would never advocate such a thing,” Griz stated. “I don’t understand her connection to this. But these people are clearly dangerous. They tried to kill us, so they could quite easily have killed her without a backward glance. Perhaps she was betraying them.”
“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced, and she glanced at him. He was frowning over the paper, every sense, it seemed, focused on the violent words.
Not for the first time, her stomach fluttered at his sheer good looks. But his face was more than handsome, it was expressive and intriguing and as contradictory as the man himself. She was very aware of his shoulder against hers as he leaned over the paper. Her every nerve tingled in novel, secret pleasure.
He looked up suddenly, catching her avid gaze. It seemed cowardly somehow to simply avert her eyes, so she held on, searching for something to say.
“What happened to you?” she blurted.
The corner of his eye twitched, but he didn’t look away either. Nor did he pretend to misunderstand. “I’m sorry. There are some things I cannot help.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said fervently. “You saved all our lives.”
“I only began it. You finished it. Thank you,” he added with such difficulty that she covered his hand with hers.
“There is no need,” she said.
He searched her face, all but devouring her with his haunted eyes, and then dragged them free at last. Her heart fell because he seemed to have withdrawn from her, but he did not move his hand from her clasp.
“I am not a natural soldier,” he said. “My purpose has always been to save lives, but I fought to preserve what we had won. It was justice. And I did some good among the horror. I saved some lives, patched up a lot of wounds, even helped in the villages we passed through. In the fighting, I did my part, because I had to because I had to look after my men. And then, toward the end of the war, I was too slow to withdraw. Canon fire came out of nowhere and exploded yards from me. I saw…”
He broke off, his hand twisting and grasping hers. She understood he would not distress her with the details of what he saw.
“Several of my men were killed. My lieutenant, who had become my friend. Perhaps it had been coming for a while, but from then on, sudden noises, like thunder, anything that makes the ground shake…”
She tightened her grip on his hand, raised her other arm around his neck, and pressed her cheek to his soft hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
It was instinct, impulsive compassion for a man who had always shown himself utterly capable. But with a jolt, she realized he was also a stranger, alone with her against all propriety, and she had her arms around him. She wondered how it would feel to brush her lips against his hair, his skin. If he turned his face to her and—
She sprang up, just as Peter walked in with the tea tray, Janet at his heels to arrange things on the table for her.
Perhaps it was the awful possibility of being discovered only a second or so earlier in such a compromising position that made her stomach churn and tingle. At any rate, the familiar fussing with tea gave them both time to revert to normal.
She set a strong cup of tea in front of him and sat on a different chair. “I’ll ask Horace about the leaflet,” she said. “See if it’s the one that inspired the rookery arrests. I wonder if he would know about Art? Or Art’s enemy, who was arrested. He could have been Nancy’s gentleman.”
Dragan shrugged. “I think you underestimate her. She worked for years in a nobleman’s household. Do you really think she could not tell a genuine gentleman from a rich villain?”
“Oh, no, I’m sure she could,” Griz said in surprise. “It’s more about what she told her friends, to let it appear, perhaps, that she was doing better than she was.”
Dragan was frowning at the leaflet beside him on the sofa. He drank his tea in two gulps and replaced the cup in the saucer. “It just doesn’t seem right, though. Something is missing.” He stood. “I’d better go. Let me know what you discover.”
“Likewise,” she said, unreasonably disappointed that he was rushing off. She had probably offended him. Men didn’t always like to be reminded of weakness. They would rather pretend they didn’t need comfort. Or perhaps he truly