9. Wising Up

WISING UP

N aomi retreated to her room the moment they returned to the cottage, her mind a hurricane of doubts and fears and hurt. Once again, it seemed that her world was crashing down around her.

Arthur, what did you do? Why?

She'd loved him, and she thought he'd loved her. She'd torn apart her life for him and for the family that they were supposed to build together—and it had been worth it, was still worth it, for the life that was growing inside of her, but that sacrifice… it wasn't insignificant. And now, with his death still aching like a rotting wound in her heart, she had this to contend with.

What would she have done without Luke? His calm and steady presence had given her just enough strength to walk away from that woman with her dignity intact.

How had she been so na?ve? She had been waiting for him to come home to her, and he'd been in another woman's bed! She covered her mouth, willing herself not to be sick.

Had Arthur loved her at all? Her blood turned cold and she exhaled a shaky breath. He'd married her because he hadn't any choice.

The smallest seed of optimism suggested that the woman had been lying, but just as quickly as it sprouted, Naomi squashed it.

The woman had been telling the truth. She'd known too much. Naomi had only seen what she wanted to see.

She wiped her arm across her eyes and sniffed. She'd cried buckets of tears for him already—rivers—and had given him the benefit of the doubt on so many occasions—too many occasions.

Weary from it all, she attempted to push the betrayal aside and peered into the small dressing room that adjoined her chamber. Arthur had left a few belongings at home—items that had seemed oddly insignificant at the time. Coats, shirts, a pair of boots, and a folded pair of breeches in the far corner. A well-made but smallish trunk had been pushed snugly against the wall.

As she pushed the boots to the side, she couldn't help wondering if Arthur had kept similar items in that woman's room.

She ached from thinking about all of it. She was tired of being sad, and now confused, and angry. It was exhausting.

A nudging kick from inside startled her out of the morose miasma her thoughts had become, and Naomi touched a hand to her belly. There was another little thump, almost as if in response to the contact. It was the strangest feeling.

Her baby was already so strong.

This tiny human growing inside of her was her purpose now. Naomi's resolve, which had begun to falter, strengthened at the reminder.

Naomi dragged a small stool into the dressing room and sat down in front of the trunk. Luke had assured her she didn't need to find the paperwork today. He'd suggested she rest, read a book, take a short walk.

Break a few dishes.

He'd stared at her hard and then put water on the stove to make tea for both of them.

No one had ever worried about her the way he did, as though he was more in tune with her feelings than he was with even his own.

Trepidation cautioned her as she stared at Arthur's trunk. Would she find other secrets he had been hiding? Discover other betrayals? She swallowed hard. If they existed and if there was proof, she'd rather discover them now.

She'd rather learn of them on her own accord. Not by running into yet another woman with horrid accusations.

She'd been living in the dark, but no more.

The chest wasn't locked and the latch snapped open easily. As a youth, had Arthur packed this same trunk to take with him to school? She pinched her lips together and dismissed the image. Such were thoughts a grieving woman might have for a husband who had loved her.

Had he loved her at all? He could not have!

She reached inside and braced herself.

A bottle, half full of some sort of liquor. She uncorked it. Rum. Nothing surprising in that. She sealed the bottle and set it to the side.

A tin of tooth powder, soap, and a brush. For an instant, it was almost as though he had stepped into the room with her, the scent was so familiar.

Stinging tears threatened the backs of her eyes but it was easier to blink them away this time.

After removing a few books, one of which had illustrations that made her raise her brows, she came across a worn leather satchel.

She hadn't paid close attention to the administrative details of their marriage at the time, but she did remember signing a certificate. And since he hadn't bothered notifying the War Office, and it hadn't been with his other belongings, she hoped he'd at least had the courtesy of leaving it here where she could find it.

Opening the satchel, the scent that had grown familiar to her this summer nearly overwhelmed her. She lifted the leather to her nose and sniffed. It didn't have the same effect it had before. Was she already falling out of love with him?

Was she that fickle? Or was she simply wising up?

She wasn't fool enough not to admit to herself where he'd been on those nights he'd failed to come home. Not only did the facts make sense, but she was easily able to conjure images of Arthur making love to that other woman.

And it hurt.

It would always hurt—his betrayal.

How had she been so stupid? There had been moments when doubt niggled at her—when she'd been lying in bed alone because he'd not returned for the night and wondered... The first time she'd been terrified for his safety, certain something had happened to him. Why else wouldn't he come home to his wife at night? In fact, she hadn't slept at all, and by the time he showed his face later the next morning, she'd been so grateful that he was not injured or worse that she'd accepted his explanation without question.

