“Back then, there was no particular place. I loved the sea more than almost anything. It still whispers through my blood every so often.” He draped his other arm about her hip. The warmth of her seeped through her thin night dress. “Then I met Brand, and we enjoyed a few more years in the navy. He became my best friend. Incidentally, I saved his life.”
“What?” She pushed off his chest, but it was too dark in the room to read the emotions in her eyes. The living waterfall of her hair tumbled over her shoulder, fragrant, soft, tempting. “How?”
“The scar on my left side is a result of that fight.” It had been a long time indeed since he’d talked about that day. “We’d been boarded by a French vessel during one of the lesser-known battles of the war. Hand to hand combat ensued. Brand lost his footing, for it was raining and the deck was slick. When he went down, his opponent came at him with a cutlass drawn.” His chest tightened with the remembrance, and not only because her hand still pressed upon him. “I’d disposed of the man I fought. When I glanced up and saw Brand in peril, I didn’t think. Just sprang into action, sprinted across the decking, and took the blow meant for him. It caught me in the side, and though I was injured, I’d prevented his death.”
“Oh, John. That must have pained you.”
“It did. Hurt like the devil for a few weeks, earned me a few stitches in places, but it was well worth it, for my best friend lives to this day. That’s when he declared me closer than a brother.” He frowned, for there was wetness on his chest, and it took a few moments to realize Caroline had been silently crying during his tale. “Sweeting, it’s all right. I’m healed and your cousin is hale and hearty.”
“He was away… for the years I’d been in the asylum.” She sniffled. “He didn’t know about me; I didn’t know the danger he was in.” Another sniff echoed in the silence. “We are the same.” How odd it was that her words came easy and in the correct order as if she weren’t upset or stressed. Did that mean she felt no attraction to him whatsoever?
John forcefully shoved that thought away. “Perhaps.” He hadn’t thought of it that way. Yet she was thinking beyond the small boundaries she’d previously set for herself. That was growth, and he hoarded it to his heart. “Now you are both living your lives to the best of your abilities.”
“And we have you.”
“I suppose.” If he’d not met Brand, he would never have known that Caroline existed, and that would have been a tragedy.
“Cousin Brand is nice. He’s funny.”
“Indeed he is.” John hoped the remainder of her family would make inroads into befriending her. “Do you wish to learn more about me?”
“Yes.” She laid her head on his chest, her body nearly plastered against his. It was all he could do to draw a breath that wouldn’t jostle his painfully tightening prick. “You fascinate me.”
Yes, but in what way?
Perhaps it didn’t matter. “My father was the reason I left home.”
“He is not a nice man.” Her whispered words tickled the hair on his chest. The muscles in his stomach clenched.
“No, he’s not.” There was no point in trying to say that he had been at one point, because he’d never been kind or nurturing. Hell, he’d never shown an interest in him or Mark unless it was to use them as an outlet for his bitterness, jealousy, or anger. “When I was a young man, I couldn’t stand life at home any longer. I lied about my age and joined the navy. For years, I knocked about the world, saw more than a few battles. It was a good life.”
“Were you lonely?” Her fingers drifted lazily along his abdomen, leaving acute need behind.
“Yes and no. I had my friends onboard the various ships I sailed upon, and when I wished for female company, it wasn’t hard to find in the larger ports, but I hadn’t anyone I trusted enough to talk with.” He clenched his teeth against the sensations of exquisite torture she unknowingly inflicted on him. “Until the year I met Brand. He took me under his wing. We grew into the men we are together.”
I miss those days.
“Why hate your father do you?”
Once more, he stilled her fingers on his person, for his shaft was hard enough to prove embarrassing if she explored further south. “He has run his title into the ground, has no regard for honorable living. So much debt has been piled atop the barony I rather doubt two generations can dig their way out.”
A tiny intake of breath betrayed her understanding. “You will be a baron.”
“Unfortunately, yes. I can’t escape that fate.” As much as it went against everything he believed in. “It will ruin my life.” John blew out a frustrated breath. “I never wanted it, or anything do with the ton.”
Yet the fact remained that he would be the next Baron of Westfield. Of course, he could simply refuse to take up the title or touch the money—if there was even any left by the time his father popped off. Yes, he would still be the title’s holder, but if he were never confirmed before Parliament, he wouldn’t have the full title and honors to ensure he was the correct heir.
And still, the anger his father as well as the situation fostered swept through his chest in an ever-present tide. Why must I choose? Why can I not ignore it, renounce it, pass it to Mark and be done with it? “Perhaps I won’t claim the title or call myself baron.” In that way, the title would remain in place and at his disposal should he ever change his mind, but right now, his heart and soul lay in Ipswich, in the fishing village he called home, where he’d begun to put together a simple life he could be proud of, far away from the aristocracy. “I don’t even need to send in a writ of summons to the House of Lords.” However, someone must care for the Surrey property as well as the London holdings. Long ago, he’d made general inquiries on what a man could do if he didn’t wish to assume a title. “Should you and I have a male child, all of it can be held for him.”
Damn, he hadn’t meant to mention starting a family or introduce talk of the future tonight, but the words couldn’t be recalled.
“You aren’t happy in London.”
“No, I am not.”
“Your father makes you angry.”
“He does. The man has failed in every way as a gentleman.” Those long-ago beatings had taken a toll on John, and the wounds ran deep. How could he tell his wife that she needed to square with her past if he couldn’t do the same? “Promise me that should we have children, if I grow angry with them, you will not let me beat them. I refuse to give them a life lived in fear and disrespect like I had.”