Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Owen followed behind Milly as she nearly skipped ahead of him down the narrow gravel lane.
The rows of houses leading into the village of Wesden looked like cozy little stone structures, each with painted doorways and puffs of smoke from their little chimneys.
In the spring and summer a dozen bright colors would coat the windowsill flower boxes, and ivy would climb the walls of the home.
The idyllic setting would capture Milly’s heart as it had his so long ago as a boy.
Every few steps Milly would turn to face him, beaming.
Her smiles were so much freer now, as though the facade she’d clung to for years was at last crumbling.
When they’d left the house after luncheon, she’d looked so lost, so frightened, and he couldn’t figure out why.
Kissing her had been an easy thing, something he’d come to adore, but he wondered why she seemed to need reassurance that he belonged to her fully and completely.
She didn’t need that. He’d vowed he was hers, would always remain faithful.
“Owen.” Milly paused by a flower shop as they reached the village proper. “Might we buy some flowers? I should like to start a hothouse garden. We could construct something in the spring. If we buy a few plants, I could tend to them indoors through the winter.”
He took long strides to catch up to her.
“What a charming idea, wife.” He tucked her arm in his as they entered the small shop.
A brass bell jingled merrily above their heads, and Milly immediately began an intense examination of the flowers.
Owen was content to watch her, drinking each expression that crossed her face as she removed her long gloves, touched bare skin to petals, and bent to inhale a particular flower.
He came up behind her when she paused in front of a row of orchids.
He touched a purple orchid inches from her hand.
“Do you know why these flowers are considered scandalous?” he whispered into her ear. His other hand touched her hip, gripping her in a gentle but possessive hold.
Milly’s breath caught and she held still. “No, why?” she whispered.
“Because”—he paused, relishing the way he knew she would react when he spoke his next words—“they resemble a lady’s folds…
the silken texture, the rich color, the opening ready for penetration.
” He stroked the orchid’s petals in an intentionally seductive manner and chuckled when Milly’s breath quickened.
“You’re wicked, you know that? Positively wicked,” she hissed, but when he nuzzled her cheek, he felt her lips curve up in a smile.
“When we get home, I’ll stroke your orchid,” he promised huskily.
She jabbed him lightly in the ribs, making him step back and clear his throat.
The florist was watching them with wide eyes, and Milly blushed and tried to fix her gloves, attempting to pretend nothing had happened between them.
As distracted as he was by thoughts of seducing his wife, he couldn’t help but wonder how Jack was doing.
The excursion into town had nothing to do with the shopping.
Jack had finally agreed to meet with Scarlett Brandon at one of the pubs.
It was a tad improper, but Owen was not sure she would have agreed to come back to Wesden to meet Jack.
It would have seemed awkward for his former fiancée to meet with his best friend under his roof.
“You’re worried about Mr. Watson, aren’t you.” Milly’s gentle but accurate observation dragged him out of his thoughts.
“Yes,” he admitted. “The man has been through hell and I’m not sure he can handle Scarlett or her situation.”
“You mean the baby she lost?” Milly curled her arm in his and pointed at several flowers. The shopkeeper hastened to prepare a few cuttings for her to take with them.
Owen blew out a breath. “I can’t begin to imagine what losing a life inside you does to a woman. It must be hellish, and for a man like Jack, he’s so sensitive, so good and kind, it might break him when Scarlet tells him about the miscarriage. But he needs peace in that part of his life.”
Milly leaned into him, trying to comfort him.
She probably had no idea that she was doing something like that; it was a tender gesture, one she would probably not have done had they not been as intimate as they’d become in the last two weeks.
He felt so close to her and he had the strangest urge to ask her a question that surprised even himself.
“Are you interested in having many children?” he asked softly. He’d never asked or wanted to ask a woman about that, and he was oddly nervous and excited at the prospect.
Milly lifted her gaze to his, and he reveled in the startled, wide-eyed look there in her blue depths.
“Children?” The one word escaped breathlessly from her lips.
“Yes,” he chuckled. “How many do you want?”
“Well, I…,” she sputtered, then blushed. “I don’t know. At least two?” She sounded so adorably unsure, and it made him suddenly desperate to get her into bed, or possibly on the nearest flat surface. He liked it when she was flustered, especially when he was the cause.
