Chapter 8 #2
They stood together like that, wrapped in a silence that was not awkward but weighted with unspoken things. She could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath her cheek and found herself wishing he might trust her enough to share the whole of his burden.
After what felt like both a moment and an eternity, his hands loosened, and he stepped back.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said, looking down upon her.
“No,” she admitted. “But I do not regret it.”
He attempted to smile, but it was tinged with sadness. “Neither do I.”
Jane’s gaze drifted to his mouth as he spoke. She became suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between them. They were close enough that she could catch the subtle scent of spice and leather clinging to him.
She ought to step back— propriety demanded it—yet the thought did not stir her feet. Instead, she found herself holding her ground, her pulse quickening for reasons that had nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with the man before her.
And to her quiet astonishment… she found she didn’t mind at all.
Alistair felt a subtle, near-imperceptible shift in the air between them.
Something had changed, though he could not have named it if his life depended on it.
All he knew was that he liked being this close to her.
The delicate fragrance of her perfume—something soft and floral—drifted towards him, teasing his senses.
For one dangerous moment, he considered leaning closer, letting himself bask in her nearness.
Sanity, however, reasserted itself with a hard grip.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself to take a deliberate step back. The loss of warmth was immediate. In the brief glance he caught of her eyes, he thought he saw disappointment. Could that truly be there? Or was it simply his own foolish longing inventing what he wished to see?
“I should go,” he said, the words tasting like retreat.
“Before you go, will you tell me what is troubling you?” she asked. “I might be able to help.”
Temptation pressed at him. But he shook his head. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I must go about this on my own.”
Her brows drew together. “And why is that?”
“I do not wish to burden you with my troubles.”
“I daresay it is too late for that,” she countered, her tone soft yet stubborn. “We are friends, are we not? And friends lift each other up.”
He knew what she was doing. She was trying to help him, and he valued her all the more for it. “It is not that simple.”
“Why can’t it be?”
Because, he thought, the truth could cut her as deeply as it cut him. But some part of him—worn down by the weight of secrets—wanted to trust her. Wanted to let her in.
Gesturing towards a nearby bench, he asked, “Shall we sit?”
Only when she lowered herself gracefully onto the seat did he join her. She regarded him expectantly, yet refrained from pressing further. That patience—uncommon and oddly disarming—made the confession come easier.
“In the war,” he began, “I was given an assignment. My team was tasked with crossing enemy lines and killing a French general. We all suspected it would be a one-way journey, but we were willing to pay the price for the greater good.”
The old memories unspooled—dark, jagged things. “There were four of us. We traveled deep into enemy territory, and fortune favored us at first. We ambushed French soldiers, took their uniforms, and slipped into their camp under the cover of night. The general’s tent was easy enough to find.”
He took a steadying breath. “He was sleeping. I clamped my hand over his mouth, drew my knife, and slit his throat before he could make a sound.” His jaw tightened. “What I did not see—until it was too late—was the young woman in the corner. She saw everything.”
Jane leaned forward slightly. “Did you kill her?”
“I tried,” he admitted, “but I couldn’t. She reminded me too much of my sister. None of us could do it. So we took her with us.”
“Did she cry out?”
He shook his head. “I kept her close, knife to her stomach to ensure she stayed silent. The night guards were our only obstacle. In our distraction, we forgot to change back into our British uniforms.”
Her breath caught. “Oh, no.”
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. “By some miracle, we weren’t shot on sight. We explained ourselves and we were eventually allowed through to our camp.”
“What did you do with her?”
“We rode for an hour before letting her go. Far enough that it would take half a day for her to reach the camp. She was still in French-occupied territory, but… it was the only way to keep her safe from our own army’s interrogation. She would have been tortured and killed.”
Jane’s voice was firm. “Then you did the right thing.”
“Did we?” His gaze fixed on some distant point. “Our orders were to kill the general and leave no witnesses. We failed.”
“You saved her life.”
“At what cost?” he asked bitterly. “We swore never to speak of Rosalie again. For her sake… and for ours.”
She offered him a weak smile. “You acted honorably.”
He rose abruptly, restless. “No. The honorable thing would have been to obey my orders. She saw our faces. And she found me again.”
Jane’s eyes widened.
“I saw her earlier. She told me her brother is hunting me—and the others—down.”
“She warned you?”
