Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Being there with Lyra almost felt like a dream, a dream he didn't want to wake up from. He would catch himself staring at her, as if she were an otherworldly vision that had come to earth, only to grace him with her presence for one blissful moment.

There was so much he had hoped to tell her, but now that he was finally before her, all words had run dry. All he could feel was instant and undeniable attraction for the woman who deserved all the best in life, and not a wounded, grief-stricken shell of a man. He doubted that he was able to make any woman happy in the state that he was as a man, as a husband, as a father.

"Take your time," he heard her say, as she gently patted his hand.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to recount the harrowing tale of his experiences. He locked eyes with Lyra as she listened intently.

"I know that neither you nor Arden could understand why I left so abruptly," he started slowly, at a point that was no less painful than any other points he would eventually come to. "But Father's meaningless death reminded me that I did not want to end up in the same manner."

Christian knew that he didn't need to remind Lyra what had happened. She knew it as well as anyone else. Christian's life changed completely upon receiving the news of his father's death on a voyage to India. He was murdered by pirates. It was this act of needless cruelty that assured Christian that life was too precious to be wasted, to be led without meaning. He knew that he had to do something impactful with his life, so he became a soldier the following year.

"We understood," Lyra reminded him softly. "It was just… we were so afraid that something would happen to you. That you… wouldn't return."

He shook his head with an ironic smile. "It seems that Arden was in more danger here than I was over there."

Lyra didn't say anything to that. She was merely looking at him somehow sorrowfully, quietly. He paused for a moment, then he continued.

"This," he said, gently touching his scar, "happened during the Battle of Victoria. I fell from my horse and was trampled beneath the chaos of the battlefield."

"Christian… how awful…" Lyra's breath caught in her throat. He looked away for a moment. He didn't want her pity. Yet, that was all he could hope for, now that he was just a hideous shadow of the man he used to be.

Forcing himself to look at her, with every freckle on her cheeks reminding him how beautiful she was, he continued. "They said it's a miracle I survived," he revealed, his gaze distant, almost as if he were speaking of someone else, someone completely unimportant to him. "My injuries still continue to plague me, but I survived, nonetheless."

Her hand remained on his, a silent gesture of solidarity and understanding. He knew that she could see the toll that his ordeal had taken on him, both physically and emotionally. He yearned to open up to someone, and finding her there was a godsend. A dear old friend he once hoped might be more than that. It was exactly what he needed on his first day back in his old home, and both welcomed him and haunted him.

"I was recovering slowly, but surely," Christian went on, his voice trembling with emotion as he spoke, "when I received word of Arden's sudden death."

"Why didn't you write that you were coming back?" she asked, almost pleading.

He frowned, lifting an eyebrow. "I did write, Lyra. I wrote you dozens of letters. You didn't respond to any of them."

"What…" she hesitated, pondering his words. "What are you talking about, Christian? I never received any letter from you."

"I wrote to you, just like I promised," he assured her, because he knew it was the truth. "I don't know what happened to them. War times… who knows…" He swallowed heavily, glancing down at her hand on his. The absence of a ring was painfully obvious. "What about you?"

"Oh," she shrugged, pulling her hand away, as if she could read his mind. "Nothing much."

"I sincerely doubt that," he shook his head. "You were always meant for big things, Lyra."

She smiled, but it was a sorrowful smile. "I fear that a lady is not supposed to be meant for big things."

"Why?" he asked, with a tinge of sincerity in his voice. He wanted to know what and who was in her way of obtaining her dreams.

She lifted an eyebrow, obviously not expecting that question. She hesitated, then she replied. "I have scholarly dreams, Christian. And I'm afraid that ladies with a penchant for politics and history are an unpopular choice among the gentlemen of the ton."

He knew that was right, but he also knew that there were gentlemen who yearned for wives to have meaningful conversations with. He is one of them, but he was also not among the first choices for a husband. The war had taken care of that.

Before he could comment on that, she switched the topic. "When I heard what happened to Arden, I… I couldn't believe it was true."

"I know," he said, raking his fingers through his hair nervously, as he always did when he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I still can't believe he's really… gone." That wasn't the word he wanted to use, but he changed his mind at the last minute.

She looked to the side, leaning down to adjust her shoe. As she did so, her necklace fell out of her prim and proper decolletage, exposing a familiar item dangling. When they locked gazes, he knew that she wasn't expecting him to see it.

He gently reached for it. As he took it, his fingers grazed against her exposed skin. It was gentler than silk, more fragrant than a rose. His body reacted in a way he didn't even know he could still react to a woman. Something inside of him stirred, a desire to touch more of her, to taste her lips, which seemed to beckon him. He banished the thought, although reluctantly.

His focus shifted back onto the signet ring. He caressed it with the tips of his fingers.

"You… you're still wearing it?" he asked, swallowing heavily, caught off guard that she still held to a promise he had given to her as a child, when he had no idea of all those tragedies that would befall them both.

Then again, he had no idea why that was so. There had never been anything even remotely romantic between them. They had always been only friends, yet he felt as if something unspoken lingered between them back then. She was a friend, yes. But she was also more. It was difficult to explain. That was why he felt the urge to give her that ring on the night that her mother wandered off into the woods.

