18. Ill of the Dead

ILL OF THE DEAD

V oices penetrated the oblivion first. Some that made sense and others that didn't.

A hand was stroking her head. "Sweetheart, it's okay. I'm here. Wake up for me, darling." It wasn't Luke. It was a familiar voice but it was all wrong.

Arthur was alive, and she ought to be happy about it. And she was. For his mother. For his brother. For their daughter. But what kind of woman was she that she wasn't happy for herself.

How could it be Arthur?

The sound of Amelia crying forced her to return. Her baby needed her. Amelia was real.

Naomi forced her eyes open and then blinked. She had not seen a ghost. The eyes staring down at her weren't the clear blue of a summer sky. They were brown… a sickly brown. The man who had returned with Luke was Arthur. Chestnut hair hung in tangled strands around his face, and the breath that met her nostrils tempted her to turn away in revulsion.

She pushed him away instead, but he only drew back enough so that he could assist her to a sitting position.

She looked beyond him, casting her gaze about in search of reassurance and comfort until she found what she sought, a few feet away, holding Amelia protectively.

Luke! But the four of them were not alone.

Lady Tempest hovered nearby, and her eldest son was crouching behind Arthur.

A man who had been presumed dead. But how? Why?

"Luke?" Naomi spoke his name instead of so many questions. He would know. "What? How?"

"You didn't get the letter. Blackheart didn't get it." Luke's voice came out flat. She had never before seen him so defeated.

"Letter?" she repeated dumbly.

"I sent word to Blackheart. I wanted to protect you from the shock of this… He was supposed to tell you."

An odd part of her brain acknowledged the miscommunication. "He's in London with Lydia. Help me up." She was trapped on the ground by her skirts. Instead of Luke rushing forward, however, it was Lord Tempest who offered his hand.

Upright again, she got a better look at Arthur. Either he had been injured and was barely recovered or he had been very ill.

He looked as if he was dying.

Last November, she would have been devastated to see him this way. She would have fallen into his arms, overjoyed that he'd come back to her at all. She would have demanded his family send for a physician immediately and ushered him to their chamber, comforted him with loving touches and gentle words.

But now she looked upon Arthur Gilcrest and saw a stranger. A man who had hidden all the worst parts of himself—parts that were many and damning. He had betrayed her when she was at her most vulnerable. The person she loved had been a lie. He did not exist. She'd mourned that person, and then she had been forced to mourn the death of the lie.

She didn't know this man who stood before her now. Had she ever?

"Perhaps we should go inside," Lady Tempest suggested. "Arthur needs to rest."

Even if Naomi hadn't realized something was wrong with him, she would have known after taking one look at his mother. Her son, who had been presumed dead, had come home alive, and yet her eyes were filled with sadness and the lines around her mouth seemed even more pronounced.

When Arthur failed to respond in any way or move to do as his mother had asked, his older brother stepped forward. "Arthur," Lord Tempest said, more firmly this time. "You must rest."

"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, you know."

There was the ghost of his old teasing grin, but it was strained and 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?" she clarified with a raised eyebrow. "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 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 had to fight down the 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. Trembling, 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 were moist and cold as he tucked her hand into his arm. The arm itself 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, limping along as they began what was sure to be a slow and tedious journey toward the house.

"I was taken prisoner," he answered shortly.

"And 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 and the picture they conjured in her mind, almost against her will. 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 took a breath and let it out slowly, 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 there, holding the door wide.

For her and Gil.

Arthur seemed to spot him just after she did. "If it wasn't for Luke," he said, his lips twisting with some emotion she couldn't name, "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.

While Naomi waited for her vision to become accustomed to the darkness of the parlor, 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," Arthur replied, more tersely than Naomi thought was strictly called for. He should be in bed. His hands had felt cold to the touch, and yet, beads of perspiration dappled his brow and the skin 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, but he put a hand up to stop her and stepped backward, restoring the distance between them.

Naomi's breath froze in her lungs. Although the circumstances were completely different, her heart recognized this feeling. A crumbling keystone, a shattering.

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, Luke 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 to smother his frustration, and he chastised himself for entertaining such thoughts. 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.

But there was always the chance that it might 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. 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. He 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."

Her eyes widened and then a shudder ran through her small frame. "The sores."

Luke nodded and watched as all the ramifications assaulted her. Gil's return, this illness… and his inevitable death, a second one, essentially. His fingers itched to stroke the delicate line of her jaw, but he only allowed himself to reach for her hands.

She was more beautiful now than when he'd left her. And the baby. A beautiful little girl, only she looked just like her father.

He'd expected to wait a full year, but Gil's return changed everything. The life Luke had dreamed of went up in smoke the day his unit invaded the insurgents' compound.

It shouldn't have. She was his. Damnit, he was hers.

"I wouldn't." Her voice emerged a whisper, her eyes begging him for reassurance.

