Chapter 6

Climbing the side of a hotel in the dark with only one good eye was not an easy feat to accomplish, but somehow, Anthony found himself at Miranda's terrace that night. He had hoped to find an audience with her after dinner, but he'd been told she wasn't coming. That had been disheartening, to say the least, and even more so when he'd gone to her room later and found that she still wasn't talking to him.

Thus, he'd had to resort to drastic measures to get past her stubborn nature. He had caught a glimpse of it when she was a child, but it knew no bounds as an adult.

Something told him that although it was nearly one in the morning, she would be awake. The landscape she'd been working on near the window in her room was a clear indication that she wasn't through seeking inspiration from the night sky.

That was proved moments later when he walked to the open doors and she glanced up and saw him, giving a brief shout of alarm, until he walked into the light and she instantly settled.

But that didn't stop her from putting a hand over her heart and setting down her paintbrush. "Are you trying to give me an apoplexy?" she demanded.

"If that's what it takes to gain an audience with you," he murmured as he stepped past the open drapes and walked into her room. He tried not to notice that she was attired in nothing but her nightdress.

She tossed her head, the long chestnut curls brushing her back. "Perhaps the reason I haven't sought you out is because I'm not ready to talk to you."

His dark eye flashed, while the one that held the scar caught the light of the moon and shone with an almost unholy light. "That is regrettable, since I intend for us to do it anyway," he pointed out. "You left this afternoon without hearing all of my explanation."

"I heard enough," she said uncharitably, as she moved away, as if trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

He withheld a sigh. "All you did was come to the conclusion that you wanted. I wasn't fit to visit anyone, let alone write and act as though nothing was wrong. I had tried to take my own life. I have the scars to prove it." He removed his jacket and tossed it aside, and then rolled up the lower sleeves of his shirt, where two white, jagged marks cut across his wrists.

Her face paled slightly. "Why didn't you let anyone help you?"

"I didn't know how to tell anyone what I needed, because I had no idea myself. I wasn't sure what it was that would help me through the pain of my injuries." He crossed his arms and leaned against the mantel. "The single thing that seemed to help was going out on the lake and just… thinking. It gave me a chance to clear my head, something that the nightmares when I slept wouldn't allow me to do."

She lifted a brow. "It took years for you to clear your mind?"

He wasn't sure how to explain so that she might understand the depth of his despair. "To fully comprehend it all, you have to imagine things from my perspective." He found a focal point in the room and concentrated on it, while his mind returned to the past. "I was nineteen years old, eager to make my way in the world, to be someone other than a younger son of a viscount. I wanted nothing more than to carry the glory of being a war hero. What I wasn't prepared for was the horror I would witness. Men I shared a meal with were cut down right next to me. I couldn't understand why I survived and their family would be told they weren't coming home again. It wasn't always enemy fire that claimed the sailors, but various ailments. They would sweep through the regiment like fire. I saw more sea burials than I ever care to witness again."

He put his hands behind his back when he realized they had started to tremble. "But no matter what, I persevered. It wasn't until the Battle of Trafalgar that everything changed. When Nelson died and I was wounded, I thought I had let down the rest of my men. I felt guilty for losing an eye and being forced out of service and into the ship's infirmary. Rage poured through me like some sort of demon. I screamed in bed every night. I had delusions and thought for sure that I was suffering from madness, but it was the fever I carried from infection. When I was finally brought on shore, the doctor tried to remove my eye, but I threatened to run him through if he did. I had no compassion for anyone or anything. I wanted to continue fighting."

He shoved a hand through his hair. "I was incoherent like that for weeks. Just before I was sent to Bedlam, the nightmares ceased and I was released on my own merit. But the stirring continued to burn within me. I grew restless. I was searching for something to ease the turmoil within me, to ease the despondency, but nothing worked." He swallowed hard. "That's when I turned to opium. I—"

"Stop. Oh, please, stop."

