CHAPTER 31
He had told her the truth. He would wait a lifetime for her. What he had not imagined is that it would be so damn hard.
Michael trudged up the stairs and down the long hallway to his bedroom.
The whole house was asleep, and he should be too, but he had dawdled in the library until the clock had struck one in the morning, the lone bell chime shaking him out of his stupor.
He had been reading for hours, reluctant to go to bed where he knew he would only toss and turn with his need for her.
And yet it was not a frustrated desire that made him suffocate until he wanted to break something.
It was her skittish gaze, her timid manner, and her subdued spirits that made murderous rage swell in him.
Impotent rage for all she had suffered that had changed her from the spirited girl she once was to this guarded woman.
His failure to protect her weighed heavily on his soul, as did his inability to take away her pain now.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that she avoided being alone with him. She retired early, before his mother, and, since the duchess emerged late in the morning, Josie took her breakfast in the nursery with the child.
He managed to steal a few moments alone with her in the afternoons while she worked on her perfumes in the corner of the conservatory.
He had offered to set up her workshop in a larger room, but she insisted she was comfortable here and liked to be surrounded by plants and light.
He suspected the main reason was that she feared starting another fire, although he was confident the fire at her estate had not been caused by her perfumery ingredients.
Regardless, the conservatory ambiance seemed to do her good. She did like the outdoors.
What were her living conditions in the harem?
He had visited Ottoman palaces during his time in the army.
His rank and pedigree as the son of a duke had granted him access to the highest echelons of Ottoman power.
The palaces were usually lavish, featuring large and airy courtyards, decorated with gardens and fountains.
But if that was the only type of outdoors she was allowed to enjoy, it would soon feel very confining.
A muffled whimper stopped him dead in his tracks. Was that a cry? He looked at the door ahead as if he could see through it. That was Josephine’s bedchamber. Was she unwell? Was she crying? More whimpers, rising in pitch to soft, broken cries.
Good God, had someone dared to invade his home to harm her? He was storming into the bedroom even before a sharp, guttural cry disrupted the night’s quiet.
There on the bed, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the sheer drapes, Josephine fought against some unseen monster.
Tears escaped through her closed eyelids as her face twisted with grief and her body contorted, her arms flailing as if to strike her nemesis.
The covers wrapped about her legs, impeding their effort to kick them off as if the bed was about to swallow her whole and she was fighting for her life.
Not an external threat then, but an internal one. Indecision froze him in place. Every instinct urged him to vanquish whatever demons were tormenting her. But barging in on her was a tremendous invasion of her privacy. After what had transpired, he didn’t want her to think—
Shallow, uneven gasps, followed by a keening moan.
Every thought fled except one. He needed to end her torment.
“Josephine, wake up. You are having a nightmare,” he uttered in a voice that had commanded regiments.
Nothing. She was in a hell of her own that words alone could not penetrate.
Reaching out a hand, he touched her shoulder, shaking it slightly. “Wake up, Josie.”
Another almost inhuman cry, incoherent talking.
Good God, he needed to wake her at all costs. If the anguish she was feeling was anywhere close to what was reflected on her face, then she was in agony.
Placing both hands on her shoulders, he shook her more forcefully this time. “Wake up, love. You are home. You are safe.”
She struck out with her fist, catching him square on his jaw with a devilishly strong hook.
While he was still recovering, her leg kicked out and almost impacted a very delicate place.
Even with all his military training, the unexpected burst of movement took him by surprise.
Only by twisting at the last possible moment did he manage to take the kick on his thigh.
The maneuver made him fall to the bed with her, but the need to awaken her overrode any other thought. She grappled now in earnest. Striking, kicking, crying. Her movements were so frantic he feared she would hurt herself. He needed to end this.
Using his superior strength, he enveloped her in his embrace, pinning her arms against her sides, while his legs tangled with hers, preventing more wild kicks.
She opened her mouth to cry. She was going to awaken the entire house.
For her own reputation, it would not do to get caught in bed together and in such a compromising position.
