeared.
“Naomi?” Arthur’s voice clipped out her name.
He moved closer to her as his older brother took his mother’s arm and began leading her back toward the house. Arthur motioned to his elbow with a jerk. “I don’t bite.”
His words sounded angry, bitter.
But she was the person who had been wronged. He’d cheated, he’d lied, he’d kept another woman while Naomi kept his home.
She didn’t want to touch him.
“What of your tavern friend?” She met his gaze accusingly, hugging her own arms and pointedly refusing his escort.
In response, he tilted his head.
“Bridget? Are you not going to go to her?”
“Damnit, Naomi, I return, more dead than alive, months after having been presumed dead and you want to discuss a harmless indiscretion?” He asked, voice hard. The look in his eyes remained cold, lifeless almost. “Is this what a man gets for risking his life for his country? Surely, you are joking?”
She thought she saw Luke tense where he stood but must have been mistaken. She wanted to meet his gaze but he turned away from both of them and followed the others inside.
He had chosen to give them a moment alone but watching him disappear, Naomi fought panic that was rising inside of her.
What was she supposed to say to Arthur? Had Luke told him about the two of them? But immediately, she knew—he would not. He’d not make such a decision for her.
She wished he had.
Except…
Arthur was the father of her child and he was a man who’d risked his life for king and country. With a shaking hand, she reached out and allowed Arthur to take her hand.
She felt none of the comfort or pleasure she’d experienced before. His palm and fingers felt moist and cold as he tucked her hand into his arm. And that arm felt almost skeletal. She noticed an abrasion, or scab of some sort on his neck. When she glanced down, she saw a second one on the back of his wrist.
“What happened?” The question came out on a shaky breath. It was he who leaned on her when they began what was to be a slow and tedious process as they limped toward the house.
“I was taken prisoner.”
“The others?” Did this mean that none of the men had been killed as a result of the ambush?
“Burned alive.”
She stumbled at the words. Luke had never told her exactly what had happened. It was so very like him. He’d done what he could to protect her from thinking Arthur had…
“But they spared you.” It came out both a question and an observation.
“In light of your lukewarm welcome, I could almost believe you are disappointed by this,” he said as though she’d made an accusation.
“That’s not what I said.” She inhaled a breath, not wanting to provoke him just now. Not today, with his family nearby and him struggling to remain upright. “Of course, I am not disappointed. You are a father now. You have a daughter.”
She did not remind him that he had a wife. What wife wouldn’t be thrilled at the return of a husband she’d presumed dead? And it wasn’t that she was disappointed. She’d never wished him dead.
But…
Luke had arrived at the entrance ahead of them and waited, holding the door wide.
For her and Gil.
“If it wasn’t for Luke, I’d likely be dead in that hut. These past months have been a living hell.”
Naomi finally was able to lock her gaze with Luke’s. He’d had far more time adjust to Arthur’s return from the dead. He lifted one corner of his mouth ruefully. He seemed resigned and sad.
The panic she’d felt before was nearly full-blown now. She needed to speak with him alone. She needed to find out what happened. She could not go on with Arthur as her husband. He’d lied. He’d cheated.
She loved Luke.
Naomi accustomed her vision to the darkness of the parlor while Mr. Webbs stepped forward to assist Arthur to the nearest settee.
“You should be in bed.” Lady Tempest was seated already, wringing her hands in her lap.
“I’ll have time enough for that.” His hands had felt cold to the touch, and yet beads of perspiration dappled his brow and just above his lips.
Naomi had so many questions. Arthur might have returned alive but he was not well.
“Take care, Gil.” Luke grimaced in Arthur’s direction as he edged toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me. My lady, Tempest, Na—Mrs. Gilcrest. I’ll leave the four of you to… catch up.”
“I’ll see you out.” Naomi knew it wasn’t proper, but the realization that it would be even less acceptable to visit him at Crescent Park spurred her across the room. She couldn’t wait even a day to be alone with him—to touch him.
Lady Tempest hardly seemed to notice, all of her concern directed toward her son, but Tempest sent Naomi an enigmatic glance as she walked stiffly across the room. Undeterred, she slowed her pace, slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind her.
She would have thrown herself into Luke’s arms if he hadn’t put a hand up and stepped backward.
Of course, she had followed him out of the room. Of course.
Luke’s heart filled but then just as quickly squeezed tight. He wanted more than anything to hold her, to inhale the sweet fragrance of her hair. But if he did that, he’d never be able to let go.
And he had no choice. What they’d done… If all was as it ought to be, it would have been unforgivable. The issues with the license might have alleviated some of his guilt but this wasn’t just about Naomi, and him, or even Arthur. A child was concerned.
Amelia needed to be protected from all of this.
Summoning his self-control, Luck straightened his shoulders. “Naomi.” He almost choked on her name. He’d anticipated this moment for months. Damn Gil for being alive. Especially after…
Guilt arose and he chastised himself for entertaining such thoughts. Because there was no need for anyone to ever damn Gil to hell again. His oldest friend was already there and would become acquainted with the devil himself all too soon.
Or it could take longer. Tempest had already sent for the best physician in the shire. Gil would never be well again but it was possible that he might linger for months, years.
“What happened?” The confusion in her eyes mirrored what he’d felt the day he’d entered an enemy hut and found his friend, thrashing on a cot, burning with fever but alive.
“The ague.” It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to contract it. And if caught early and treated properly, most could even survive. As long as they were young, strong, and healthy.
Gil had only one of those going for him. In the months since Luke had seen him, his friend had become a shadow of his former self.
Gil claimed he’d been starved and treated poorly by his captors.
“Don’t let him touch you.” He doubted she would, and she doubted Gil had the strength to do so but… “He’s contracted the pox.”