She bit her lip and told herself he didn’t mean that as it had sounded. “Your feelings for me.”
“I should think that would be obvious.” He looked directly into her eyes, and she saw desire in his blue depths—desire and need. She wanted to reach for him then. She wanted to give him what he wanted, satisfy both of their needs. But the problem was, as it had been, no matter how satisfied her body was, her heart would still be yearning.
“There’s a difference between the physical and emotional,” she said. “I know you desire me, but you haven’t told me how you feel toward me.” She was trembling slightly. The words had been difficult to say. Now she was the vulnerable one.
He took a step back. Never a good sign. “You want me to be more emotional?”
She might have found the look of panic that crossed his features amusing if she didn’t want some admission of his feelings for her so badly. Even the idea of giving her that seemed to terrify him.
“You’re my wife,” he said. “I care about you.”
“As in you care for my welfare?” she said, her tone a bit more confrontational than she’d wanted.
“Of course.” His face froze for a moment as he seemed to realize his error. “I care for you.”
“Like one of your horses?”
He gave her a searing glare. “Like my wife.”
Amelia knew she wouldn’t get what she wanted at this point, but for some reason she seemed to invite heartache. “And what is that feeling?”
“I told you. I care for you.”
She closed her eyes and reminded herself to be patient. Patience had always been one of her strengths, but perhaps she’d used all of it up over the years caring for others. Or perhaps spending the last few days with twelve men and women who loved each other so fiercely she could all but taste it, left her wanting the same more than ever before. She needed him to say the words. Or, if he did not love her, she wanted to know that as well. She wanted to quit hoping and waiting and being unsure.
“I told you I love you,” she said, raising her gaze to his. “I love you, Nicholas.”
His shoulders eased down. “I know. Then why haven’t you come to me?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Because I was hoping I might hear those words from you,” she said finally. “I was hoping a bit of distance might make you consider whether you love me. I suppose, like a fool, I was hoping you would come to me—which you did—but it was only for physical release.”
He reeled back as though she’d slapped him. “You felt used?”
“No.” She hadn’t felt like that at all. He’d never made her feel that way. “No,” she said again. “The way you touch me, kiss me, look at me. I don’t feel used, but I also don’t feel...” She bit her lip then forced herself to speak. “I don’t feel loved. I want that, Nicholas. I wanted to be patient and to wait for you, but all of your friends and their wives are so in love that it’s made me long for that too.”
She’d thought he might retreat further at her words. Instead, he moved closer and took her in his arms. He held her tenderly then kissed her head. “I care for you, Amelia. Very much.”
Amelia waited for more, but there was none. After a little while, the sounds of voices rose, and Amelia knew the guests were returning from the scavenger hunt. Nicholas released her, kissed her cheek, and said they had better see to their guests. She let him go and stood in the library alone. She’d asked for what she wanted, and he hadn’t been able to give it. Just as he couldn’t reveal his injury to her, he couldn’t reveal his heart.
Or maybe he had revealed it, and care was all he did feel for her.
NICHOLAS WAS DRUNK. It had been some time since he’d been this drunk, and if he were smart, he would keep on drinking. He was just drunk enough to be dangerous, as Rafe would say. Rafe had drunk enough to be sloppy. His words slurred as he made a sentimental toast to the other men. “I love all of you,” he said, spilling some of his brandy as he raised the glass. “I love you so much.”
Love. It seemed to be the word of the day. First Amelia had asked him for it, and now Rafe was throwing it about as though it meant nothing. As though saying that word didn’t crack one’s chest open and invite someone to rip out one’s heart. But then Rafe had said he loved the Survivors. They had risked life and limb—his limbs—for each other. Nicholas loved them as well.
“Where are the ladies?” Colin asked. He too was drunk. He stood up after he asked and had to grab hold of the chair to keep from toppling over. “I want to make a toast to my beautiful wife.”
Rowden, who seemed relatively sober, rose to grab Colin before he could fall over. “Maybe you could make that toast later. When you’re alone.”
“I want to toast my wife too,” Phin said. He might not be as drunk as Nicholas or Colin, but he’d had his fair share. Despite Rowden’s suggestion they leave the ladies to their tea in the drawing room, the other men agreed with Colin and Phineas, and the entire troop was soon streaming out of the dining room and stumbling toward the drawing room. They burst in upon the ladies, who were talking and laughing, but who gave each other knowing looks as soon as the men stumbled in.
Ewan and Rowden made the apologies. Ewan had barely imbibed, and like Rowden he was a big man who would need a great quantity of drink to intoxicate him. Of course, Duncan seemed to have no trouble downing a great deal of whisky. At one point, he’d had a glass in each hand. They’d started making toasts to the fallen members of their troop, and after raising a glass eighteen times—and several times in-between—most of the men had succumbed to inebriation.
“I have a few things to say,” Colonel Draven began when all the men were in the drawing room and seated beside their wives. Most of the women looked bemused at the state of their husbands. Amelia leaned over and whispered, “Are you well?”
He waved her concern away as Benedict Draven continued his speech. “When I was given the order to form a troop of expendables”—he held up his hands as the men made sounds of protest—“men who had skills and talents but whose loss wouldn’t be a burden to their family or country. Men who weren’t the heir or the spare.” He looked at Phineas. “At least not likely to be. Men who weren’t married.” He looked at Colin. “Or at least not happily.”
Colin cursed and lifted his wife’s hand, kissing it.
“When I was given that task,” Draven continued with a smile, “I knew I would be asking thirty men to make the ultimate sacrifice. I was given a preview of some of the missions the troop would be sent on, and I knew few men would survive. So I chose carefully. I chose men I thought could defy those odds. And, if you recall, I approached each one of you with a question.”
Neil Wraxall piped up. “Are you afraid to die?” he asked in a low, gravelly tone that sounded menacing.
“That’s right,” Draven said. “And all of you except Nicholas were fool enough to give me the same answer—no.”
Aidan Sterling cleared his throat, and Draven laughed. “That’s right, Mr. Sterling. You gave me a look as though I were an idiot and said of course.”