The Captain's Bluestocking Mistress (12 page)

Xavier had thought disillusionment would be the worst thing he could bring to Jane’s face. He was wrong.

There was no point in saying,
I’m not going to hurt you
. He’d taken her virginity with one thrust, and now he was destroying whatever was left of her innocence.

He swallowed against the sour taste in the back of his mouth. It was time she knew the truth. He would
never
be the man she imagined him to be. He had lost that hope years ago.

But he hated to see her hunched against the headboard of the bed they’d just shared, clutching the blankets to her naked breasts and staring at the foot of the bed with… disappointment?

Perhaps she wasn’t
afraid
of him. She simply regretted she’d ever met him.

He hadn’t meant things to go this far. The days with her were so damn exhilarating, and he wasn’t made of steel. He was made of broken promises.

Xavier shoved his shaking fingers into his hair and looked away as self-recrimination washed through him. He’d wanted her to understand. But not like this. Not now.

At last she comprehended the imprudence of offering her body to an illusion she’d constructed in her mind. And he hadn’t stopped her. He’d
known
it was wrong, and he’d done nothing to prevent the natural conclusion from playing out.

He hadn’t changed at all.

Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he was doomed to make the same mistakes for the rest of his ill-conceived life.

“What did you do?” she whispered. Her eyes did not meet his. “Start at the beginning.”

He almost laughed. The beginning. When was that? He’d been born the year the French Revolution began. No one romanticized battle better than a young boy. He couldn’t aspire to riches or inheriting a title, but could absolutely join the King’s Army and earn the admiration and respect of all.

Nothing ever went according to plan.

“I purchased my commission with my closest friends,” he said at last. “But we were separated after training. I found myself surrounded by strangers. All of them young, all of them scared, and all of them willing to die rather than be seen as less of a soldier than their compatriots.” His throat grew thick. “I fit in perfectly.”

Silence stretched through the chamber.

When Jane again spoke, her voice was hesitant. “This is why you said that not everything one does for one’s country is good after all?”

“I understand why you believe that. I did, too. We all did.” He could hear the bitterness in his voice. And the repressed anger. “I gave everything I had to everything I did, and was rewarded handsomely for it.” His mouth twisted. “But it wasn’t until I was assigned to help oversee the ‘questioning’ of prisoners that I realized how deceptive our beliefs had become. The ‘good of our country’ now justified any atrocity against our fellow man.”

“Overseer.” Her face cleared. “You weren’t the perpetrator of the crimes.”

“Worse. I was a captain.” He would never stop hating himself for earning a promotion under such conditions. “I held rank, power, and the keys to unlock every manacle. I never used the latter.”

Her expression grew pensive. “Could you have?”

“I didn’t think so.” He asked himself that question every day. His inability to correct the past gnawed at his soul. “But we always have choices.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked softly.

He closed his eyes. “I believed defeating Napoleon was the greater good. What was the discomfort of one man if the secrets he spilled saved tens of thousands? But there was no way to know which captives might hold the clue to ending the war without interrogating them all.” His legs trembled as memories flooded him. “Some of them were simple soldiers, fighting for their country. They didn’t deserve to die.”

Her expression was guarded. “You held the keys. But you couldn’t just walk around unlocking manacles. Not if it might endanger more people.”

He nodded. “Had I balked, they would’ve thought me a spy myself. A traitor. I would’ve been ‘questioned’ until my dying breath.”

She squared her shoulders. “Then you didn’t have a choice.”

“That
was
the other choice.” He shrugged. “I made the wrong one.”

Her eyes flashed. “Martyring yourself would’ve saved the other captives?”

He shrugged. “It would’ve made one less monster.”

Silence fell.

His skin prickled. He looked away. What was left to say? Some soldiers were heroes. He was not. End of discussion.

“That’s a horrible story,” came her quiet voice at last.

He nodded. He was a terrible person. The stain on his sheets proved it. He was destroying lives all over again.

“You’re right,” she continued. “You were following orders, and those awful men could’ve done the same to you, but it was still despicable to allow torture to be inflicted on another person.”

He winced. Those very words careened about his brain a thousand times a day. Awful. Despicable. Torture.

