Chapter Seventeen
Chloe woke feeling more uncertain than ever. She’d spent the night tossing and turning in bed as sleep evaded her. She’d dreamed of Michael’s kiss, his strong hands caressing the soft skin of her thigh…the glorious feel of him pressed against her.
She’d finally fallen asleep only to wake at dawn in a sweat. Heart pounding, she kicked aside her twisted sheets and sat on the edge of her bed. Despite the risks, she’d made up her mind to try to help the Duke of Cameron.
Chloe slipped out of bed, stuffed her feet in slippers, and summoned her maid. She dressed quickly in a demure blue gown with embroidered rosettes at the bodice and hem. It was Thursday, her day to visit the orphanage, but for the first time she felt a pressing need to visit another destination first. A short carriage ride later, she arrived at the Berkeley Square mansion.
Her knock was answered quickly. Surprisingly, the duke’s butler, Hodges, did not look down on her with haughty disdain when he opened the door to find her on the doorstep.
“Good day, miss,” he said as he held the door open for her.
She marveled at the butler’s change in demeanor. He was quite hospitable and treated her with respect, but when she handed him her cloak, something about his expression gave her pause. He opened his mouth, then shut it, as if unsure what to say, when the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, walked into the vestibule, followed by an older gentleman with bushy eyebrows and a slightly protruding brow. He was carrying a black bag.
“Miss Somerton! It’s good to see you.” Mrs. Smith turned to the man by her side. “This is Dr. Graves, the duke’s physician. Doctor, this is Miss Somerton.”
Apprehension made the hair on Chloe’s nape rise. Was someone in the household ill? Was it Michael?
Dr. Graves acknowledged Chloe with a brief nod. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Somerton. Please excuse me, as I have another appointment this morning.” Hodges offered his hat and cane, and the physician departed.
“It’s good you’re here,” Mrs. Smith said.
The knot in Chloe’s stomach tightened. Something was amiss. “Is the duke well?”
Mrs. Smith lowered her voice. “He’s had another fit. We summoned Dr. Graves straightway. He left a sedative, but the duke refuses to take it.”
Chloe stepped toward the winding staircase that led to the second floor.
“He’s not in his bedchamber, miss,” the housekeeper said. “He’s in his study, and he refuses to leave and barks at anyone who tries to enter.” She wrung her hands. “He’s a good man, but he threatened to sack any member of the staff who disturbs him, and we’re fearful of him when he has these tirades. It’s almost as if he still thinks he’s fighting the war.”
Chloe wasn’t entirely certain what the housekeeper meant. How could the duke’s staff believe he thought he’d returned to war? Had he donned his uniform, loaded his pistols? Was he marching back and forth across the room?
“I’ll see to him,” Chloe said.
Hodges stepped forward, but Chloe raised a hand. “I know the way, and it’s best if I’m alone.” She hurried down the hall. She knew exactly where the study was, since it was where she first met Michael when she’d visited his home weeks ago.
She reached the door and rapped on the wood. No response. She rapped again, louder this time. When there still was no reply, she opened the door and swept inside, bracing herself for the worst.
She halted midstep.
Sweet Lord. The room was ransacked. Unrolled maps of varying sizes lay on every inch of the Oriental carpet. Books were scattered across the floor in what appeared to be a haphazard pattern. Some were open, others closed. A large globe was removed from its stand and rested on the floor in the corner. Glasses from the sideboard littered the floor as well. At first she thought the books had been carelessly tossed onto the carpet from the bookshelves, but she realized they were strategically placed on the curled edges of the maps to prevent them from rolling. The globe and the glasses were also used to keep the papers flat. The longest map was splayed across the large mahogany desk.
Michael stood behind the desk, palms flat on the surface as he studied the map like a general before a major battle. He was dressed in shirtsleeves—his cravat, jacket, and waistcoat strewn across a chair. He looked up at her intrusion, his sharp, dark eyes assessing her in a way that made her nerves flutter in her stomach.
“Your butler told me I could find you here. Please don’t blame the man for not announcing me,” she said.
His mouth twisted wryly. “Ah, it seems you have charmed my staff. Why am I not surprised?”
“They are concerned,” she replied.
His eyes flashed in a familiar display of impatience. “Are they? Can’t a man seek some peace in his own home?”
“Quiet is one thing. Hours alone and threatening to dismiss your servants when they are genuinely worried for you is another thing entirely. They summoned Dr. Graves. He left a sedative.”
“I don’t need a damned sedative,” he said in a harsh, raw voice.
“They believe you are reliving the war,” she said softly. “Has something triggered another episode?” She feared he would force her to leave, but he raised his hand and pointed to the map before him.
“See for yourself.”
Every inch of him looked hard and merciless. Gathering her courage, she approached and looked down at the map spread across the massive desk. Light and dark pencil markings were drawn across the map along with hand-written notes in small, neat print. She leaned closer and read the names of two villages south of Brussels. “What is this?”
“It shows the battle plans that day,” he said.
She suspected the answer, but she asked anyway. “Which day?”
“Waterloo.”
She glanced up at his face, unsure if he was having an episode or not. She could see the day’s growth of stubble on his chin and cheekbones. His hair was ruffled like he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it in agitation. His shirt clung to his broad shoulders and the top two buttons were undone, revealing the muscles of his throat and a mat of crisp hair on his chest. Memories returned in a rush—the heat of his body coursing down the entire length of hers, her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest, his tongue exploring the peaks of her breasts.
