The Matter of a Marquess - Jess Michaels Page 0,26

her lips. “No. I suppose not.”

The sun suddenly felt warmer, and she lifted a hand to her throat in the hopes she would cover the flush she felt spreading on her skin. “When did you get him?”

Nicholas held his stare on her a beat too long and then cleared his throat. “Since my dog interrupted your walk, why don’t we join you so that you may continue?”

She hesitated. They had agreed to pretend as if their shared past didn’t exist, and there was no harm in two strangers sharing a walk if they bumped into each other. But it still felt…dangerous. And alluring. And something she wanted more than anything.

So she pushed aside her hesitations and nodded. “As long as it isn’t too taxing on your injuries.”

He glanced at his cane. “I’ve been told to exercise the leg. In order to keep it mobile. So this is my morning constitutional. Perhaps a bit taxing, but essential.”

She blinked up at him anew. His life had changed so much in nine years, but he was never anything but calm about it. Steady. Then again, he always had been. It was something she’d always admired about him.

“Then away we go,” she said with a smile. They fell into step together, she slowing her gait so that he wouldn’t have to push too hard past whatever remained of his injury.

“You asked when Fortescue came into my life,” he said, and reached down to pat the dog’s head as they walked. “After the war.”

She nodded slowly, but in truth he had broached a subject she didn’t know if she could leave be. The war and his time in it had been in her thoughts since well before they met again. “Was he a war dog?”

He gave the dog a playfully stern look and laughed. “I would have said so before I found him offering surrender to an unarmed enemy this morning.”

She knew he meant to be funny, but the statement hit home regardless. “I hope I’m not your enemy,” she said softly. “Or his.”

He didn’t reply but looked off toward the horizon. “Fortescue was trained for patrol, yes,” he said. “And took to me, as I did to him. When I was injured, he wouldn’t leave my side and so was gifted to me.”

She smiled. “Good boy,” she said, and Fortescue’s thick, curved tail thumped as he wagged it. “I’m glad he was with you, I’m sure those must have been difficult days.” She glanced at Nicholas’s leg, memorizing the way his gait had changed with his injury. The limp wasn’t pronounced, but it certainly changed the man she’d once known. “How did it happen?”

He cleared his throat. “I thought we weren’t discussing the past.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He looked uncomfortable. “I thought that included a moratorium only on our shared past. But if you don’t wish to discuss the subject with me, it’s none of my business.”

They were silent for a moment, walking together. Then he sighed. “The battle was at its height and the mortar shells started falling.”

She cocked her head. “Shells?”

“A big…blast from a cannon,” he explained. “My men had been holed up near our munitions, and I went against orders and forced them to move. Just after I did, a shell hit the powder kegs. There was a massive explosion.”

“They would have been killed if you hadn’t disobeyed orders,” she gasped, and tears filled her eyes.

“Some of them were,” he said, and his tone was so faraway. Like he was back there, in that horrible place that had nearly snatched him from her world. “And others were injured. I was blown off my feet by the blast. Metal in my leg, burned.”

She covered her mouth with one hand and came to a stop on the path. “Oh, Nicholas.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t pity me.”

She stepped toward him and caught his hand, lifting it to her heart. “Pity you? Who could pity you? You acted with forethought and bravery, and saved the lives of those you served with. I only picture the pain you must have endured and I hate it. I hate that you had to suffer. That you still do.”

He stared down at her, those dark brown eyes locked with hers. Suddenly she was very aware of how close they were. How warm he was. How strong his arm was beneath her clenching fingers. The last time she’d been so close to him, they’d been young and, she’d thought, in love. He’d kissed