7. Lies and Broken Promises

LIES AND brOKEN PROMISES

N aomi climbed the stairs to her chamber, her mind caught up in a whirlwind of sensations. This was the first time Luke had told her anything about himself, and she was warmed that he had. No doubt, Luke Cockfield was the most compassionate person she'd ever known. Of course, she'd never experienced battle. She couldn't begin to comprehend the violence or the ensuing devastation. But she'd overheard stories told by a few of her uncles who had fought at Waterloo.

Gruesome, harrowing stories.

And this man, the second son of one of England's most enigmatic dukes, possessed a heart of gold. He did not require awards or medals to prove it. He'd exhibited his exceptional character from the moment he climbed off his horse to give her word of Arthur's death in person.

He hadn't been required to deliver such news in person. Most widows were only afforded a brief letter; some discovered the loss of their loved one by reading about it in the Gazette .

Drawing the edges of her shawl around her shoulders, she stared into the small looking glass over her vanity.

Upon reflection, she had recognized his goodness last spring.

And now, as if to contrast that goodness specifically, she had this message from the War Office to contend with.

Had she deliberately blinded herself to Arthur's failings? The question was an awful one, and it made her feel disloyal and guilty.

Was she allowed to be angry with her dead husband? How could he have been so irresponsible that he would forget to inform the proper office that he had a wife? He'd promised her he would do it first thing. He'd promised her she'd not have to worry over finances.

He'd promised he would fix the damn porch. And the trim! And the roof!

But this.

This oversight was unconscionable.

Even dead, he was breaking promises he'd made to her.

Her eyes stung, and she blinked back the tears that welled so quickly and easily these days, frustrated.

She hated that she wanted to yell at him, that he couldn't answer to her or defend himself. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair! What would she have done if Luke had never come?

She would have sat around waiting until she had no money for food or to pay Ester. Would she have been forced to go begging to his family? Or to grovel to her own, pleading for forgiveness? Or, even worse, what would have happened to her if neither of their families was willing to take pity on her?

The thought frightened her. Essentially, she would have been helpless, and Arthur must have known that this was a possibility; he'd joined the army, not gone on holiday. But he'd left her with no funds and few resources, all because he was—what? Too forgetful, too careless to file the paperwork?

But Luke had arrived, and he'd made sure to take care of the things that she couldn't while she'd been recovering from the shock of her husband's death.

Naomi brushed away some stray hairs that had escaped the knot she'd tied at the back of her head earlier, met her own reflected gaze, and pondered Luke's second admission.

He wanted to court me.

She had been attracted to the very young major, and she certainly hadn't been the only lady. Naomi remembered experiencing an almost giddy feeling when she'd danced with him.

It had been a waltz.

And later that week, she'd been flattered when he'd offered to row her around the small pond behind Lady Chamberlayne's elegant mansion.

Luke wanted to court me .

She'd had no idea. So many fresh debutantes had vied for his attentions. Ladies younger than her—prettier than her.

What if she had known?

Should she tell him that Arthur hadn't asked to court her until the morning after the garden party? Her eye twitched. With each passing day, Arthur's failings were becoming more apparent.

Jolted from her disloyal thoughts by the sound of Luke bringing the cart around to the front of the house, Naomi pinched her lips together.

She didn't want to think about last spring anymore. She'd made her choices, and she would live with them. She snatched up her reticule and bolted down the stairwell.

Attentive as usual, Luke assisted her off the porch and then onto the bench of the cart.

Along with his hat, he'd donned his jacket again, not the one that was part of his uniform, but a simple black one that he'd worn more recently while working on the repairs.

As they drew away from the house, he seemed tense beside her, staring straight ahead.

"I would have said yes." She wasn't sure why she blurted her thoughts out like that, but he'd been nothing but honest with her, and it felt only right to reciprocate in some way.

His glance was questioning.

"I would have allowed you to court me." Of course she would have.

"But Arthur had already?—"

"He didn't ask me until the day after the garden party. He lied to you." She hated that word: lied. Because it had her wondering if he'd lied about other things. Had he broken other promises as well? "I'm so damn mad at him, Luke."

