right. It was as though the wall of a dam had given way and the gathered mass of emotion behind had broken loose. He knew it was a necessary part of the healing process but he was quite unprepared for how much it hurt to hear it and to know himself the catalyst.
When eventually the tears were exhausted he found a handkerchief and gave it to her. Elena took it and rather shakily dried her face and blew her nose. She felt wrung out, as though every last ounce of energy had been drained out of her. She was also mortified.
'Harry, I...'
He put a finger to her lips and stopped the words there. 'It's all right. You don't have to say anything. What you need now is some sleep.'
Elena closed her eyes, waiting for her breathing and her pounding heartbeat to quieten and wondering how she was ever going to sleep again. What must he think of her? Shame and embarrassment obliterated everything else. She'd really thought she could put the past behind her, had wanted to, only to behave like a frigid little fool at the last. She squirmed inwardly. Harry had never given her reason not to trust him so why hadn't she? No answer presented itself, then or later.
Beside her, Harry stared into the darkness. He could still see the fear in her eyes, hear it in her voice. It cut deeply. He'd really thought that tonight they might overcome the last barrier to their married relationship. He had wanted that so badly, had thought she'd shared his hope. At first she had seemed to. He hadn't imagined that spark of passion or the building fire inside her. She was beautiful and sensual and she'd wanted him, all right - until the shadow of Badajoz returned. It was clear that she equated his attempted possession with what had happened there. He would rather have cut off his right arm than hurt her but she didn't trust him. His lip curled in self-mockery. Why should she trust him? Others had and they were dead. He heard a woman call his name, a desperate plea for help that never came. In his mind's eye he saw the image of the burning house and, silhouetted against the flames, half a dozen sinister forms clubbing a man to death with rifle butts while he looked on helplessly and did nothing.
He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. The images continued to taunt him. Belen had offered him her love and discovered how poor a choice she had made. It seemed Elena was wiser. All hope of sleep had long since vanished so he rose quietly and dressed. Then, with a rueful backwards glance towards the figure on the bed, he left the room.
Elena heard him leave. Her throat tightened. She wanted to call him back, to beg him not to go, but what would be the point? There was no reason for him to stay.
Chapter Fifteen
Harry walked for a while without having any particular destination in mind, letting the cool air clear his head. The night was far advanced now and the sky beginning to lighten. Soon it would be dawn and the city would start to stir. Then they would be on their way. He wasn't sorry. Quite apart from anything else he wanted Elena well away from Villanueva, not because he didn't trust her but because he most emphatically didn't trust his former colleague. For all manner of reasons Seville had lost its attraction.
Since he had no immediate solutions to the difficulties besetting his marriage, he turned his mind to the forthcoming journey instead. Barring accidents, they could be in Cadiz inside a week. Then he would find Sanchez and get the proof he needed. After that everyone could move on. Perhaps when they reached England he and Elena would have a better chance of making their marriage work. Here in Spain there were too many reminders of the past.
By the time he returned to the inn he felt more focused and marginally more optimistic. Seeing that the servants were once more in evidence he ordered some breakfast and, having eaten, went to find Jack. Between them they made the necessary arrangement for supplies and provisions. As Jack went off to expedite the matter, Harry returned to the bedchamber. It was empty. He found Elena in the parlour with Concha. When he arrived the maid murmured an excuse and