“It’s also over.” She met his eyes. “And something you deeply regret. As you should. But just because the past will always be there doesn’t mean you can’t make the most of your future.”

His laugh was harsh and ugly. Just like the man he knew himself to be. “What future do you suggest? Puppies and babies? Shall I call the banns?” He spread his arms wide. “In three short weeks, all this could be yours.”

“I wasn’t suggesting marriage,” she snapped.

Of course she wasn’t. No sane woman would.

He lifted a shoulder. “At least you got the meaningless affair you’d wanted.”

Her back pressed higher against the wall. “What I
wanted
was to make love with someone I liked, and who liked me. I wanted to feel… like a woman. To connect with another person.”

“Well, I’m a man, and men copulate because we have cocks.” He knew he was being cruel. She deserved
anyone
but him. He needed to ensure she ran back to safety and never returned. “Men like me don’t connect, Miss Downing. We think with our ballocks, not our brains.”

Her lip trembled. “Or hearts?”

“I don’t possess one.” He turned his back to the bed. “Get some sleep. You’ve a long trip ahead of you tomorrow.”

She might never sleep again.

Jane lay in the center of the still-warm bed she’d shared with Xavier just moments before and stretched out her arms in despondency.

How had something so perfect turned out so wrong? She’d meant what she’d said about one’s past not determining one’s future. But he was right. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. Possibly not even a man she wanted.

She stared up at the canopy. Perhaps he was right to believe one couldn’t escape one’s past. Or at least one’s past decisions. The faint soreness between her legs loudly proclaimed her own folly.

He’d warned her, time and again. That she couldn’t change her mind and recover her virginity. That the loss of her maidenhead was permanent. That he was the wrong man to give it to. She gulped. Too late now. She could never undo those choices.

A chill swept across her skin. The past might not fully determine the future, but she now saw how one’s actions might stick with you.

His experiences under the umbrella of war had been horrific. They’d turned him into someone he didn’t like, or even recognize.

She couldn’t let the same thing happen to her, just because she no longer had her virginity.

But what did that mean? Her fingers grew cold. She’d never really thought about the future. She’d wished for love and friends and passion, but she’d wished to have them
right now
, without considering where she might be five years from now.

If she’d truly wanted a husband, she could’ve set about making herself into the sort of woman who would be more likely to attract a suitor. She might’ve been married off years ago.

But she didn’t want to pretend to be someone she was not. She curled her hands into fists and slammed them down against the blankets. It wasn’t fair to have to become someone else, just to hold the interest of another person.

She swallowed thickly. Was that what she had done to Xavier?

Before they’d exchanged their first word, she’d already decided what sort of person he was. Romantic, dashing. A hero. She’d painted him with broad, fanciful strokes and never bothered to look at the details.

He
hadn’t deceived her. She was the one who’d drawn conclusions on no more basis than her own imagination. Her chin slumped.

She’d forced him into the role of someone he’d never claimed to be. What right did she have to be disappointed in him for not living up to a standard she’d imposed on him against his will?

Her chest grew tight as she considered it from his perspective. She’d spent four-and-twenty years hating the people who judged—and dismissed—her for her labels, rather than bother to get to know her as a person.

She was not only a bluestocking. She was also a person. A very headstrong, very foolish, very
ruined
person. She let out a ragged breath.

When she’d focused on Xavier as the object of her desire, perhaps she’d done so more cynically than she’d realized. More selfishly. In order to experience a night of secret passions, she needed a man who fit specific criteria. Handsome enough to arouse her interest. Virile enough to share it. Honorable enough to be trusted with the secret.

She needed the perfect man. So she’d forced him into the part.

But he wasn’t a perfect man. No one knew that better than Xavier. What he didn’t realize was that he was no longer the man he’d been, the man he’d despised. He didn’t need to try to be better. He’d already changed.

The question was… could she?

She’d come to Chelmsford believing herself a wallflower who would never find love. Hoping one night of passion would sustain her during the next forty years of spinsterhood. But why did she have to settle for that? Why couldn’t she be a bluestocking
and
a lover
and
a wife?

Insight she could’ve used weeks ago. Her eyes stung. It was too late. By lying with Captain Grey, she’d thrown away her best chance at landing a proper, Society-approved gentleman… But when had she ever wanted one of those?

