Page 26 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Amelia

I could not believe my eyes.

Stepping out of Jack’s bedchamber, I fled back to mine, hardly feeling the wood beneath my feet. I closed the door behind me and nearly shrieked. It was him. The man from the balcony at the Byrne’s masquerade ball. I was certain of it. But how? How was that even possible?

Over the last several days and Jack’s avoidance of me, I had a great deal of time to think about how I had erred in mentioning the war. Jack appeared deeply affected by the conversation, most notably over Waterloo, and I regretted my part in it.

The few times I had visited with Lady Helena in London, she mentioned her husband Lord Lucas’ involvement with the Greenwich Hospital and all the wounded soldiers there. Specifically, the ones whose injuries terrorized beneath the surface. She spoke of nightmares, difficulty concentrating, irritability, and undue risks. My heart ached for all the men who suffered for the sake of our country.

When I saw Jack enter the lodge tonight, I was determined to speak with him… to apologize… however or wherever I could, not realizing my headstrong decision would lead me to his bedchamber.

I dropped to the edge of my bed, pressing my palm to my forehead. Seeing the scar along his neck, the very same from that night, somehow superseded the fact that I almost kissed him. Me!

I had never in all my years been so drawn to a man and yearned so greatly for him to take me in his arms.

Deuces, I wanted him.

Now, though, what did this sudden recognition mean? Was he truly a gentleman from London? What purpose brought him to the country, to such a secluded place? I recalled the desperation in his voice on the balcony. His voice. That is why hearing him speak caused confusion. I had heard his voice before—and the misery reflected in it. I recalled his statements that night with perfect clarity, for they led me to convince Elizabeth to join me the day he and his friend spoke of.

“Let’s just hope our efforts are enough.”

“And I particularly hope that my absence will free my family from the ill effects of my ignorance and plight.”

“One day they will thank you for your sacrifice.”

“I only hope I live to see that day.”

Elizabeth and I traveled to the Tudor style parish called St Pancras Church on April 7 th and waited until that golden hour of 3 o’clock to see who might arrive. A handful of parishioners assembled, a few beggars, and three very dashing and handsome gentlemen.

“That is Lord Lucas, Amelia!” Elizabeth whispered with an element of excitement leaking through. Indeed, it was Lady Helena’s husband. They did not seem to notice us as we meandered around the altars, benches, and devotionals, or if they did, they did not let on. I could not get close enough to hear what they spoke of, but from their heated whispers, it was dashedly clandestine. At one point, Lord Lucas left their side and returned with a stack of parchments in hand. They all sat down on a corner bench and their discussion continued.

It was truly none of my business, and I only enlisted Elizabeth to join me as a way to break the monotony of our routine and predictably, to mollify my innate curiosity. But now I wish I had heard something more. Was Jack in trouble? What was it that he needed to hide from? Not only did he retreat to this hunting lodge in the middle of nowhere but shed his identity all together. I now knew, without a doubt, that Mr. Jack was not just a simple hunter or tradesman, but something most assuredly different altogether.

The more I reflected on the last week, the more I was reminded of his fortitude, generosity, and kindness, and now I suspected he was a peer of the ton .

But how did I truly feel about that?

I stood up and went to the window, pulling the drapes aside. Watching the last of the sun’s rays disappear across the horizon, I marveled at the glowing aftermath. The striking blend of the illuminating shades sparked a sudden declaration.

I have fallen in love with Jack.

The words lodged in my throat as if I had simply taken a bite of ice from Gunter’s, then once swallowed, the sensation remained. No wonder I had never found satisfaction with any of the London fops.

But what if the simplistic Jack was not the real Jack?

My heart pounded in my ears. What parts of him were authentic and what parts were fabricated? And would he ever allow me the chance to find out?

I continued to gaze out the window as darkness now crept slowly through the trees, extinguishing any light and making the woods even more unnerving. It reminded me of how easily my untruth about having a fiancé had spread and now how much it hurt my heart.

I needed to tell Jack the truth.

I saw how he responded to my touch. I saw him fight his longing. Would he have kissed me if he didn’t believe I was affianced to another man?

Gah! I groaned and threw the drapes back over the window. How is it that the one man I desire, the one man who seems to admire an intelligent woman, is the only man I have truly lied to; and the very one I might have destroyed any chance of a future with.