Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,12

were under attack,” Rowden said calmly.

Nash sank back to the ground. “I told you I belong in an asylum.”

“You think I don’t wake up sweating some nights, about to piss myself from fear over some imagined threat? You think Neil and Jasper and Colin don’t remember the faces of the men they killed, the screams of horses, and the cries of widows and orphans?”

“When did you become such a poet?”

“Just because I can break your nose doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain. Some would say I’m good at breaking noses because I use my brain. But you’re changing the subject. Why do you think we founded The Draven Club? Not because we all needed one more place to drink or eat beefsteak.”

The Draven Club was located on King Street in London. Membership included a dining room, reading room, card room, and billiards. The members numbered only thirteen—the twelve survivors from Draven’s troop and the colonel himself. Nash had been there once or twice, but with his limited vision, he found he didn’t like being in unfamiliar places or around too many people who might be staring at him.

He wasn’t certain what he looked like now, but he could feel the scar over his left eye and thought it must be hideous enough that he’d grown his hair to cover it.

“It helps to talk about it with people who understand,” Rowden said.

“And what if I don’t want to talk about it?”

There was a lengthy pause. “Then I suppose you end up here. Or in the asylum.” Nash heard Rowden rise. “If you’ve given up then I’m wasting my time. I’ll go back to London, and your father can cart you away.” The grass crunched under his feet as he walked away. Then silence. Nash supposed he had stopped and possibly turned back. “But if you want to fight...well, that’s something I know a bit about.”

His footsteps faded, and after a moment, Nash heard the door open and close.

Nash sighed and fell back into the grass, the blades scratchy against his back and neck. Sometimes he thought he did want to fight, but most of the time fighting was such hard work. And Nash was tired. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. Even now he felt the weight of his Gribeauval pistol in his pocket. Rowden hadn’t managed to take that away. If Nash had the stones, he would prime it, cock the hammer, stick it in his mouth, and fire.

That would end his pain and make life easier for everyone. He wouldn’t be a burden to his parents. Colonel Draven wouldn’t need to worry about him. Rowden could go home. It was the easy way out, and Nash was not too proud to admit he was tempted to take the easy way. The last two years had been nothing but uphill and the summit was still not within reach.

He felt inside his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the filigree on the gunstock. He wondered if it needed polishing.

The grass crunched again, and Nash froze. Was Rowden coming back or—no. The grass was crunching from before him, not behind. Slowly he withdrew his pistol from his pocket then sat and aimed it in the direction of the sound. He was at a distinct disadvantage as he couldn’t really even see shapes in the sunlight. But he could sense a presence, and he trained the pistol toward it.

“Would you mind not pointing that at me?” said a female voice. It took him only an instant to place it as Miss Howard’s. Had he fallen asleep? Was he dreaming that she was here?

“I don’t approve of weapons,” Miss Howard went on in a cheerful, mildly lecturing tone. “Diplomacy is far more effective than warfare.”

Nash lowered the pistol and slid it into his pocket. “Words are powerful weapons. I daresay more than one war has begun because of injudicious rhetoric.”

“I can’t argue, but I don’t use words as weapons. You have nothing to fear from me, Mr. Pope.” She moved closer, and he thought she must be standing in front of him now. “Might I sit beside you?”

“You’ll soil your dress,” he said. He wanted her to sit beside him for some reason. And the fact that he wanted it made it dangerous and something to reject.

“It’s an old dress. Quite ugly,” she said and promptly sat beside him. He scooted away from her, needing some distance between them. But it was too late. He caught the scent of pine and smoke