Chapter Eleven

February 7, 1818

L ife had fallen into a comfortable rhythm in the days following the consummation of his marriage, and for that, Simon was grateful as well as surprised.

Over the past few days, he and Hattie spent much of their time together unless he had a concert performance. It was becoming more difficult to keep the secret from her, but it was something he believed needed to remain completely his. Before marriage, he'd kept a rigid schedule, lead a well-ordered life, but since the advent of his wife, the majority of that relaxed, or rather his diary became full of other, more important entries.

Since the weather had turned colder and there was snow more or less every day, they kept inside the townhouse, and without a music master, she'd cajoled him to teach her. It wasn't a hardship, for the notes she created on her flute were ethereal and angelic. It was only her attention to said task that needed focus. The times she asked him to accompany her on the pianoforte, he declined.

When they weren't practicing music, they would retire to the drawing room where they would either read quietly by themselves, or he would read aloud tidbits from the papers or books he found interesting. At times, she would recite poems—some of them quite scandalous—or he would teach or how to play various card games and recently the game of chess.

Dinner was usually a quiet affair. If he was home, they'd discuss his country property or her family. He'd told her of his, but since he was an only child and neither of his parents had living siblings, the conversations were short. Things that were not discussed were their future together or the state of their marriage.

But the times he treasured the most were when they both retired, for she'd fallen into the habit of sleeping in his bed. Since they'd wed, her suite had only been utilized once. Not that he minded. It had long been a hope of his that when—or if—he found a female companion or a wife, she would feel comfortable around him and enjoy being with him no matter what. It was in those hours he felt close to Hattie. Once the darkness fell and the candles were extinguished, they would talk of other topics that perhaps they didn't have the courage to explore in the light.

She'd become enamored of his tattoo and asked to see it often. When she traced the lines of the ink with her fingers or tongue, he nearly lost his mind, and sometimes those innocent explorations turned into frantic and intense couplings. In fact, they spent copious amounts of time in bed, and he figured joining with his wife, learning about what she liked and showing her what he enjoyed, was one of the best ways to get to know her. Never in all his dreams or hopes for his life did he think he would have found common ground in a forced marriage. However, she had a zest for everything in life that matched his own. He admired her opinions on a variety of topics and how she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, even when those viewpoints differed from his. He adored how much she enjoyed food, and found her curves and extra weight an enticing distraction even when she despaired that her form made her different from what was popular.

And through it all, he appreciated her presence. Far too rapidly, she was becoming a friend and a vital part of his life, but there were still missing pieces, and until they told those stories, full trust couldn't grow.

At dawn, he woke as he did every day—it was a habit he couldn't manage to forget—and after donning his eyepatch, Simon rolled over and nudged Hattie awake. When she uttered an unintelligible greeting, he nuzzled the crook of her shoulder. "Time to wake, my lady."

She waved a hand at him, pushed at his chest. "Go 'way, Captain. I need my sleep."

To be fair, he did keep her up rather late last night, but there was so much pleasure to be found in her lush body, for them both. "That's too bad, because I am going riding in Hyde Park."

"Have fun." Then she rolled over, which exposed her back and one buttock, for she hadn't donned her night dress after their tryst last night.

"Hmm, I'd thought to have you accompany me. There are boy's breeches and a shirt on the chair in the dressing room." Then, feeling a tad wicked, he leaned over and gave her arse cheek a light smack. The crisp sound echoed in the silence of the room. "But I suppose I'll go by myself."

A gasp issued from her. Hattie turned her head to glance at him, and there was a decided grin curving her kissable lips. "You don't play fair."

"Does that mean you'll join me?" Truly, he was a bastard, but there was something playful in their relationship he refused to ignore merely because society expected a married couple to act a certain way.

"Yes, of course. Give me half an hour."

"I'll give you fifteen before I head to the mews." Then a chuckle, he turned about and took a step toward the door. A second later, a pillow sailed through the air to strike him on the back, which only made him laugh harder.

He was rather coming to adore his wife. And that gave him pause. Wasn't it too early in the relationship for such things?

A half hour later, he tore through the streets of Mayfair at a gallop with Hattie keeping pace at his side, and they rode on a pair of dappled gray mares. It was early enough in the morning that not many people were about, and chilly enough that their breath clouded around their heads, which further kept residents inside.