But neither could he leave her in the throes of terror.
He did the only thing he could do to silence her.
He kissed her.
His mouth blanketed hers, silencing her cries, tasting her fear and anguish, imparting love and warmth and safety and all the things he could not articulate but wanted to give her.
She went still at first, for a second almost melting into the kiss before terror made her fight again.
She tore her mouth from his, hitting him on the nose with her forehead.
His eyes watered at the hit. Damn it, but she knew how to fight. “Josephine, wake up, wake up. It’s me, Michael. You are safe. You are safe!”
The words, repeated over and over in her ear, at last penetrated her fog of despair and she stilled. He could tell the exact moment she resurfaced from the grip of the nightmare. Tremors shook her entire body and she expelled a shaky exhale.
“You are safe, love. You are safe. It’s me. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let harm come to you,” he kept murmuring in her ear.
“Michael?” Her voice was raspy.
“Yes, love, it’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard you cry out in your sleep.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You were having a nightmare.”
She shuddered.
“You can let go of me now. I’m awake.”
“Of course.” He didn’t want to let go. She felt so right in his arms. But she had asked to be released. Slowly, by measured degrees, he forced his arms to unlock and slide from around her. Then he turned and leaped out of bed. The situation had suddenly turned too intimate.
“Would you like some water?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes, please.”
There was a pitcher and glass on the bedside table, so he poured her a glass of water. She had sat up in bed, reclining against the pillows, holding the covers to her chest as if they were armor. He handed her the glass, and she drank deeply.
“Thank you. You can go now. I’m fine.”
He studied her. Even in the moonlight it was evident she was pale and shaken.
“You don’t look fine, Josie. Do you want me to light up some lamps?”
She took a few breaths to answer, as if she was considering it. “That would be nice.”
He walked around the room, lighting a couple of lamps, enough to dispel the shadows and chase away the last of her terrors. He should leave now. She seemed uncomfortable, wary. But every fiber of his being longed to stay, to comfort and reassure her.
“Do you have nightmares often?”
She burrowed deeper into the pillows. “I had not had one in months.”
He nodded, hearing what she had not said. That this one had likely been brought on by their… encounter. “I understand. This is all my fault. I’m sorry, Josie—-“
“Stop.” Her voice, although low, contained enough anger to halt his speech. “You are not responsible. I can’t deal with your guilt on top of everything. It makes everything harder. It makes me feel wretched. Like I’m still a victim. I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity. I see you suffer and I want to help. I want to heal you, protect you, cherish you.”
“You can’t. You don’t even understand how I feel.
You think I reject you because I either resent you, fear you, or don’t trust you.
Or maybe a combination of all three, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
That's the reason why, when we were intimate, I didn’t speak up until it was too late. ”
“But I told you not to worry about my feelings.”
“How can I not? I see the torture in your eyes when you look at me. You treat me like I’m made of fragile glass, in danger of shattering at any moment. That’s the last thing I need. When you treat me like that, you make me weak. And being weak perpetuates my victimization.”
“That’s not my intention.” He was aghast. Horrified. Had he gotten everything wrong? “What can I do to fix it?”
“Have you ever been helpless, Michael? Have you ever been powerless, alone, without hope, without friends, far from home, afraid?”
He shook his head slowly. He had been hopeless when she left, afraid sometimes before a battle—only a fool wouldn’t be—he had been far away from home.
But that’s not what she meant. He had never experienced all the things she mentioned all at once.
The picture she painted was so bleak, it tore at his soul.
“That’s what I thought. You are always in command. Used to issuing orders and having them obeyed. Both as an officer and as a duke, you wield considerable power. How can you possibly understand what it is like to have no power whatsoever, not even over your own body?”
“Then make me understand,” he rasped.
“What?”
A crazy idea had just occurred to him, and yet as soon as he thought of it, he felt it was right. He slid his necktie from where it hung, undone, around his neck. Offered it to her. “Tie me.”
She looked at him with a frown of incomprehension.
“Even if I did, it could never be the same.”