She squinted up at the dark canopy and tried to be honest. What was she truly looking for in a man?

She’d wanted handsome. Xavier had that in spades. She’d wanted virile. Last night had proved her fantasies were only the beginning.

She’d also wanted honorable. Her fingers slowly unclenched. Captain Grey was not the pristine, sparkling war hero she’d painted him to be, but did that make him any less honorable? She’d forced herself into his house, his life, and his bed, and
he’d
been the one fighting to keep her honor intact every step of the way. Did that make him less perfect, or more so?

She loved him, she realized dully. She loved him, and it no longer mattered. He had chosen to walk away.

Xavier would never be hers.

She hauled herself to her feet and trudged over to the basin of water. Sun streamed through the cracks between the shutters. The faint crunch of carriage wheels rumbled in the distance. She stumbled at the sound. No more snow. Her limbs were sluggish with a mixture of disappointment and relief.

The adventure was over. Time to go home.

She dressed herself as best she could and got all her belongings stuffed back into her trunk. All she needed was Egui—and a ride to the inn—and she and the cat would be on their way back to London. This was the last she’d see of Captain Grey.

Good. She didn’t need another man in her life who didn’t want her in his. That’s what Egui was for.

New carriage wheels sounded from outside the window, then rolled to a stop. Someone was here!

She flung open the bedchamber door and raced to drag her luggage out of the room before anyone caught her in the master chamber.

Xavier strode into the room and took the trunk from her hands without a word. She followed him out to the corridor, but he edged her back inside.

“Let me at least fasten your stays first,” he muttered crossly.

“Yes, Captain Crotchety.” She lifted her chin. What did he have to be cross about? He was finally getting his wish. She was going home.

“It’s my servants,” he said, his voice gruff. “They’ll be inside at any moment. Egui’s in the parlor. I’ll bring your luggage.” He finished buttoning her gown and tapped her lightly. “Go.”

She made it to the parlor just as two loud, ruddy-faced individuals tumbled through the door. If she had to guess, the housekeeper and a stable boy. Mother and son, by the looks of it, and both equally shocked by her presence.

Their congenial laughter died at once. She squirmed under their frank interest.

Xavier walked around the corner with her trunk, his expression and manner as placid as if he were snowbound with bluestockings once or twice a week. “Please summon the hack driver before he leaves. I have his next fare.”

The young boy rushed back out into the cold.

The housekeeper had turned her eyes to her employer, as if by carefully avoiding locking gazes with the unknown woman in their midst, the situation would cease being awkward for all of them.

It wasn’t working. Jane was mortified.

The stable boy returned with the driver. “There ’e is, sir.”

“Thank you, Timmy.” He nodded to both servants. “You are excused. There’s tea in the kitchen. We will reconvene in an hour.”

At those words, the twosome had no choice but to disappear into the servants’ quarters and give their master privacy.

Xavier placed her luggage before the driver and handed him a coin. “Please see the lady safely home—”

“To the Dog & Whistle,” she interrupted quickly. “I can find a new hack from there.”

“As the lady pleases.” He inclined his head to the driver. “To the Dog & Whistle.”

“Right away.” The driver picked up her trunk and began hauling it out to his hack.

All that was left was Egui and herself.

She picked up the wicker basket and took one last, long look at Xavier. Her voice trembled. “If I thought there was anything between us…”

“There’s not.” His voice was flat.

She sighed. “I know.”

He held open the door. Icy wind rushed in.

“I don’t judge you for what you did before.” Her chest ached as she looked at him. “I judge you for what you’re doing now.”

His eyes darkened. “What, pray tell, am I doing now?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She stepped out into the cold. “Like you always do.”

He caught her arm. “I warned you, Miss Downing. I’m no hero.”

She held fast to the basket to keep from reaching for him one last time.

He held himself so still, his body fairly thrummed with intensity. She tried to smile, to pretend it was all right. He dropped her arm as if it had scalded him.

“Safe travels,” he said curtly. “I doubt we’ll meet again.”

Her smile cracked. “Even heroes make mistakes.”

He stepped back into his cottage, and the door closed tight behind him.