Rain misted on Knight’s skin, bringing welcome relief from the heat that seemed to have wrapped itself around him. It melded his shirt to him and dripped from his hair while he took in several breaths of cool night air. He held the lantern aloft and pushed on from the house toward the church.

This was all Louisa’s fault. Damned woman. He wasn’t grieving for his father. The man did not deserve one jot of his grief. He was glad the man was dead. One less arrogant bastard in the world.

It was too hard to explain that he’d been grieving for someone else his entire life, and that he’d been the cause of his death. He’d hoped to avoid doing this altogether, but Louisa’s words would not leave him in peace. Hours of restless sleep filled with hallucinations had left him with little choice—he needed to visit his father’s grave.

With quick strides, he cut across the lawns toward the church. Lanterns were lit at the entrance but the small estate church was cloaked in gloom. There were better times to visit a graveyard he supposed, but after his time in battle, there was little about death that scared him.

He stopped under the wood lychgate, on the threshold. Why in God’s name was he putting himself through this? With a sigh, he pressed on, knowing Louisa’s voice would not be silenced until he did.

Swiping rain from his face, Knight cut through the headstones toward where his ancestors were buried. A substantial mausoleum dominated the space. Knight stopped in front of it and let the glow from the lantern shimmer across its surface. He took several breaths and eyed the crypt. His grandparents and mother were buried here, and he supposed his father had been interred here now. He’d not asked about the funeral but with the time passed between his father’s death and his arrival here, he assumed it had been dealt with.

“You would not have wanted me here anyway,” Knight muttered.

It was true. His father was incapable of caring for anyone other than himself. His actions with Julianna had proved the years had made no difference to him. He closed his eyes briefly and searched his mind for something, anything. No, he could not bring himself to care.

“Knight.”

He whirled, heart drumming against his ribs. Lifting the lantern, he grimaced.

“What are you doing here?”

One hand clasping a silken gown about her shoulders, Louisa wore muddy boots with the hem of a chemise peeking out. He shook his head. Damned fool woman.

“I saw you leave,” she said, slightly breathless.

He lifted a brow. “And you thought you would follow me. In your nightwear. In the rain.”

“Well, you are also inappropriately dressed for this weather.” She narrowed her gaze at the shirt that clung to his skin.

“Go back to the house, Louisa. You will catch a chill.”

“As will you.” She moved closer and glanced past him. “This is where your father is buried.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me about him?” She held up a hand before he could respond. “And not just that he was a bastard.”

Knight pushed a hand through his sodden hair and shook his head. Why was the woman so persistent and why the hell did he feel this inherent need to tell her all?

“You cannot make me feel something for him, Louisa. And I have little idea why you would wish me to.”

“I am no learned woman, Knight, but I’ve seen grief. I know how it can eat at someone.” She chuckled. “Let us face it, you are hardly the most joyful of men.”

“And you think that is because of my father?”

She hesitated. “Well, yes.”

Droplets of rain clung to strands of her hair, highlighted by the lanterns of the church, tugging them down around her face and pasting them to her neck. The rain dancing on her skin gave her a slightly ethereal glow. And the bloody woman would not leave him be and go and get dry until he talked to her, he knew that much.

He took her hand and led her over to the front step of the church, all too aware of the cold touch of her delicate fingers in his still-warm palms. He eased her under the shelter of the door and placed the lantern down on the step. Back resting against the wood door, he peered out at the darkness until outlines of trees and gravestones revealed themselves.

“Hayward said you left home after an argument with your father and never returned.”

Knight let his lips curve. Of course Louisa had befriended the servants and loosened their lips. He imagined the return of the disowned son had given the servants quite a lot on which to speak.

“I have already told you my father was a greedy man. To the detriment of the estate. I always knew his debts would ensure the end of my family’s legacy.”

She nodded. “And you argued about that?”

“Indeed.” He glanced at her. “What the servants may not have mentioned was that my father also liked to use his fists.” He paused. “Never on Julianna, thank the Lord.”

“Oh.”

“The last time we argued, it was about his spending...which was nothing new...but he tried to strike me. I hit him back.” He snorted. “Needless to say, my father was none too happy that I was finally standing up to him. I was told to leave and never return.” He shrugged. “So I did just that.”

“Oh, Knight.” She put a hand to his arm. “So he hit you regularly? Did Julianna know?”

He shook his head. “No, I made certain of that. The last thing she needed was to live in fear of him. I should have taken her with me or something...” He blew out a breath. “But I hardly knew how I was going to look after myself let alone a girl.”