She nodded, quickly yanking it away from him and hiding it back into her gown, obviously embarrassed by him seeing it. "I have to go back. I told Charis that I went to the library to get a new book," she said.

She hastily got up and straightened her gown, as if they had done something they weren't supposed to do, and now she had to erase all traces and evidence of it. He did the same, feeling as if he were in on this unspoken conspiracy. Her excuse made him smile. It was the first genuine smile in a long time.

"How will you say that you returned from the library without a book?" he asked, teasing her.

She smiled back. The way she did that, it warmed the forgotten recesses of his heart.

"I'll just have to say I didn't find anything that caught my interest," she chuckled.

She walked up to him, lingering in front of his face for a moment, when she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, on the side that was not scarred.

"I am so happy you are back safe and sound, Christian," she whispered, with that smile still lingering on those beautiful lips.

She didn't stay to hear him say anything to that. She disappeared in the opposite direction from the one he had come from. His gaze followed her silhouette until he could no longer see her and mounted his brother's horse. Ignoring the pain that sheared through his right leg; he spurred the horse in the direction of the manor house.

***

Lyra managed to sneak into her home unnoticed. She knew that Charis was somewhere in the house, but she needed a moment alone to herself. Lyra stepped into the quiet sanctuary of her chamber, leaning against the door as if someone might barge in and steal the sensations that were streaming through her body.

Alone in the dimly lit room, she closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the echo of Christian's touch against her heart. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her, as she allowed herself to imagine what other touches from him would feel like.

He would kiss her ferociously, in a way he never kissed anyone before, and she would reciprocate with the same fervor. His hands would trail feather-light caresses along her skin, igniting a fire within her that would threaten to consume her whole body.

With each image, her pulse quickened, her breath came in shallow gasps as heat pooled between her thighs at the thought of having him there, in front of her as he was in the woods. She completely surrendered herself to the intoxicating fantasy of having his fingers trail invisible lines down her body, lower and lower, while his tongue licked her lips and neck. Her entire body shuddered at the thought, but she couldn't banish it from her mind.

Her entire body reacted to her reverie as if it were true. She moaned softly, pressing her hand to her chest, remembering the warmth of his accidental touch, how she held her hand on his, how she yearned to stay in his embrace and not return from the woods.

At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she cleared her throat before speaking.

"Yes?"

"It's me," Charis replied from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Lyra stepped away from the door, still feeling flushed. She was painfully aware of her poppy red cheeks, and her heart was beating like a winning horse at Ascot's. She hoped she would be able to attribute that to something other than what really caused it.

"Is everything all right?" Charis wondered; her voice tinged with worry. "I notice you slip into the house like a thief in the night. Did something happen?"

"Umm," Lyra spoke, biting her lip, as her gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting her sister's eyes. "I… I don't know how to answer any of that."

"What do you mean?" Charis took a closer step. "You are beginning to frighten me, Lyra."

"I… I didn't go to the library," Lyra admitted quietly. "I went to The Warren instead."

Charis' brow furrowed in confusion. "The Warren? Why would you go there alone?"

Charis was right. Those woods… there was something about them that no one could explain. But for their family, that wasn't all. For their family, it was the place of the worst tragedy a child could endure.

"I stumbled onto Christian there," Lyra confessed, ignoring the previous question.

Charis' eyes widened in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "Christian Hollingsworth?" She asked, as if there were millions of men living in the vicinity named Christian. It was a preposterous question, yet neither of the two sisters even considered chuckling.

"Did you speak to him?" Charis asked again.

Lyra proceeded to pour out the details of her unexpected encounter with Christian. Charis listened intently; her brow furrowed in concern. When Lyra finished speaking, Charis took a deep breath, her expression grave and solemn.

"Lyra, I know you and Christian were close friends once, but I don't think it is wise to rekindle that friendship," Charis warned her sister. "He may not be the same person you remember. You probably have nothing in common now. You know that war changes people. With everything that has happened, perhaps it is best to give him space and allow him to process everything on his own, without complicating things."

Lyra's heart sank at her sister's words, the weight of Charis' caution settling heavily upon her. She didn't see any of these as additional complications. She just wanted to be his friend; someone he could rely on if he needed it.

"He seemed genuinely happy to see me, Charis," Lyra almost protested. "He… he said he wrote to me."

Charis' gaze hardened; her skepticism palpable. "I do not remember a single letter reaching you. You would have told me if it had, no?"

Lyra knew her sister was right, but it was difficult to acknowledge it aloud.

"Where is the proof?" Charis asked again, urged on by the silence. "Just remember that he is not the Christian you remember."

Lyra faltered, unable to provide a satisfactory answer to her sister's probing questions. The doubts that had lingered in the back of her mind resurfaced with renewed intensity.

"I don't know, Charis," Lyra admitted. "I know he isn't the same man, but is it possible that one changes so much that they are nothing but a shadow of their former selves?"

Charis placed a comforting hand on Lyra's shoulder, her touch a soothing balm to her troubled soul. "Just promise me you'll be cautious, Lyra," Charis urged. "Some men return from the war… troubled, and they are best left alone."

Lyra's heart ached for Christian. Charis was right, he did seem troubled. He did seem broken. And yet, she still wanted to be by his side.