Tempted by Molly O'Keefe Page A

that.
    “You’re safe now,” he told her. Her eyelids drifted shut, too heavy to keep open. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
    “Thank you,” she breathed, reaching for his hand, but then she stopped. Remembered. That he didn’t like to be touched.
    “What happened?” she sighed. “To you in the war?” To the young man of leisure, whose blue eyes must have made the girls wild for him.
    “It’s not a happy story.”
    “I'm not in need of a happy story,” she told him. They were murmuring, their voices hushed.
    But again he shook his head. “Another day, perhaps.”
    He meant never. He planned to never tell her.
    And they would never change. This, right now, their knees almost touching on her narrow mattress. This was as close as they would ever get.
    And that was worse than everything else.
     
    Steven watched her sleep, curled up on her side, thin strands of hair falling over her face, pushed around by her breath. One was caught at the corner of her lips, and with his fingers he eased it free, brushed it back behind her ear.
    Her hair was silky and wild against his skin. As she would be, he imagined.
    Sleep was good. Sleep would make things better in the morning.
    He should go downstairs, to the hard settee in the sitting room. But when he rolled off the bed, he only got as far as the chair. She was so small in that bed. And he couldn’t leave her there alone to fend off the nightmares that would come. The fire was dying and he put another log in it, sending sparks up into the chimney, and then he went back to the chair.
    Downstairs he heard someone walking around, and he imagined the good doctor packing up his things and leaving in the dark of night like the coward he was.
    Steven comforted the rage in his belly by imagining all the quick deaths that were too good for the doctor. Madison needed something slow. And awful.
    Tomorrow was going to be hard. Anne would wake up to a different life than she’d had yesterday. Everything would seem different. The air. The light. The wind. Everything would be different, because she was different. This night took something from her. The sense of safety she’d cobbled together with her lies and the money he gave her and whatever thin protection being Dr. Madison’s assistant made her feel.
    But on top of that, there was a good chance the doctor would be gone—and that purpose she so relished would go with him.
    That, knowing Anne, would be the harshest blow of all.
    And what will you do in the morning?
he thought.
Visit another whorehouse to find out if you can ever be worthy of her?
    Christ, that was unworthy of her.
    There was more than one coward in this house.
    He would stay here, if she would let him. And he would help her—as much as she would allow.
    But he knew, with the secrets he kept, with the distance Delilah’s put between them, she would not allow him to stay long. Or remain close.
    This night in her bed would not be repeated.
    And the realization was a sad one. Devastating.
    Unless you do something to change it.
    The truth, he decided. She wanted him to talk, and so he would. There was nothing else to do, if he wanted to stay close to her—and he did. For her sake and for his own. He would just have to find the strength to tell her. She was too brave, too powerful for anything else. Lies or half-truths would not protect her.
    He could not protect her by shielding her from the worst of himself. The worst of his memories.
    He would tell her everything, and then she would decide.
    Behind him the bed creaked as she moved.
    “Sam,” she moaned. “No—”
    The first nightmare.
    He crossed the room to her side.

 
    Chapter 9
     
    A nne woke up with a start. She blinked from the total darkness of sleep into a sunlight-filled room.
    Sam. He was here. Where? She sat up, panting, her robe slipping off her shoulder. Oh God, where did he go?
    “Anne?”
    There was a tall, wide blob in front of her.
    “Steven?”
    “It’s me,” he said, leaning