“Julianna is a strong woman. She did just fine on her own.”

“Despite me,” he muttered. He straightened. “Anyway, I joined the Army and...” His chest tightened, and he forced himself to take a long breath. Why did he even need to tell her the whole sorry story?

“And?”

He glanced at her. Because she was a bloody persistent woman, that’s why. And because, somehow, he needed to tell her.

Swallowing down the knot in his throat, he straightened his shoulders and stared out into the darkness. “When I joined, there was another lad—Isaac. Two years younger than me and as scrawny as anything. I had already reached my full height so I watched his back, and believe it or not, he watched mine.” He smirked at the memory. “I was still a nobleman with little understanding of the real world. Isaac helped me navigate it.”

“I’m glad you had a friend.”

Knight grimaced. “I was meant to protect him, Louisa, but...” The words jammed in his throat. He curled a fist at his side.

“It was war, Knight. You cannot protect everyone.” She squeezed his arm.

“No, you don’t understand.” He gritted his teeth as images flashed in front of him. Blood, bodies, Isaac with his chest blown apart. “He did not die because I failed to protect him. He died because I shot him.”

He dropped his head back against the church door, his body weakened by the admission. Droplets of rain pattered their staccato beat on the church steps. He could not bear to look at Louisa and see the disappointment in her face, to view the understanding dawn. He was a monster, and there was nothing anyone could do to prove any different. War had eaten him up and spat him out—now all that was left was the shadow of a man who used his experience for nothing more than threats and criminal work.

He waited, breath held, for her to leave. Or to say something. Anything. He jolted when a gentle hand snaked around his waist, followed by another. Louisa flattened herself against him, resting her head against his chest.

Frozen, he let it happen. He could not have fought it if he tried. And then...

Then something strange happened. The stiffness in his limbs eased. His breathing grew relaxed. Her head rose and fell with each of his breaths, and her arms remained entangled around him. To an outsider it would look like perhaps she clung to him for support, but they both knew differently. Her warm, trusting body began to ease the ache burning in his throat.

How much time passed, he could not say, but eventually, and somehow at the perfect moment, she eased her head up to look at him. Knight touched a strand of her damp hair and smoothed it back from her face.

“You are the most beautiful woman.” The admission came out low and gravelly but it did not feel hard to say.

She smiled and gave a little shrug.

“You have no idea, Louisa...your strength...your courage. It shines from within.”

“You have strength too.” She shook her head as he opened his mouth. “I did not mean physical strength. You bore so much as a boy, and I know you protected Julianna as much as you could. Then you went to war and protected others.”

“I did not protect...”

She unwrapped an arm and pressed a finger to his lips. “I know enough about war to know friendly fire happens. I struggle to imagine you shot him on purpose.”

He shook his head sorrowfully. “The mess of war is indescribable. All noise and dust and blood. I didn’t know it was Isaac until it was too late. He ran in front of my line of sight, but I should have...been more aware. Or something, damn it.”

“What happened then?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You left the Army after that, did you not?”

“I was honorably discharged thanks to my injuries.” He snorted. “Killed my friend and got an honorable discharge.” He motioned to his face. “The same battle that Isaac was killed in was responsible for most of these scars. Not all, but most.”

“And did you return to the life of a nobleman?”

He scowled. “No, of course not.”

“No, you punished yourself, did you not? You took dangerous work maybe even in the hopes of dying.” She pressed a hand to his cheek, and he could not help sink into the warmness of it. “You have paid a great price, Lewis Knight, for the horror of war. None could blame you for what happened, but you are a good man, so you blame yourself.”

Knight peered down at her. He could not fathom why she looked at him so—with some strange sort of admiration—but her words somehow seeped in, digging deep into his ugly soul, and he could already feel some of the tension easing, just a fraction.

Maybe, just maybe, if Louisa thought him to be a good man, there was something of a good man still left in him.

“Have you ever told anyone about Isaac?” she asked.

“No.”

Her lips tilted. “You should speak of him. Often. It will help.” When he frowned, her smile grew. “If you have fine memories of him, is it not your responsibility to tell people of them?”

Unable to argue with that, he nodded. He eyed her shivering form and took her hand. “You will ail if you stay out here much longer.”

“I will return with you, if you promise to tell me more of Isaac.”

He nodded. “So long as you take a warm bath on your return.”

“It’s a deal.” She clasped his hand and allowed him to lead her to the house.