“She did. I don’t know how she reached England, and she wouldn’t tell me.”
“That was… kind of her.”
He tipped his head back, staring at the gray sky. “If we’d killed her, my two comrades would still be alive. I failed them.”
“No. You all chose to let her live,” Jane insisted.
“I led the mission. It was my choice. I was weak.”
“I think you were brave.”
“I respectfully disagree,” he grumbled. “Their blood is on my hands.”
Jane cocked her head. “You said there were four people in your team. What of the fourth man?”
“Lord Rupert Milnes. Third son of a marquess.”
“Then he is in danger, too.”
Alistair frowned. “I sent word to his townhouse that he was in danger, but I doubt he will believe me. He is rather cocky in his abilities.”
“Then you must go to him.”
“I will… I just had to see you, even for a moment.” Blazes. Why had he just admitted that? He dragged a hand through his hair. “This is all my fault.”
Her hand touched his sleeve—light, steady. “What’s done is done. You must move forward.”
“I should have killed her, but Rosalie reminded me so much of Charlotte,” he murmured.
“You did your best.”
“My best wasn’t enough.”
Jane’s voice softened. “I disagree.”
“That’s because you don’t know what soldiers must do,” he said, his voice fraying. “Because of this, I went somewhat mad, shattered in private, and wore a smile that lied better than any mask.”
“Alistair…”
He couldn’t bear that look in her eyes—the one that saw him as damaged. “I should go.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
Now he felt like a jackanapes. “No. This is not about you. It’s me.”
“Very well,” she said at last, stepping back though her eyes lingered on him. “I will not keep you here. You should go to Lord Rupert and ensure he is safe.”
He nodded once, the decision solidifying in his mind. “I should go.” A pause stretched between them before he added, “Thank you for listening.”
“Always, Alistair,” she replied.
He was on the verge of saying something else—something that might have been dangerous to admit—when a voice cut through their fragile moment.
“Good heavens, what has you both looking so grim?”
Alistair turned, schooling his features, and saw Lady Cosima approaching with an expression that seemed equal parts curiosity and amusement. He inclined his head. “My lady.”
“One minute I see you two embracing, and the next, you look as though someone has died,” she remarked.
Jane answered before he could. “Two of Lord Alcott’s comrades have died.”
Lady Cosima’s hand flew lightly to her chest. “How awful. I wouldn’t have said something if I suspected that was the case.” Her gaze shifted to him, appraising but kind. “How are you faring?”
He drew on the mask he had worn so often since returning from war and forced a small smile to his lips. “I am all right.”
“Would you care for a cup of tea? Or something stronger? Brandy, perhaps?” Lady Cosima offered.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I need to keep a clear head at the moment.”
“Smart thinking, young man. But do refrain from embracing my niece. You are fortunate no one else saw, or there might have been consequences to your actions.”
A blush flared across Jane’s cheeks. “It was my fault. I was the one who embraced him.”
“No, it was entirely my fault,” he countered immediately, unwilling to let her shoulder the blame alone.
Lady Cosima’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “You both seemed to be active participants in the embrace.”
Heat prickled along the back of his neck, and he stepped back. “If you will excuse me, I need to see to a few things.”
“Would you care to join us for dinner?” Lady Cosima asked.
His instinct was to decline since he had no appetite for company. But the thought of another evening in Jane’s presence proved difficult to resist. “I would enjoy that. Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome to bring your sister,” Lady Cosima added with a wave of her hand. “The diamond of the Season.”
“That is kind of you,” he said with a bow. “Good day.”
He turned and began walking away, his thoughts already shifting towards Lord Rupert and the warning he must deliver, when Jane’s voice called softly after him.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. She crossed the distance quickly. “Be careful, Alistair,” she said in a hushed tone.
Feeling an uncharacteristic urge to lighten her worry, he teased, “Are you worried about me?”
“I am,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to the lapels of his jacket.
Something warm and strange unfurled in his chest at the confession, chasing away the cold edge that had lingered since speaking of the war. “You need not worry about me. I will be safe.”
“I truly hope so,” she murmured, stepping back.
He watched her walk away and briefly admired the way the light caught in her hair. The quiet conviction settled in him like a vow—he would do anything to return to her.
But first, he had to find Lord Rupert and warn him. Time was not on their side, and danger was already moving closer.