The thunder of the horses' hooves echoed loudly until they reached Hyde Park, then when they maneuvered onto the hard-packed dirt bridal paths, the earth muffled the sound. Deeper and deeper they went into the park, and the ring of Hattie's laughter was such a joyous sound, Samuel vowed to make her do that more often. And what was more, she was an accomplished horsewoman who could ride astride as if she were a boy. His respect and admiration for her edged up even higher.

After a decent amount of exercise, he gestured at her to stop and give the horses a rest and allow them a drink in a shallow stream that hadn't frozen all the way through. Once he dismounted and tossed his reins over the pommel, he assisted her down from her mount.

God, she'd been spectacular bent over her horse's neck with her legs fully on display in the breeches as she balanced herself on the mare's back. The folds of her cloak had rippled around her and streamed behind her, and though her glorious blonde hair had been pinned up and hidden by the slouch-style cap, she was even more lovely than she'd been when he'd seen her the first time in her night dress.

Somewhat breathless, he led her to a weather-worn footbridge over the stream while the horses took advantage of the grazing time. "Was that worth rising early for?"

"Absolutely, it was." Her grin could rival the rising sun. "Thank you for that gift. Truly, it was the most fun I have had in months."

Simon couldn't help but tease her. "Even above what we've been getting up to once night falls?"

She gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. "Well, there is no comparison to that , but you know what I meant."

"I do." Despite the chill in the air, it was rather cozy being here with her. He rested his hands on the wooden rail of the bridge and stared into the slow-moving water of the stream. "Are you comfortable enough here? If you are too cold, we can head back."

"Let's linger here a bit. I find the chilly air refreshing." She moved to stand next to him. "At least during winter, there aren't as many people in the park, so it's fairly peaceful."

"It is." Perhaps it was time to let her deeper into his life. "I would like to tell you how I lost my eye, if you wish to know."

"Oh, of course I would like to know." Hattie peered up at him. "I'm delighted you would trust me with such information."

He nodded. "I was in the navy for many years. Some of that time we saw battle, some of that time our ships chased down pirates in the Caribbean and other far seas. However, the American colonies were quite spirited after they entertained their independence, so when the War of 1812 came about, England was determined to quell any further sass."

"I can only imagine the anticipation and anxiety you must have felt while at the helm."

"One day I will tell you stories and try to give you a feel of what it is like to be on a ship and the seas." It had been a long time since he'd talked of his service, for it wasn't something needed for his future and it often made him too maudlin, but she was a willing listener and that made all the difference. "Some aren't fit for genteel ears, though."

"Don't mind my sensitivities, Captain, I am not squeamish or missish."

"No you are not." Thank the heavens for that. "In any event, my ship was one of the vessels sent to meet the American navy during that ill-fated battle. There was a time when we might have had the upper hand, but a cannon ball came hurtling onto deck as I was walking it. The ball plowed into the planking of the deck. Splinters and heated shrapnel exploded all around me, and some of those pieces caught me in the eye and the side of the head." He lifted a hand to lightly brush the side of his face and eyepatch. "There were too many to extract cleanly and even if a surgeon had managed the trick—ours on board had been killed in the battle—there was no guarantee I could have been able to see."

Such compassion welled in her eyes that he was quickly overwhelmed by it. "That must have been such a painful time in your life."

"In many ways, for that accident ended my career, and I have missed the sea ever since."

"Yet you didn't become a fisherman or open a shipping career to stay near the sea." She frowned. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I enjoy the life in London more."

"Fair enough. Town does offer many entertainments." The smile she gave him dazzled him and worked to further scatter his ability to think straight. Each time he was in her company, he slid a bit more down that slippery slope toward certain folly. Turning fully to him, Hattie caressed the side of his face, drew a fingertip along the edge of his eye patch, and he trembled from apprehension. "Simon?"

"Yes?" He took shallow breaths, for he knew what she'd ask, and he had been dreading this moment since they'd wed.

"May I see the space where your eye used to be?" Concern and perhaps a trace of curiosity reflected in her face beneath the brim of her slouch cap.

"I… It's not attractive." He gently held her hand away and fought the urge to pull away entirely from her. "As I said, the ship's surgeon was killed in the battle, so his assistant had to suffice after the eyeball itself was removed. The empty socket was stitched in a rush." He swallowed hard to encourage moisture into his suddenly dry throat. "The wounds have healed but the socket is a bit sunken and there are many scars."

