“Where were you when your father died?”
The directness of her inquiry stole his breath. “Somewhere in Belgium.” He waved a hand. “I’m told Father died shortly before the Battle of Waterloo.” Even if he hadn’t been fighting to survive, if he had been notified that his father was near death, he wouldn’t have made it home in time for a last goodbye. Besides, there had been his best friend to consider, and the promise he’d made.
“I imagine you were devastated.” Her eyes were luminous and clouded with concern and grief. “I was when my mother died, but then, I was a young girl at the time.”
“Truth to tell, I wasn’t given the chance to properly grieve, for we were preparing for the battle, and then it was upon us.” Shock from the admission sent pain ricocheting through his chest. “After that, I was wounded, struggling to survive in a whole different arena than war had made.” With his hands tightly clenched on the arms of his chair, he shifted his position. Tingling sensation pushed through his right buttock and leg but faded before he could marvel at it. “I thought about many things during the long period of convalescence but mostly my thoughts concentrated on the fact that I would never walk again.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaned forward and again touched his knee. “You have gone through more than most men do in an entire lifetime.”
And where were the thanks for it? Certainly not here or in any of the homes he’d been invited to. No, the only thing people wanted from him were stories from the battlefront, the gorier the better. One little word of gratitude for the sacrifices he’d made on England’s behalf would have gone a long way in the last two years.
The thoughts sent a wave of bitterness crashing into him.
“You’re scowling,” she was quick to point out.
“I’m entitled to it.” He waved a hand to encompass the artifice in the room. “Ungrateful lot, all. Half of these nobs didn’t deign to fight, yet their lifestyle is possible because of men like me who held Napoleon back.” The words were clipped and thrown like daggers.
What was wrong with him that talking to her pulled the secrets from his soul as if by magic?
Jane retrieved two glasses of champagne from the footman as he came around again. One she handed to Finn. “I’m eternally grateful for what you, my brother, and countless others did out there. Never think I’m not.” When she took a sip of her drink, he once more stared at her lush lips.
Damn.What he wouldn’t give to taste that wine from those two pillowy pieces of flesh. But he couldn’t; he didn’t have that right, and what the devil did he think would happen after that? With more haste than finesse, Finn took a large gulp of his own drink. The bubbles tickled his throat and made his eyes water.
“Gah!” He swallowed again. “How does anyone enjoy this?”
“I think it’s wonderful.” She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Where is your brother, or rather the Earl of Hadleigh, now?”
“In Derbyshire, on the family’s country estate. And from all accounts, he’s wedded a woman he scarcely knows.” Another swath of jealousy reared and slashed its way through Finn’s chest. He downed the remainder of his drink in the hope that it would drown those emotions for things he would never have. “Father always favored Drew because he was the heir and would one day become the earl. My parents expected much from him, held him to a different standard, I suppose.”
“That’s how it is with my oldest brother and my father. They bicker and fight all the time over his expected future.”
Finn cocked an eyebrow. “Your brother the surgeon?”
“Oh, yes. While he knows that will ultimately be his fate, in the meantime, he follows where his heart leads, for as he said, why should he train for the Earl of Worchester while my father is hale and hearty?”
Unbidden, a grin tugged at the corners of Finn’s mouths. “My youngest brother Brand is the baby, so he was always coddled and spoiled, no matter what, until his behavior became too scandalous.”
“What happened?” She took another sip of her champagne, and when she pulled the glass away, a tiny drop of the wine clung to her lower lip. Finn held his breath until she licked it away, but that only stoked the need to kiss her. If he were alone in his own bedchamber, he might stroke his length merely to remind himself that he was still a living, breathing male who could hold desire for a woman.
“He had an affair with the wrong married woman whose husband took exception to the whole thing.” A chuckle escaped him. “So Father ordered Brand into the Navy or the church. Brand went for the Navy and never looked back.”
“Has he been informed about your brother’s marriage?”
“I have no idea. Mother is the one who sends letters.” He leaned over and placed his empty flute on the floor next to his right wheel.
She scanned the room before giving him her full attention again. “Does your mother get on with Drew’s wife?”
“None of us have met the woman.” He shrugged. “Mother was quite hurt at the news.”
“No doubt she was.” Jane stared, questions clouding her eyes, the heart on its golden chain glimmering each time she moved. “Were you also hurt?”
The conversation had veered into territory that was too personal, and he refused to rip off barely formed scabs from deep wounds, especially in front of her.
“Finn.” Jane set her glass on a small round table at her elbow. She came forward on the sofa and laid a hand on his knee, her touch lingering. Damn fate for making him paralyzed, for he couldn’t feel the comfort or her heat. “How did your brother’s marriage make you feel? Have it all out now.”
“Why, so I have might a chance of acting sunny and carefree like you?” The words snapped in the air between them while her eyes rounded and hurt etched into her expression. He sighed. “I apologize. The subject matter is newly raw for me.”
“I understand.” She didn’t remove her hand even though such an action would link their names in gossip if anyone were to witness their exchange. “It must have brought home your own mortality like a slap in the face.”