Page 16 of The Major’s Mistake (Intrepid Heroines #7)

But in reality, he found that what he felt was neither triumph nor righteousness, only a strange, aching emptiness.

If what had just occurred was in any sense a moral victory for himself, it was a bitter one indeed. Why, it was only when she was in his arms and he had shared her pain, rather than reveled in it, that it had felt the least bit right inside.

Perhaps it was because a part of him cringed when he thought about the past. Seven long years of war had taught him that precious few people made no mistakes. Who had he, a green youth, been to judge so harshly?

His eyes pressed tightly closed as he considered all the foolish blunders he had made in his first years on the Peninsula.

How easily he could have been broken in spirit had his commanding officer been a rigid martinet rather than a man of compassion as well discipline.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he wasn’t quite as blameless in what had happened as he had been wont to think.

Julian buried his head in his hands as her last words echoed in his ears.

A moment later, a violent oath rent the still air as his fist slammed into the cracked stone with such force that his knuckles were left bruised and bleeding.

Jamming the damaged hand into his pocket, he stumbled to his feet and rushed towards he had left his horse.

He caught up with her not far from the boundary of her aunt’s lands.

“Miranda, a word if you will,” he called as he slid down from the saddle.

She had turned at the sound of an approaching rider, then quickened her steps on seeing who it was.

“Miranda!” Julian sought to match her stride. In the near darkness, his boot caught in a rut of the rough cart track and he fell heavily to the ground.

The sound caused her to glance around. With a small cry, she rushed back and knelt by his side. “Ju—sir, are you alright?” Her hand was already moving gently down over his thigh, seeking to ascertain whether there was any new damage to his knee.

He muttered an oath of frustration under his breath. “Yes, yes. Just stupid clumsiness—” There was a sharp intake of breath as Miranda’s fingers pressed a jagged lump to one side of his kneecap.

Her eyes widened in concern. “Why, there is still a good deal of shrapnel in your leg. Cannot a surgeon do anything to remove the fragments?”

“No bloody sawbones will ever get near me,” he said through gritted teeth. “It will be fine in just a minute.” With a slight grimace, he made to get up.

“Come then, let me help you over to where you may sit down, sir.”

As she spoke, she slipped her arm around his waist. The linen of his shirt had been tugged about in some disarray and her fingers brushed up against bare skin.

He managed to stagger over the low stone wall she had indicated, then slumped against the mossy surface. Her hand fell away from the hard planes of his stomach, only to begin massaging once again at the tender area around his injured knee.

He sat watching her in rigid silence until he had his emotions under tight rein. “I hardly meant to force your attention in such a pitiable manner,” he said in a low voice. “But now that you are here, perhaps you will do me the favor of listening to what I came to say.”

Miranda’s eyes came up hesitantly to meet his.

“I … I never thought you a …” He swallowed hard before being able to continue. “A … a whore. Never.”

She wrenched her gaze away. “No? Yet you cast me off as if I were nothing more than … a soiled shirt.”

“I was hurt, Miranda.” His voice was raw with pain. “I—I had thought we shared a special bond …” His words trailed off.

“It was you, sir, who began to spend every night out carousing with your friends.”

A tremor ran through Julian’s jaw. “I would much rather have been with you,” he admitted. “But the teasings—I did not wish to appear a man-milliner. I was counseled that it wasn’t at all the thing to dance attendance on one’s new bride, lest one be considered under the cat’s paw.”

“Ah, the advice of your estimable friends,” she said with a cutting edge to her voice. “No doubt they had only your best interest in mind, especially Lord—” She stopped abruptly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the name.

His head jerked around. “What do you mean by that?”

Miranda didn’t answer but merely shook her head sadly. “Perhaps you should have trusted your own feelings.”

He took a deep breath. “If you must know, I still couldn’t quite believe that you had accepted my suit over all the others that sought your hand. You were so beautiful and so self assured, while I was awkward and shy …”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“I worried that I had not the graces to keep your attention,” went on Julian, no matter that saying the words was far more painful than the fire in his leg. “Averill used to tease me about how?—”

Her body went very rigid at the mention of the marquess’s good friend.

“I’m sorry,” he said haltingly. “That was extremely cow-handed of me. I did not mean to mention his name.” He cleared his throat.