“Milly…,” he purred, leading her to the door of the shop. “Why don’t you and I go to the nearest inn and rent a room—”
“What about the flowers?” she interrupted, her voice still breathless.
“Mr. Tabor, put them on my account, and I’ll send a lad here tomorrow to fetch them.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Taber was smiling a knowing smile as he turned away.
“Come on, we can find a way to occupy ourselves while we wait for Jack.” He nuzzled her cheek and stole a lingering kiss. Every time he touched her, his blood heated and a soft warmth filled his chest. It had never been like that with any other woman.
“I might be tempted.” Milly’s blue eyes sparkled with her own rising passion.
“Then let’s go find us a bed.”
“Owen!” she gasped, but her delighted smile was all the encouragement he needed. They were halfway to the inn when Owen spotted Jack striding toward them. His face was ashen and his eyes were wide and stark with pain.
“Jack?” he asked, pausing Milly by curling an arm around her waist.
“I need to return to Wesden Heath immediately,” Jack said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
Owen exchanged glances with Milly. “You’re ready to return home?”
Milly nodded, her lips pursed in a thin line.
“Jack, I really think—”
“Now, Hadley.” A silent rage tainted with pain colored his eyes.
Owen signaled their cabdriver who’d waited for them at the edge of town. The cab ride home was tense. Jack stared morosely out the window and Owen exchanged glances with Milly, but neither of them said anything.
A prickling sense of unease rippled through Owen as he and Milly followed Jack upstairs when they were back at the house. Something wasn’t right. He caught his wife by the arm and held her back.
“Wait a moment. Let me have a private word with him.”
She nodded. “Let me know if you need me.” She squeezed his hand before she let go and a sudden impulse to seize her and kiss her again swept over him.
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard and deep.
It was as though someone had trod over his grave and he was filled with a terrible sensation that he might never see her again.
It was foolish; she was here. They were married.
There would be nothing to take him away from her.
Even reminding himself of that did not make it any easier to let go.
She’d become a lifeline for him in the last two weeks, keeping him afloat through a storm he hadn’t realized he was caught in.
“Is everything all right?” Milly whispered in his ear.
“Yes, I’m sure it’s fine.” He gave her one last hug before he forced himself to let go.
He walked to Jack’s room, not bothering to knock. They were going to have a talk whether Jack wanted to or not. When he turned the handle and swung the door open, he froze.
Jack was standing by the window of his room, his suitcase lying open, items scattered on the four-poster bed. As Owen sought out Jack, the thinner man turned to him.
“Don’t come any closer, Owen,” he said softly. The sunlight coming in through the window behind him glinted off something in his hand.
Owen’s entire body seized with tension as he recognized a pistol in his friend’s hand. “Jack…,” he demanded, but didn’t move. “Jack, what are you doing?”
His friend slowly turned to look at him, tears shining in his eyes. “Did you know, Owen? About the baby?” A hint of accusation followed his question.
Owen hesitated, wondering how to answer. He and Jack fought side by side, covered in blood and sweat beneath the distant African sun. You couldn’t lie to a man, not after sharing that experience.
“I knew. She came to me after you left, begged me to cry off because she couldn’t be married to anyone but you. Then she lost the baby.”
Jack stroked his hand over the pistol, and the November sun, bright and bold, flashed like quicksilver off the metal.
“I should have been there for her, helped her with the baby. I’m a damned coward. A d-damned coward.” The sound of his voice cracking beneath his pain tore out Owen’s heart.
“No, you’re not,” he argued. Something inside him was fracturing, a wall of strength he’d built to keep the memories of the war at bay all these years.
“I was a medic, Owen. I couldn’t save enough men, and I killed so many others…I’m not fit to draw breath.” There was an awful finality to his tone that made Owen’s blood run cold.
Jack raised the pistol toward his head.
Owen reacted. Years of living softly in London had not dulled his instincts. He lunged for Jack just as the barrel of the pistol reached his head. Their bodies collided and the gun dropped down to the ground next to them as they crashed to the floor.
“Let me die,” Jack moaned as his fingers closed around the gun. Owen clamped a hand around his wrist, their eyes meeting.
“You never left me behind. I’m not about to leave you.”