She looked at his wrinkled brow and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How could this strong, virile man be tortured?
She pointed to some of the handwritten notes. “What do these mean?”
He sighed. “They are battle strategies I could have used to save Lord Sefton, Henry’s father. If only my men had been positioned here”—he pointed to a spot on the map below a large hill—“instead of here”—he pointed to another location close to a road—“Lord Sefton would still be alive.”
Her heart pounded as she looked at him. He was having an episode of sorts.
Guilt. He was suffering from overwhelming guilt for surviving a war when he believed he should have been killed instead of his friend.
She recognized the crippling emotion. She’d suffered from it all her life. Guilt for being sick. Guilt for not being able to help her sisters when they’d been abandoned, homeless, and hungry. Guilt for suffering from a lingering illness that prevented her from aiding with an equal share of the work at the print shop.
She studied his chiseled profile. “You cannot change the past, but you must look to the future. I know this more than anyone.”
He took a deep breath, his fingers curling around the edges of the desk. Although he wasn’t as bad off as when she’d awakened him from his nightmare, he was clearly suffering. In an instant, all the anxiety she’d felt about visiting him and aiding him vanished.
She watched him bent over his desk, his jaw clenched in torment, and her heart ached. Only a good man with a strong conscience would be staring at an old war map, trying to figure out how he could have saved his best friend’s life. How long would he suffer for his friend’s decision to sacrifice himself?
Years? A decade? Forever?
For the first time, she truly understood his dedication to protect Henry from harm.
Before she could stop herself, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm, and the scrape of whiskers on her palm sent a shiver down her spine.
He stiffened, but did not pull away from her touch. Rather, he placed a hand over hers and cradled it against his cheek. “I’m not having a full episode, not like during the fireworks. But the truth is that I live in fear of another trigger. At times, the unpredictability frightens me more than the actual event.”
The anguish and honesty behind his words touched a deep part of her soul. She fought hard against the tears she refused to let fall. He needed strength and faith. “You must learn to accept the past and live for the future. You are now a duke.”
He laughed bitterly. “I know my ducal responsibilities. But how can I marry and have children when I live day to day, not knowing what or when something will cause me to react irrationally? I’m a volcano on the verge of erupting. Christ, what if I turn violent? How could I take such a risk? How could I condemn another to such a fate?”
“I don’t believe that.” She’d never feared physical harm from him. She feared losing her heart instead.
She may not be able to change his mind, but she may be able to help him. She took a step closer. Warmth radiated from his tightly coiled body. “I spoke with someone who had similar experiences as you. There is a treatment. It’s not a cure, but it may ease your symptoms.”
He veered back to look at her, his eyes sharp and assessing. “You talked to a soldier? About me?”
She met his gaze. “There’s no need to get upset. I never mentioned your name.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that no one has ever thought to do that for me. Not my staff, not Dr. Graves, not Henry. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you care, Chloe Somerton.”
She held her breath. How much to admit? She’d never lied to herself in the past and she wouldn’t start now. If this were going to work, there had to be truthfulness between them. “Yes. I do care. You are not alone.”
He reached for her hand, turned it palm up, and placed a warm kiss to the center. Breathing lightly between parted lips, she trembled from the contact.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I was wrong about you from the very beginning. You are no charlatan, Chloe. You are the most honest woman I know.”
Honest.
She had never been completely honest with anyone. Not her sisters. Not him.
At a point when he should be emotionally exposed, she found that she was the most vulnerable. A frightening realization washed over her. She was in love with him. Deeply in love. From the beginning, she’d been drawn to him. She loved his height, his strength, and his masculinity. She loved his intelligence and his loyalty to his deceased best friend. She even admired his strong moral code to look after Henry.
She could turn and run and ponder her frightening feelings or she could stay and attempt to help him. She watched him lift his arm and brush his fingers against her cheek. The tenderness of his touch made her decision easy.
She took a breath. “I think you should try something.”
He lowered his hand. “I cannot. I’ve heard of others and what the army does to them. Straps. Bloodletting. Asylums with horrible, filthy conditions that drive men to hang themselves from the rafters. In essence, torture. I know as a duke I wouldn’t be sent to an asylum and treated the same, but they would mark me as mad. The physicians would descend upon the house with their bloodletting knives or jars of leeches and tinctures of laudanum.”
She swallowed hard. “No. That’s not what I meant. The solider I spoke with is the husband of Huntingdon’s cook. He did not go to the army for treatment but used a different method and had a measure of success.”
“How?”
“You must face your greatest fear.”
He turned away. “The battle is long over.”
“You misunderstand. You must talk about that day. Relive it. All of it.”
“To whom?”
She propped a hip on the desk and faced him. “To me. Talk to me. Tell me everything,” she implored.
A look of discomfort crossed his face. “I don’t know if I’m able. It’s my weakness, my curse to bear.”
“I don’t see it that way. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You are a man who experienced tragedy and who feels a great amount of guilt for things you couldn’t control. I don’t see you as weak at all. I see you as human.”
“Chloe, I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Reaching up, she cradled his face until he saw the determination in her eyes. “It’s safe. I won’t repeat a word you utter in this room. Trust me.”