Luke had been Gil's friend. He would understand. He was perhaps one of the only people she knew who wouldn't judge her for this truth.

She almost felt a sense of relief to make such an admission. Because, if she was honest with herself, she'd been angry with Arthur for weeks now, months. When they first married, he'd made all sorts of promises. And then he'd always had some sort of excuse to break them—or delay them. Yes, he'd usually delayed them. And she'd made excuse upon excuse for him as well, convincing herself she was being too demanding—too picky. They'd been in love and she was his wife! She wasn't supposed to find fault with him so quickly.

Luke pulled the cart to a halt and turned to face her. "It's alright to be angry. It doesn't change who he is—that you loved him."

She shook her head. "I married him. I'm supposed to be loyal to his memory, but now I don't even know if that memory was real. I don't even know what to feel anymore." Had she been so blinded by her physical passion that she'd chosen not to see her husband's flaws? Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Tears of betrayal and guilt and confusion.

Luke lifted his hand, rough from the labor he'd finished over the past two weeks, and cradled the side of her face. "You're allowed to feel whatever you want."

She swallowed hard, a tumult of emotions clogging her throat at the look in his eyes. What if Arthur hadn't lied to Luke and Luke had courted her first? "I'm not sure if I can trust my feelings."

Which feelings was she talking about? The ones she had had for Arthur or the ones threatening to overflow now? Longings that had her staring into eyes the color of a brilliant sapphire, feeling lost but also very, very much at home.

His thumb moved in slow circles on her chin, and then just below her lips.

This close, she could make out each individual whisker on his jaw and noticed for the first time a white scar trailing from just below his lip to the edge of his chin.

This close, she recognized desire and affection in his steady gaze.

For what seemed like forever, neither of them moved. Time stood still as the world came to a halt, but for a bird singing nearby and the breeze rustling the leaves in a distant grove of trees. She held her breath, afraid to move. Afraid to do anything that would break this moment and send her spiraling back into her reality.

For a while now, perhaps even before Major Lucas Cockfield had arrived at her cottage with news of loss, her world had been almost tilted. Foggy, shaken. But here and now, everything felt crystal clear.

"Naomi," he whispered as his face moved closer. "Stop me."

But she didn't want to stop him. Because this madness made sense. As uncertain as she was about everything else, right now she wanted nothing more than for Luke to kiss her.

His gaze flicked to her mouth and then back to her eyes, and she recognized that he was possibly as confused as she was.

Was this fate or was this a very bad decision? She'd wrestle with those questions later. As would he.

Of its own accord, her hand slid up his arm and reached around the back of his head. Beneath her fingers, his skin was rough along his throat and jaw, and then smooth and hot at the back of his neck.

"I don't want to stop you," she breathed.

Her words were enough.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

The kiss was soft, tentative almost, and yet he might as well have set a flint to dry tinder. The feelings she'd been fighting at night and sometimes when she watched him work surged from her core to her breasts and between her legs.

His kiss was exactly as she'd expected it to be but also so much more. Tender at first, gentle. His lips were firm though, and although his tongue slid along the seam of her mouth, he waited until hers parted in invitation before deepening the kiss.

Luke had inexplicably become her anchor, but they were both caught in forbidden waters.

She was newly widowed, swollen with another man's baby.

And yet she could not deny the completion of his embrace, the authenticity of his affection.

A rumble hummed in his chest as he adjusted his head, drawing them closer together, heightening the intimacy between them.

She yearned for these feelings to go on forever. This connection. This… rightness.

Because once it was over, they would have to face the impossibility of it ever happening again. They'd have to acknowledge the kiss as nothing more than a mistake. Because where could they go from here?

Is it a mistake?

Or was it the best thing that could happen to her? She'd made so many mistakes in the past year. Mistakes that had cost her her family, her reputation.

Luke sighed and their lips separated with a soft kiss. The loss made her feel like crying again.

He didn't release her right away but instead drew her into the shelter of his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. "It doesn't need to make sense for now. Nothing does."

He was so sweet—too good to be true. Naomi trailed her hand down his arm and a tremor ran through his solid frame. And then she pressed her face into his neck and inhaled. Leathery, spicy, and masculine. Raw.

Real.

What was happening?