She'd wanted to rage at him, but her upbringing had kept her from doing so. Ladies did not fly into a blue temper at their husbands.

She'd gone on to purposefully ignore the possibility that Arthur would be unfaithful to her. She'd dismissed it outright. While at home, he'd been a perfect husband. Hadn't he? He'd never given her any reason to mistrust him.

Had he?

"Are you having any luck?" Luke had silently entered the room and was leaning against the doorframe. "Tea's ready."

In answer, Naomi lifted the leather bag.

He nodded. "I won't impose on your privacy. Ester's nephew stopped by to pass along that she's going to remain at her sister's until Sunday." And then he ruefully pushed off as though preparing to leave.

But Naomi didn't want him to go. "You are never an imposition," she said before he could step back through the doorway. "You've been a godsend." How quiet the house would be after he'd gone—after he'd fulfilled the expectations he'd set for himself as far as she was concerned—and departed for Crescent Park. Even Ester couldn't afford to remain here if Naomi wasn't able to pay her.

"I'm not sure God would agree." With his face partially hidden in shadow, she couldn't quite make out his expression.

"Do you have to go?" It was a foolish thing to ask. Of course, he was going to have to return home. His sisters and his brother were likely already concerned by his absence.

But he'd misunderstood her question. "You don't want to be alone overnight?"

She had considered her reluctance to spend the night unaccompanied already and determined she had no choice in the matter. Naomi was a grown woman and as such was quite capable of sleeping through the night on her own. She'd learn to cope without a protector, without a husband.

She stared at the corner where Arthur's boots had been placed and shivered.

Ghosts of betrayal and grief surrounded her everywhere.

She didn't want to be alone tonight.

"You… could sleep in the blue room." She'd prepared it for if, or when, Arthur's mother or her parents ever deigned to visit them. She'd optimistically considered it a possibility for when the baby came.

She'd hoped. She'd once been confident that she would have a normal relationship with her parents again, and with Arthur's mother and brother as well.

Was deception normal for Arthur? He'd passionately declared his love for her on numerous occasions. The words had passed his lips easily.

Too easily. And all the while, she'd been living in a state of ignorant bliss. "It's not as though I have a reputation to uphold," she added unthinkingly, but then she froze.

It was a truth she thought she'd come to terms with, something she'd known the moment she found out she was with child. But back then, she'd had Arthur. She'd thought his love would be enough to carry her through, when her parents abandoned her and Society turned on her. Now though, the words sent an unfamiliar wave of emptiness shooting through her. It was as though she was floating around in the night sky with nothing to ground her. Lost and numb, she dropped the satchel and raised her hands to her face.

"Oh, God."

Luke rushed to her side. "Let it out." He lifted her as though she weighed nothing and carried her out of this haunted dressing room. Lowering her onto the edge of the bed, he then sat beside her, tucking her into his side.

What was she going to do without him?

"Don't worry about the damn paperwork today." He squeezed her closer to him. For the second time that day, she was in this man's arms. Tremors flowed through her, and she wasn't sure if it was because of Arthur or because of Luke. "A time will come when you look back on all of this and know your life is better for it."

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Being pathetic was wearing on her. "And you? Will you do the same after you've retired?"

He didn't answer but rubbed his hand briskly up and down her arm.

And when she closed her eyes, Naomi didn't imagine herself in Arthur's arms. Even if she'd wanted to, there were differences that were impossible to ignore.

Luke's chest was thicker. His shoulders were wider. And his scent was most definitely his own. It was earthier and contrasted starkly with the fragrance on Arthur's belongings. Naomi turned and wound her arms around his waist.

"Did you bed her as well?" That woman claimed that Naomi could never have Luke either. She'd stared at him with an air of… knowing.

The question wasn't a fair one, and yet Naomi couldn't ignore the parting shot Arthur's lover had taken.

"Who, the barmaid?"

"Her." She didn't want to refer to that woman as Arthur's mistress out loud. Because it made Naomi feel like less of a woman. It made her feel dirty—tarnished.

"No."

"You know her, though? What's her name?" Why would she want to know this? It didn't make sense, but she did.

She felt Luke's chest fall as he exhaled loudly. "Bridget."

Bridget. It didn't sound like the name of a light skirt. It sounded like the name of a perfectly normal woman. Had Arthur loved Bridget?