"Hush. There shouldn't be shame in something that has made you into the man you are now, the man I married." Her frown nearly sent him to his knees. "Please let me see."

How did he think he could deny her? "I don't blame you if you wish to distance yourself from me after this. It is quite… a lot."

"Stop, Captain. We all have things we don't like about ourselves that we wish to hide from the world. For me, it's the extra weight."

"You are intent on pushing my boundaries." When she nodded, he blew out a breath. It had been a long time since he'd needed to screw his courage to the stinking place, but with a shaking hand, he slowly removed the eye patch.

And he hoped to God she wasn't repulsed.

"Oh, Simon." As she stared in horror, her attention riveted to his empty eye socket sewn closed with the scars from messy stitches, his stomach bottomed out. The urge to cast up his accounts grew strong. "You poor thing."

Cold disappointment flooded his gut. "You think me a monster." It wasn't a question.

"A monster? Not at all." The tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow. "It's shocking, yes, but then anything associated with war is." To her credit, she didn't look away. "Like anything else, once I'm accustomed to it, I won't notice."

"Yet you will always remember you married a disfigured man and know you could have done so much better." With anger and regret welling in his chest in a hot wave, he turned away, marched off the footbridge, just needing to get away, to regain his composure.

"Simon, stop!" Of course Hattie wouldn't stand for the retreat, and she soon caught him up. Her hand on his arm sent awareness and annoyance through his person. "You must admit that anyone would be shocked when presented with such a thing. It is how wounds are."

"Yes, but…" The remembrance of seeing himself in mirrors after he'd been patched up, had been horrifying, and perhaps he assumed everyone would react that way. "You are with me, and that means once we fall into a domestic pattern, you won't always see me with the patch over this wreck."

Though his body was taut and tight from the emotions coursing through him, she turned him about to face her. "Stop." Compassion clouded her eyes. Her chin quivered from the effort of holding back emotion. "You are a man who was injured in the war. That is the reality, and yes, the wound was shocking but it doesn't mean you are hideous. In fact, there are many, many women in London who follow you around with desire in their gazes."

"I saw pity in your eyes." He wouldn't give quarter, not when he was so vulnerable in his insecurity.

"No, you saw concern and distress, because I can't imagine how you suffered. It must have been terrible." Her focus never left his face. Not once did she shy away from including the empty socket in her regard. "Don't you dare put words in my mouth because you believe a woman would never accept you as you are… because you sometimes don't accept yourself as you are now."

Was that what he thought deep down within himself? Is that the reason he'd never let a woman close enough so that he could fall in love? It was quite a shock. "I… I'm sorry. Obviously, I still need to strive to square with my appearance."

"Be easy with yourself, even after all these years. This isn't something a man can easily incorporate into his life." When she lifted her hand to caress the side of his face, he flinched. She soothed him with gentle strokes of her fingers. "You are not less because of a missing eye or messy scars. This is evidence you were properly brave when it mattered, and that you fought in a battle you believed in." When he didn't answer, she continued. "For what it's worth, I'm quite glad you survived. The world would be a bit darker without you in it."

"I'm afraid I don't know what to say." How did she have the power to leave him speechless again? As he replaced the eyepatch, he watched her. Some of the pressure within his chest lightened. Being accepted by someone close was a truly transformative experience. "Thank you. I never knew how much fearing how I'd be seen affected me."

"Something I've learned over the years is that we are constantly surprising ourselves as we grow." She searched his face, for God only knew what, but he suddenly hoped she found it. "It might take longer than others, but you'll get through it." She tightened her gloved fingers on his arm. "I can help if you ever wish to talk about the trauma, the battle, or anything else. Please don't shut me out of your life. I want to know everything."

"I would appreciate that, but only if you do the same for me." Not realizing how much he'd come to depend upon her presence, how much he wanted to continue growing closer to this woman he'd taken to wife. "Shall we return home? Have breakfast together?"

"Yes, of course, but first, there is this." Hattie closed the distance between them, lifted onto her toes, and then pressed her lips to his. She met his gaze and questions clouded her eyes.

In that second of sharing understanding, of perfect harmony, Simon lost a piece of his heart to her. With a soft growl, he took her fully into his arms and then kissed her properly, leaving no part of her lips unexplored, without thought to what passersby might think if they witnessed him essentially kissing the hell out of a young boy.

And perhaps even more disturbing was the fact there was every possibility he was beginning to fall in love with his wife.