“I understand how you would naturally hold it against him for being the one to come to me, but he took no pleasure in it. He told me over and over that only his strict code of honor as a gentleman forced him to?—”

“You understand nothing!” she cried.

“But—”

The sound of pounding hooves interrupted the marquess’s reply. Sykes materialized from out of the twilight and reined his mount to halt next to the riderless Zeus.

“Guv!” he shouted, standing in his stirrups to search in all directions. His hand began reach for the pistol in his coat pocket.

“Hell and damnation,” muttered Julian under his breath before answering his valet’s urgent hail.

The look of concern on Sykes’s face eased on catching sight of the marquess. It changed, however, to one of contrition on seeing Miranda seated close at his side.

“Er, sorry.” His eyes flicked from one tense face to the other.

“I heard several shots a while back, and as darkness was beginning to set in, and you hadn’t returned, guv, I thought I’d best have a look around.

Then I saw Zeus here, standing all alone, and well—I didn’t mean to come thundering in like a banshee and all … .”

Miranda rose hastily. “I’m sure His Lordship appreciates your concern, Mr. Sykes.

I am afraid it is I who have caused his delay.

As you say, it is getting late and I should return home—” Her words stopped short as she noticed his palm still resting on the butt of his pistol.

A furrow came to her brow. “You are armed, Mr. Sykes. What cause have you for such measures here in Hingham? Why would you think the His Lordship is in any sort of danger?”

Sykes coughed as he looked to Julian for help. Miranda turned her gaze on him as well.

“There is no danger,” he replied quickly. “Sykes is merely being cautious. It’s a … habit from the Peninsula.”

Her frown deepened, betraying the fact that his rushed assurance had not fooled her in the least. “Does your being here have anything to do with the recent unrest in the area?”

It was a moment before he answered. “I am having a look around for a friend in the Home Office. There is reason to believe that the current troubles are being stirred up by?—”

Sykes coughed again, this time even louder. “Here now, guv. You sure you want to be telling Mrs. Ransford about that?” he asked as he dismounted and went to lead Zeus over to Julian’s side.

Julian directed an icy look at his valet. “I believe Lady Miranda can be trusted with such knowledge.”

“What I meant was, are you sure that in knowing what you are up to, she won’t be put in danger herself?”

Julian pursed his lips, but before he could answer, Miranda spoke up.

“I believe I am capable of making that decision for myself, Mr. Sykes.” She turned back to the marquess. “Milord, I would prefer to know what it is you suspect.”

“Whitehall fears the trouble is being instigated by an outsider—one with ties abroad. Unrest here in the north, especially if it spills into Scotland, could greatly hinder our efforts on the Continent.”

“That would be a serious matter, indeed.” She paused to consider the import of his words.

“From what I have seen, the people around here are good, decent folk, but times are very hard, and when one’s family has no food, men can be stirred to do desperate things.

Still, I cannot believe they would be a party to treason. ”

“Not knowingly.” Julian’s expression turned grim as he got to his feet. “I have seen how difficult things are with my own eyes. You may rest assured that no family on any land of mine shall worry about going hungry.”

“I have heard of your generosity,” said Miranda softly.

“That is very good of you, sir.” Her hands twitched at the folds of her gown in some agitation.

“I will keep my eyes and ears open on my visits to the surrounding farms. Perhaps I may hear something of use to you. But now, I really must go, before Aunt Sophia begins to wonder what has become of me. Good eveningt, milord. Good evening, Mr. Sykes.” There was a slight hesitation. “Have a care. Both of you.”

Julian placed a hand on her arm. “I will see you home, Miranda.”

“That’s hardly necessary, sir. I have no reason to fear any harm.”

“It is not safe to be out alone after dark, not with the current situation and prospect of strangers in the area.”

Before she could argue, his hands came around her waist and lifted her up across his saddle. His boot found the stirrup and he swung up behind her, settling her close to his chest.

The big stallion set off at an easy canter, with Sykes bringing up the rear.

Julian made no attempt to pick up the threads of their earlier conversation.

It would be hard enough later to unravel his feelings about this newest confrontation concerning the past, but at the moment, he was content just to feel the soft curves of her body close to his and take in the faint perfume of fresh lavender in her hair.