Anthony's gaze shifted to where Miranda was leaning against the post of her bed. Tears were trailing down her face. Shame washed over him, and he walked toward her. "God, Miranda, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"No." She shook her head. "I wasn't. I should have known not to compare your life to mine. I had hardships and loss, it's true, but nothing like what you endured. My God, how can you forgive my behavior?"

His chest warmed. "There is nothing to forgive. You were speaking from wounded pride. You thought I had forsaken you and moved on with my life while you were still trying to deal with yours."

She slowly shook her head and lifted a trembling hand to rest on his cheek, on the side with the scar that he had abhorred for so long. "Pride had nothing to do with it. I was upset because I'd loved you."

He froze. His lungs felt tight. He could hardly speak. "Meaning that you don't any longer?"

She closed her eyes and whispered, "I don't know. I care about you. That has never changed, but it's been fifteen years." She opened her eyes. "Things change. I've changed. We've changed."

He couldn't dispute the truth. He reached up and wiped away one of her tears with the pad of his thumb. "Perhaps all we need is a reminder." His gaze dropped to her lips. "Can I kiss you, Miranda?"

She couldn't move. She certainly couldn't breathe. For so long, she'd dared to fantasize about this very moment. Now that it was upon her, she was terrified that what she'd hoped for all these years wouldn't be as perfect as she wanted. It would be her very first kiss. She had vowed it would belong solely to Anthony. When she'd claimed she didn't know if she still loved him or not, she was being truthful. The love that filled her heart was the dream of a girl who was besotted. But the reality of a woman might be vastly different.

Perhaps he was right.

She slowly nodded, the decision made. "Yes."

She closed her eyes as his head began to descend to hers. With the gentlest of kisses, he pressed his mouth to hers. It was as if the ground shook beneath them. She raised her arms and tentatively placed them on his shoulders, as his hands went around her waist. He didn't try to touch her or ask for more than she might give. He kept the embrace chaste and innocent.

When he pulled back, she lamented the loss, but she knew it shouldn't go any further than this. There was still so much that they needed to learn about each other. Things that they had to sort out before further intimacy could take place.

He touched a lock of her hair. "You're just as sweet as I always thought you'd be."

And you're just as perfect, she thought, but she didn't dare voice the words aloud.

He released her with obvious reluctance and turned toward the terrace. "I should be going."

Her eyes widened. "You can't mean to climb back out the window!"

"I made it in just fine," he pointed out.

"That may be, but I don't want to be responsible should you slip and break your neck." She walked toward her door and unlocked it, then turned back to him pointedly.

He gave a lopsided grin and said, "I don't know whether I should be relieved or affronted that you think I can't manage such a feat a second time."

"I'd rather not take the chance since you've finally been returned to me in good health." Her cheeks warmed as she met his eye and shifted her gaze away. "For the most part, anyway."

He lifted her chin, bringing her gaze back to his. "I'm as healthy as ever. I just have a bit less sight now, is all." He let go, but before he left, he asked, "Will you go on the lake with me again tomorrow? I have several other places I'd like to show you."

Miranda considered his proposal and then said, "Actually, I should like to go to Braithwaite and see where you live."

His gaze was steady, but then he inclined his head. "Of course. I would be honored to act as your host, but I should warn you that my tea cart isn't prepared for guests."

She smiled. "I think I'll be able to manage for one afternoon." She tilted her head to the side. "It might be something I should like to paint. I'm sure I could find a way to add a German Christmas tree and wrapped presents."

"I have no doubt of it." He gave a light bow. "I'll come collect you after luncheon. You've seen the lake in the bright light of morning, but it's best viewed at sunset, when the sun turns everything into fiery perfection."

"I'm looking forward to it," she said softly, and she was. There were times she nearly forgot that her brother and sister were even there, especially when Anthony looked at her like he was now, as if he adored everything about her. She could only wish that someday he could come to terms with his past and find that she was enough. That they were enough to combat anything.