Once inside, Knight ordered a bath drawn and deposited Louisa at her bedroom door. When he went to leave, she put a hand to his arm. “I should look at your wound.”

Any fight he had left in him had long since fled, so he nodded and stepped into the room. With practiced efficiency, he stripped down to his breeches and turned his back to let her tend him.

“It would be easier if you get in the bath,” she suggested.

He twisted. “Louisa—”

“Do not argue with me, Knight. You were outside a lot longer than I was.”

He knew. He knew exactly what would happen should he strip in front of her and let her bathe him. But he’d be damned if he could fathom a single reasonable argument not to. Following her orders, he stepped out of the rest of his clothes and sank into the soothing warmth, closing his eyes briefly as the water lapped over him. Louisa grabbed a washcloth and urged him to sit so she could run it over his back. He shuddered at her touch and concentrated on continuing to breathe. Perhaps if he let her tend him briefly, he could have this over and done with promptly and leave her to bathe.

Except his hands had other ideas. He clamped his fingers around her arm, stilling her. Her gaze latched onto his. His pulse thudded in his ears when he saw her pupils widen. If he did this, it would be different. He had bared his soul to her and there would be no going back.

He did not much care.

He gave her arm a tug, urging her closer. She made a little noise of surprise as water splashed her dress. Knight looped a hand around her neck and pressed his thumb to her jaw, lifting her face so she could not shy away.

“You are everything to me, Louisa. Everything.” The words hurt to say. He hadn’t quite known they were true either, until he had said them.

She leaned in and flattened her lips to his. They were cool and fragile beneath his mouth. He cupped the nape of her neck and slid his mouth across hers, finding entrance and tasting the sweet warmth there. He rose, drawing her with him, and, heedless of his nudity, stepped out to flatten her to him.

Her chemise clung to his damp skin, but she did not seem to notice or care. With fumbling fingers, he found the laces at her neck and wrenched them apart until he had enough give to force the garment down her body until she stood skin to skin with him. Cupping her rear, he groaned at the feel of her flesh against his.

“You are still cold,” he murmured against her neck.

Before she could reply, he scooped her up and deposited her into the bath.

“Oh!”

Holding her hand, he drew her down into the warmth so she was settled between his thighs. Every inch of him burned with the need to take her, but she deserved to be warm and comfortable first.

Snatching the discarded washcloth, he ran it up and down her body until every part of her was pink and flushed. He draped the cloth over the side of the bath and used his fingers to trace every part of her body, following the curves of her breasts, sweeping over her nipples, and making her arch up from him. He pressed further until he found her center and she gasped. With persistent movements, he brought her to the edge, and she clung to the rim of the bathtub with whitened knuckles while she called his name.

“Knight...” she breathed again once her body had relaxed.

“The water is getting cold.” He stood swiftly and flung a cotton towel around his hips before holding one out for her. “You had better get out.”

Louisa stood, arms wrapped about herself. Her cheeks were still flushed but uncertainty haunted her gaze. How she did not know what she did to him, he could not fathom. He looped the towel around her and drew her into him.

“You are surprisingly gentle for such a large man,” she murmured, running a hand along his muscled arm.

He could escape now. He could give her a tender kiss and leave for his room. Run away. Just like he had been doing his entire adult life. Running from the pain of his past. But for the first time, he did not want that.

“Louisa...” His throat tightened. “I want to take you to bed.”

She nodded, biting down on her lower lip. “I want that, too.”

“You do not understand, though. I want...” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I want more than that.”

A brow lifted, she peered up at him. “You want...” She gestured between the two of them.

He nodded. “I want there to be—”

“An us,” she finished for him.

Knight let himself relax for a moment. At least it had been said. Even if she sent him on his way, he had uttered the truth and he was starting to learn that perhaps being silent was not always the best way to live.

A slow smile flickered across her lips. She wound her hands around his neck, thrusting her body up against his. “I think I would like that very much.”

He blinked a few times and let the words sink in. Part of him wanted to find the reasons they should not. He hunted his mind for them, but he could not recall what they were. Louisa was perfect for him, and he’d do everything he could to prove himself to her.

“In truth?” he asked when he finally found his voice.

“In truth.” She beamed at him and kissed him hard.

Even if there were reasons buried deep, he’d never find them now. He hooked a hand under her legs and lifted her into his arms to carry her over to the bed. Tonight would be the first night he lived without regrets, and he hoped there would be many, many more of them.