Chapter 12 #3
A spasm of surprise flitted over Jack’s features.
In a low voice he replied. “Nay, I was a coward, Rafe. At the moment of reckoning, I held back, too afraid for my own life to risk coming to your aid. God knows, I’m ashamed of myself, but I can’t keep silent any longer.
You must know the truth about what a weak-willed, lily-livered knave I really am.
” A harsh sigh rent the air as he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve your good opinion.”
Shock momentarily had Rafael tongue-tied.
When finally he reordered his wits, he set aside his glass and steepled his fingers.
“Damnation, Jack you are a man made of flesh and blood, not an automaton fashioned of brass gears and steel plates. In the chaos and confusion of fighting, with smoke stinging your eyes and screams piercing your ears, it is impossible to think rationally, or have any clear recollection of your actions.”
Rafael closed his eyes for an instant, recalling the heat, the noise, the smells, and most of all, the fear. Gritty as gunpowder, it had hung heavy as a shroud in the air, distorting all normal perceptions. “You think you hesitated? For how long would you say?”
Jack’s brow furrowed in fierce concentration. “At least a minute. Maybe two.”
“It was no more than a blink of an eye,” he shot back.
“I turned just as you flung yourself down from your horse to come to my aid. You paused only to wipe the blood from your eyes, and then I saw it all happen as if it were moving as slowly as a minuet. You charged forward, heedless of the slashing steel. At that same moment, an enemy blade sliced across my thigh, knocking me to my knees. Stunned and helpless, I looked up and saw a saber rise and knew in the next instant that my life was over.”
Rafael locked eyes with his cousin, refusing to let him flinch away.
“But like a whirling dervish, you flew past a pair of hussars and knocked my attacker off balance. The saber blow meant for me caught you square in the chest. I tried to rise, but a musket butt smashed against my skull and everything went black. When I awoke, I was in a hospital tent, and you . . . I was informed you were dead.”
Jack’s face had gone deathly pale.
“So if anyone is a coward, it is I.”
“Y-you’re mistaken,” said his cousin. “I am certain . . .” He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “That is, almost certain.”
“You’ve always been too hard on yourself, cuz.”
“Trying to measure up to you is no easy task,” came the whispered response.
“Dios Madre.” He chuffed a wry laugh. “And here I wished I could be more like you, with your outgoing, easy manner and the ease with which you made friends.”
Jack added his own gruff chuckle. “This is, you know, a very un-English conversation. Gentlemen are expected to keep a stiff upper lip.”
“Yes, well I am half-Spanish, and we are known for our hot-blooded emotions. Alas, my weakness may have inadvertently rubbed off on you.”
Jack took a long swallow of his brandy.
“But perhaps we should agree to stop talking about weaknesses or strengths and simply accept—and celebrate—who we are.”
“Another very un-English suggestion. We are supposed to strive for perfection.”
Rafael swore a cheerful oath. “What nonsense! Perfection doesn’t exist. It’s far better to strive for demanding the best of yourself. I have come to believe that is enough.”
“Hmmm.” Jack spun his glass between his fingers, setting off a cut crystal winking of gold and gray sparks against the far wall. “Then let us leave the past behind and drink to being better men in the future.”
“Salud.” The burn of the brandy took on a more mellow fire. “It is good that we have slain our own inner dragons, but now we must turn our efforts to helping Lady Kyra.”
“As to that, I was able to enlist some unexpected help this afternoon in the village,” said Jack.
“I encountered an old friend, Miss Harriet Farnum, whom I’ve known for ages since I attended Eton with her older brother.
Her father is a well-respected senior diplomat with the Foreign Office, and because of her travels, Harriet is very intelligent and independent-minded.
Not only that, she remembered Kyra as being exceedingly kind to her during her first Season.
So she and her companion, who are spending a month at Northfield Grange, were quick to offer their assistance when I hinted that Kyra was in need of moral support during the upcoming ball. ”
“Friends are a powerful influence,” mused Rafael. “It gives you strength to know you are not alone.”
“Precisely,” replied Jack. “With all of us marshaling our efforts, Matherton is in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can intimidate Kyra into acquiescing to whatever havey-cavey plan he has in mind.”
“Indeed he is.” Rafael slowly clenched his hand into a fist. “Up to now, she has been on the defensive, but as we have learned from our military experience, the best time to take the offensive is when an enemy has grown overconfident that he holds the advantage.”
He stared out the diamond-paned windows, giving the situation careful consideration.
If only he could convince Kyra to confide in him.
Perhaps creating another batch of sensual chocolate treats would melt her reservations.
A creamy concoction of buttercream and champagne filling a shell-shaped . . .
“As to a plan,” said Jack after a short interlude of silence, “I have an idea.”