Her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth. “Oh, Evan.”
“The thing is, I don’t remember how it happened or anything much about that day. Nothing reliable, anyway. And I don’t know if I can trust those flashes of memory I do have. Anything can bring them on, a sound, a word, a smell even. That new horse in the yard, Commodore? He was at the Battle of Salamanca, where I was wounded. When I saw him, it was as if I were back in Spain, with bullets flying and cannons roaring.” Even speaking of it had his heart racing and his skin prickling with sweat. He drew in a deep breath that scudded in his throat. “I think I was racing back toward the British lines with news of a spy that I’d captured, but I don’t know. I can’t remember.” He pressed his hand to his temple as a pain shot through his head. Was it a real pain or only a result of trying to remember? A phantom pain like amputees experienced? It felt real enough.
She brushed his brow with her fingers, light as a bird. “That explains so much. The headaches … the nightmares?”
Heat prickled across his flesh. “I sometimes think I’m losing my reason. I was afraid to tell you, lest you think me insane and seek to have me put into an asylum.”
Her chin dipped, and she looked at him through her upper lashes. “You cannot have seriously contemplated that thought. An asylum? Because you have bad dreams?” She looked at him as if he were a simpleton.
He felt like one. “It is the common treatment for this ailment. I’ve seen it before, many times. In the wake of a campaign, there are many wounded, and the sights and sounds and fear are terrible in the thick of battle. Some men’s minds break, they lose their reason, and some become demented, harming themselves and others. Some men just go quiet, not speaking, not hearing, just staring into space …” He swallowed. For months now he’d feared he would slide into that mental oblivion, that his unreliable mind would finally snap. “The French have a term for it. Vent du boulet. It means wind of the bullet. Referring to men hearing bullets whistling by even when they’re not being shot at. They shake and sweat and jolt at the slightest noise. Hopeless in battle after that, and often as not, put into an asylum. If I had only been having a few bad dreams, I wouldn’t have worried. It was the memory loss, the panic that attacked out of nowhere, the loss of control. Even rage. I’ve never been a man of quick temper before, but it was as if I couldn’t master my feelings. I know you’ve lived in fear of your father’s temper all your life, and I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.” He brushed a few stray wisps of hair off her cheek. “I never want you to be afraid of me.”
She leaned into his touch like a kitten, and he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“How do you feel now?” she asked. “Are you still suffering?”
“It’s better but not gone, and I still have very few memories of that day. I wish I could recall why I was where I was, what I was doing, and whether the spy is a thing of my imagination or a real danger. I have no recollection of saving your brother’s life. Did I mean to, or was it an accident? The papers say I ran across the open ground to get to the horse still tethered to the wagon. I cut the horse loose from his dead teammate, and I hopped on his back, racing toward the British line … and Percival was in the wagon. And then I was in the hospital, the Home Secretary came to visit, and the prince made me an earl. All for doing something I can’t remember. I feel like such a fraud. All I wanted was to heal sufficiently to return to my regiment, but God had other plans.” The familiar feelings of inadequacy roared up. “I hope that with time I’ll return to normal and that even if I never recover my memory, I can be at peace with it.” He smiled, leaning over to kiss her hair, inhaling the scent of her. “Having you and Cian and White Haven has certainly been an excellent distraction.”
She pillowed her head on his arm. “I had no idea you were suffering like this. I wish you had told me sooner. I wish we had both been honest with each other from the start. We’ve wasted so much time worrying about what might happen if the other one knew the truth, and none of those things turned out to be accurate.”
They sat in silence for a time.
“What are we going to do about Cian?” she finally asked. “You heard my father. He wants what he considers his due, or he’ll raise a commotion. Then there’s Percival, who knows about Cian and Catherine. I can’t believe he hasn’t asked for money, though at the moment he appears to have plenty. Marcus asked me if Percival was blackmailing me, but I told him no. I hadn’t heard from anyone in my family since we left London.”
“Do you know where Percival got his money?”
“No. He’s terrible with funds, always running short. He and Father have the most awful rows about it, his gambling and womanizing and spending. Perhaps he’s been winning at the gaming tables?”
Evan wrapped his arms around his little family. “Maybe. If so, it won’t last. Gamblers never win in the long run. But about your father. I suggest we make him a bargain. We sign over a portion of our remaining funds, and he signs over custody of Cian.”
Again she straightened, holding her hand against the baby’s back to keep him on her shoulder. “Are you sure? You would do that?” Joy and incredulity dueled on her face.
“It seems the simplest solution, doesn’t it? A onetime payment, and he leaves us alone forever.”
“I don’t like giving in to his demands, but if it means Cian is safe, then we must consider it.” She worried her lower lip again. “There is one thing you don’t know. About Cian.” Her arms tightened around the baby, as if to protect him. “When she was dying, my sister told me who his father was. And she made me promise never to tell anyone. I don’t want to break my word to her, even though she would never know.”
Evan thought about it. If he had fathered a child, he would want to know. Then again, he would never father a child with anyone but his wife. But the ton was different. Their attitude toward these things was lax. Promiscuity seemed to occupy them constantly, and by-blows seemed to be common. What did he owe the man who had seduced his wife’s sister?
He reached out and put his thumb against her lip, drawing it out from behind her teeth and rubbing it gently. They had discussed enough for the time being. When the house was empty of guests and Cian’s future was settled, she could tell the rest of the story. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss on Cian’s downy dark head. “You don’t need to tell me tonight. Now, put that young master in his cot where he belongs and come to bed. I have a few other things to say to you, but they don’t require words.”
CHAPTER 15
EVAN STOOD WITH Shand, watching the spectacle. “All of Wellington’s army doesn’t take this much provisioning and maneuvering.” Just getting everyone from the house to the spot chosen for the contest had required more than an hour and most of his staff.
The prince himself sat on a plush chair, his foot on a pillowed stool, refreshments within reach, his every action fawned over by several servants and courtiers.
“Sir, the Ninety-Fifth would never let you live this down if they could see it. Entertaining pampered princes and the like after facing the guns at Salamanca.” Shand put his hands on his hips. “We’re scarcely a quarter mile from the house, but they’ve brought enough equipment for a six-month siege.”