Luke squeezed both of her hands but then took another step back. He hated that he felt awkward with her. He hated everything about this. Cut me open and bleed me out, but not this.

"We… need to wait."

"I know… I just." Her voice broke.

He knew what she needed to hear, but he couldn't bring himself to speculate. No one could possibly know. And to wish the time away seemed almost evil.

Luke smiled sadly and shook his head. "Could be months. Could be years."

She stared at him and then swallowed hard. By all rights, she should be his, but to protect her and her daughter from the potential scandal…

"What will you do?" Her question nearly ripped his heart in two. He turned to stare at a vase of flowers placed on a pedestal near the door, unable to meet whatever he would find in her eyes.

"I'll wait to sell out."

She stifled what he could only imagine would have been a sob. How many times had he held her while she'd cried over Gil? Luke berated himself a thousand times for not insisting he have more evidence of his men's deaths. He ought to have investigated, demanded remains.

If he could have saved Gil all those months ago… But then there was the matter of Gil's numerous deceptions. How much of it would have ever come to light if he'd never been captured, never declared dead? They were mired in a tangled mess of lies and betrayal, and all he could do was wait.

"You'll return to the conflict?"

He couldn't look at her. "Yes." And then he cleared his throat. "It's for the best."

Naomi didn't respond right away, obviously struggling with all this, but when she did, her voice was steady and clear and true.

"I love you, Luke."

Her words sliced right through him—because he felt the same.

Gil had always complained that Luke was given more than him in life. Luke had been born the second son of a duke —Gil, of an earl . Gil had joked that nobody ever milorded him. And then Luke had risen to the rank of major and Gil that of captain.

But for now, Gil had Naomi. He'd fathered her child. The child's future was all that mattered. And Naomi's reputation.

Luke jerked his head and when he met her pleading eyes, he nearly threw caution, honor, everything to the wind in order to beg her to run away with him. They could go somewhere far away.

"I love you." Luke fisted his hands at his side upon making the admission. He wasn't sure what the future held, but he knew this. "I always will."

She watched him and then dipped her chin. "There is no choice, is there?" She sounded bitter. And, of course, she had every right to be. "When are you—" She inhaled a shaky breath. "When will you go?"

It was the only way he could keep away from her. "A fortnight. I'll reside at Crescent Park for a few days." He wasn't sure why. He needed to breathe the same air she did though, if only for a very short time. "Then I'll go down to London before returning to Portsmouth."

"Lydia will like that." Her smile was a tremulous one. Of course, his sisters would not have left her alone, especially after Amelia had been born.

"Your daughter is beautiful." It didn't make sense that he should feel so much love for a child who wasn't his own. But he loved her mother.

"Not blonde."

"Not blonde, or blue-eyed. But she has her mother's mouth, her lips." Luke went to lift his hand but then checked himself. "She is yours."

Unable to show one another how they felt, knowing the future wasn't theirs, the atmosphere between them was suddenly uncomfortable, stilted.

Luke cleared his throat. "I will visit before I leave." It would be expected of him. He'd been the person to ‘save' Gil, after all. They'd been friends and companions for a good part of their lives. And it was possible it would be the last time he'd see the man alive.

It was Naomi who stepped back this time. "Arthur will appreciate that."

Something in the way she spoke indicated she was slipping into her role as Gil's wife again.

Luke clenched his jaw and frowned. "Don't let him touch you," he reiterated.

It was none of his business, but… Damn it all to hell, she most definitely was his business. Even if Gil hadn't contracted the clap, Luke would tear Gil to pieces before allowing him to touch her.

And how the hell had Gil contracted it if he'd been kept locked away and tortured?

Luke had doubts; he simply hadn't any evidence. When he'd asked Gil the most elementary of questions, he'd answered that his memory was impaired. He'd then denied Luke's implication emphatically— too emphatically.

And yet, Luke hadn't taken his suspicions to the War Office. Gil was likely on his death bed, and if he was wrong… Due process would consume Gil's remaining days.

Luke would conduct interviews, collect evidence, and report his findings. It was more than his mission; it was his duty. He owed it to the men who had died. His findings could just as easily exonerate Gil as condemn him. But either way, Luke needed to know.

He hoped like hell he was wrong.

But someday. Someday all of this would be over.

Luke turned away and reached to open the door, but her voice halted him.

"The world may see Arthur as my husband but, Luke, you are the other half of me." Emotion rolled off her in waves. The longing to turn around, to taste her lips, the sweet heaven he'd dreamt of for months, was nearly too much to resist. His arms ached to hold her again. His body ached to reclaim the intimacy they'd shared.

He clenched his fists at his side. If only he could steal her and little Amelia away… If only Gil hadn't…

If only…

Unable to bear the torment of his thoughts, he pushed forward and escaped into the sunlight.