"I can't help thinking I'm to blame for it. That she's right." If only she hadn't given in to Arthur's… persuasiveness. Oh, but he hadn't had to do much convincing. She'd been curious. He'd promised they'd be together, and she had wanted him as badly as anything she'd ever wanted up until then.

Had Arthur felt trapped by her? And yet, he hadn't been the only one. She had been trapped as well.

"No one is at fault but Gil." Luke drew back just enough to stare at her intently. "You both made the decision?—"

"Were there others? Before the attack…?" These questions, asking them out loud, it hurt, but she couldn't tell if it was because she was pouring salt onto her wounds or cutting something putrid out of her life.

Again, this wasn't a fair question to ask him. Luke had been Arthur's friend, and having a brother herself, Naomi understood how men tended to protect one another. But Luke was here. She was touching him. He was solid and alive, and she begged him with her eyes for the answers she needed.

"I know of none since your marriage." He palmed the side of her face. "And although his reputation as a rogue before then was not unfounded, you must always remember that he did not marry Bridget or anyone else. He married you ."

"Please don't defend him." It was easier if she could hate Arthur now. She'd mourned the loss of his life; now she would mourn the loss of what she'd believed had been love.

She wanted to erase Arthur from her life, but he was the father of her child. How dare he do this to her? How dare he pretend to love her and their child? How dare he pretend their marriage had meant something to him? Her heart broke open and released anything she'd ever felt for that lying, cheating, manipulative rogue.

Had he privately mocked her when he'd stroked his body into hers?

She lifted her face to Luke's and tugged him toward her. "Hold me," she demanded. "Kiss me." Luke was here. He was a good man. He wouldn't have hurt her as Arthur had.

Suddenly, she wanted to replace the feel of Arthur's hands on her body with another's. She wanted Luke to claim her instead. She wanted him. She needed him.

And Luke was here, holding her. He'd wanted her earlier when he'd stopped the cart and then kissed her. She'd sensed it by the rasping of his breath and the way his hand had settled on the side of her ribcage. The way his thumb had brushed the tender underside of her breast.

His mouth was hesitant beneath hers. "Naomi," he groaned.

She hauled him closer, practically climbing him. "Luke," she gasped into his mouth, her hands seeking hungrily. "Make love to me. Please." Was she begging? He would fulfill a desperate need that was also fueled by something else. Something almost violent. She clumsily struggled against her gown until her legs were free so she could straddle him. She wouldn't leave his embrace for anything.

His whiskers grazed against her lips when she frantically tasted his cheek and jaw—his chin. She found his mouth again and scraped her teeth against his. "Luke."

Silky tufts of hair slid through her fingers as she clutched the sides of his head. And then she felt it—his arousal straining beneath her. Fueled by this primitive emptiness, she bore down against it. She wanted—she needed…

"I need… I need you."

His arms tensed around her. He wasn't pushing her away. But in a wave of shame, she comprehended that he wasn't participating either.

Could she be any more pathetic?

Hating that she could know so much rejection in one day, she released him and jerked to break free.

Only his arms held her tight, not allowing her to escape.

"Let me go! Just go! I don't need you. I don't need anyone." It was too much.

"Naomi." His hands were in her hair now. And then his lips touched her forehead as he cradled her head beneath his chin. "I want you. So much. But not like this. Not like this, sweet girl."

"I'm not a sweet girl." She was anything but.

His fingertips slid around to clasp the sides of her face. Oh, but he was going to force her to meet his eyes. After she'd essentially attacked him in her bedroom. His gaze wasn't accusing though. It was almost loving.

"You are my sweet girl, and I will make love to you. I promise you that. But not now. Not like this. You've been through too much. If I had only myself to consider, believe me, your clothing would be strewn about the floor already. And I'd be learning every inch of you—savoring the taste of you everywhere, your lips, your breasts, between your silky thighs. When that time comes, I'll know the heaven of being inside of you."

Naomi swallowed hard. Yes. That was what she wanted. His words made her want him even more. She dared not dwell on them. But… between her silky thighs ? Heat flooded to her core. He was right there.

But he wanted to wait. Of course, he would wish to wait. She was nearly seven months into her pregnancy!

What was she thinking?

"I've been so stupid." She'd kept this admission to herself for months now. She'd been utterly stupid for going off with Arthur alone when she'd known she shouldn't—by allowing him one impropriety after another and then by going against her own inclinations and believing his words of love.

"We all are sometimes."

"I can't imagine you doing anything remotely as stupid as I've done."