"Sleep well, my lady." He offered her a wink.

After he was gone, Miranda shut and locked the door to her room. She stood there for a moment and then walked over to the open window. She was reluctant to close it, but after giving the night sky one last, lingering look, and saying a small prayer for Anthony, she closed the doors and climbed into her warm bed, eager to wake on the morrow.

When Miranda was invited to dine with Jacob, Elaine, and their prospective families for lunch, she knew the inquisition was going to begin. Of course, following her upset the day before, she knew that Elaine would waste no time in telling their brother what had occurred. Now, she had to explain that everything was well, and that she was going to be spending the day with Anthony.

"Are you?" Jacob said with a lifted brow. "Naturally, I don't mind, so long as he won't hurt you like he did yesterday. I was nearly prepared to have words with him."

She instantly held up a hand. "Please don't. The fault was mine. I overreacted out of previous pain and frustration. I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

Elaine set a gentle hand on her arm. "I knew you would find a way to work things out. You always do."

Jacob hadn't looked as convinced, and Miranda was tempted to point out that he was the one who had invited Anthony to spend Christmas with them in the first place. But she wasn't going to start an argument. No doubt Jacob was still dealing with the way Anthony had disappeared without a trace as well, when they had been close friends. What made the sting a bit less biting was that he'd had a family to focus on, while Miranda's heart continued to beat for Anthony. Every other man of her acquaintance never quite measured up to him. It was why she had never married. He had quite literally ruined her for anyone else.

Now, as she stood in the foyer of the hotel with her valise of painting supplies and waited for him, she was surprised to hear her name called. "Miranda? Is that truly you?"

Miranda glanced up and saw a gentleman she was quite familiar with. Her mouth went slack with surprise, but then she recovered enough to reply. "Terrance! What are you doing here?"

He smiled as he walked toward her and she was struck by the genuineness of it. The sandy-haired gentleman, Mr. Barbour, was similar to Anthony in that he was the younger son of a viscount. The difference was, he hadn't gone off to battle but had become a solicitor. During the time she had known him, ever since her come out, he had made his fortune and become her devoted suitor not long afterward.

She had come close to marrying him at one point. He'd asked, but she had eventually declined. Her emotions just wouldn't allow it. She knew the same would still hold true if he were to ask again. But that didn't mean they hadn't become good friends over the years. They often shared a cup of afternoon tea or a carriage ride through the park.

Most importantly, he had been there for her when her mother had passed. He'd helped her through the worst. He was a true, caring man. It was just a shame for him that he wasn't Anthony. He didn't stir her soul like the battle-weary hero did.

They embraced fondly, and then he said almost regretfully, "I'm on holiday with my fiancée and her family."

She smiled, although her stomach sank for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was because her friendship with him would soon be altered. Or that he hadn't bothered to tell her the news and she'd had to read it along with the rest of the population. "Ah, yes. I seem to recall reading about your upcoming marriage in the papers shortly before I left London. That's wonderful news. I'm very happy for you both."

He regarded her so intently that she could only guess what he might be thinking. "Thank you, Miss Applegate." He glanced around, as if expecting someone to appear. "I daresay you told me you were coming to Cumbria at your brother's invitation, but I didn't think we would be staying at the same hotel. I should think that's what I would call a rather ironic happenstance."

"Indeed, sir," she laughed. "I would heartily agree. Perhaps you and your fiancée might like to join us for supper one evening?"

"I would like that very much," he returned smoothly.

"You haven't introduced me to your friend, Miranda." She started as Anthony came up behind her and put a familiar arm about her waist. She noted that Mr. Barbour tensed slightly, although he merely bowed slightly as she made the introductions.

"A pleasure, Mr. Barbour," Anthony said tightly.

"Likewise," came the chilly reply.

Miranda quickly grasped Anthony's arm and steered him back toward the entrance to the hotel. "I will talk to you soon, Terrance."