Page 93 of The Danger of Desire

Then he sauntered out, leaving her alone with her husband.

Twenty-Two

Warren couldn’t look at his wife, couldn’t bear to see the pity on her face. Or worse, contempt.

Damn Hart for coming herenow. For telling her his most shameful secret. For letting her know what a bloody madman he was.

At least she’d kept the truth from his brother—that the nightmares were still plaguing him. And that had to mean she was on his side. That she would defend him even when he hadn’t trusted her with his secrets.

He heard the settee creak as she rose. And still he wouldn’t look at her,couldn’tlook at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.

“It’s not something I’m proud of,” he clipped out.

“What? Misbehaving as a boy? Being locked in a cellar?”

The incredulity in her voice gave him pause. He drained his brandy, relishing the hard burn. “Having nightmares over it at this advanced age.”

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for that.”

The sweet sympathy in her voice both warmed and terrified him. “Can’t I? Lords aren’t supposed to be afraid of the dark.”

“And young ladies aren’t supposed to go gambling in hells dressed as men, either. Yet I did.”

“It’s not the same.”

She came to stand between him and the fireplace, forcing him to look at her. “You mean, because I was merely a miss and you’re a marquess.”

“No. It’s not the same because you acted as you did to help your family. Whereas I have nightmares simply because I’m afraid of the dark. And the quiet. And of being alone in the dark and the quiet.”

There, he’d spelled it out for her. Let her make of it what she would.

Yet she didn’t even flinch. “I’m not surprised. Five days is a long time for a child to be trapped in a cellar. And at the age you were, children are very impressionable, very fearful. I’d think it odd if youhadn’tbeen profoundly affected by the experience.”

“But I’m not a child anymore, damn it! I should be able to conquer this!”

“Some things are harder to conquer than others. I still haven’t conquered my fear that I’ll lose my home and everything I hold dear. Thatanything, even risking my reputation in society, is better than being forced to move yet again to a new town, a new country... a new house.”

The thread of pain in her voice hit him like a cold pail of water. It hadn’t occurred to him that a fear of loss might be behind her recklessness. It made him admire her all the more.

“But youhaveconquered your fear, don’t you see?” he said. “Thanks to me and my nightmares, you were wrenched from your cozy life in the country and set down here to live with a madman, yet—”

“Not a madman,” she interrupted. “And you were never the cause of my being ‘wrenched’ from my ‘cozy life.’ That happened long before you came along, because of Reynold and his gambling. If not for you, Brilliana and Silas and I would soon be living in some cottage, trying to make ends meet.”

“My point is, one way or the other, you’ve made the best of your change of circumstances, despite what it took from you. Whereas I am—”

“Fighting your fears.” She stepped closer. “Or trying to manage them, anyway. I gather that your nights out in town are your way of avoiding the bad dreams.”

He gave a jerky nod. She saw too much. Yet too little.

“Tell me about them.”

A chill swept him. “The nightmares?”

“Yes. How often do you have them? Does anything in particular make them occur? How have you tried to prevent them, other than by flitting about town all hours?”

He dragged one hand through his hair. Leave it to his stalwart wife to attempt to solve the problem in a practical way, to seek to dissect it and thus understand it. But he’d done that a thousand times and never found answers that gave him any relief.