look at him.
“There is another side to this, you know—the woman’s. I am not such a great catch.”
Emma started to disagree, but he silenced her with a curt gesture.
“I have spent the last eight years at war,” he continued—slowly, because this part was more difficult. “My mind is still filled with images from the battlefield. My temperament has… darkened. I am…” He groped for words. “I believe I am forever changed.”
She was watching his face as if she could see something disturbing there.
He had meant to tell her everything, but the look in her eyes made him veer off. “I have lost whatever patience I ever had with stupidity or ignorance,” he added. “I can no longer tolerate fools. I believe that you can understand this. I believe, even, that you may feel some of the same things.”
Emma met his eyes. Depths, she thought; she had been right about that.
“We have both endured much,” Colin went on. “We can offer each other the compassion that comes out of such experiences, and perhaps lighten the burden somewhat.”
He had truly caught Emma’s attention now.
“I do not wish to spend my life with someone who is constantly asking me what I mean or cajoling me for smiles that I do not feel.”
A chord of fellow feeling rang through Emma. She knew precisely what he meant. “Alone amid laughter,” she murmured.
Colin’s face lit. “You see? You do understand me.”
“Yes.” Emma looked at him with new eyes.
Encouraged, he stepped forward and took her hand. “When I was twenty, I assumed that I would one day fall head over heels in love and be swept into marriage by strong emotion. I am nearly thirty now, and I fear emotion has been burned out of me by long years of battle.” He gazed down at her. “Perhaps you understand this, too, somewhat.”
Their eyes held steadily. Emma was finding it difficult to breathe.
“I have found a great deal to admire in you,” he continued. “You are extremely intelligent. You have a great deal of integrity. I believe we could offer one another comradeship. And perhaps that is the most we can expect at this point in our lives.”
Shaken, she scanned his face. “Comradeship?”
He nodded.
“You are offering me a bargain?” she concluded.
“Yes. You can’t wish to return to the life you left. I require a wife who will not drive me to murder within a week. Our needs seem… suited.”
Emma gazed up at him. She was thinking not of the barren and precarious life she would face abroad, or even of the luxurious existence she could expect as Baroness St. Mawr. What transfixed her was his voice as he spoke of the dark days he had endured in the war and their common understanding of hardship. Something deep inside her had come awake at those words, had responded profoundly to the tone of them, to the reminiscent shadow in his eyes. She had never before met with such kinship. She had never expected it. Emma trembled with the strength of her emotion, though she wasn’t sure what it was. “I…” she began, and could not finish.
“You cannot condemn me to be surrounded by people who know nothing but sunlight,” he said. “I will not abandon you to that fate either,” he added.
A bargain, thought Emma. A clear agreement between two people who understood each other, which offered advantages to each. Not, most emphatically not, a heedless, headstrong leap into disaster. Not the risks and stupidities of a naive young girl’s illusion of true love. This was safe. It was sensible. And it did offer her many things. Comradeship, Emma thought. It was a pleasing concept. “No,” she said.
“No?” he repeated.
“No, I could not condemn you to that,” she added, conscious that it was the truth, even if she was making a serious mistake.
Arabella Tarrant, peering through a crack in the door, put her hands to her mouth to stifle a gratified squeal. This was really a splendid development. Though she hadn’t understood half of what they
“There is another side to this, you know—the woman’s. I am not such a great catch.”
Emma started to disagree, but he silenced her with a curt gesture.
“I have spent the last eight years at war,” he continued—slowly, because this part was more difficult. “My mind is still filled with images from the battlefield. My temperament has… darkened. I am…” He groped for words. “I believe I am forever changed.”
She was watching his face as if she could see something disturbing there.
He had meant to tell her everything, but the look in her eyes made him veer off. “I have lost whatever patience I ever had with stupidity or ignorance,” he added. “I can no longer tolerate fools. I believe that you can understand this. I believe, even, that you may feel some of the same things.”
Emma met his eyes. Depths, she thought; she had been right about that.
“We have both endured much,” Colin went on. “We can offer each other the compassion that comes out of such experiences, and perhaps lighten the burden somewhat.”
He had truly caught Emma’s attention now.
“I do not wish to spend my life with someone who is constantly asking me what I mean or cajoling me for smiles that I do not feel.”
A chord of fellow feeling rang through Emma. She knew precisely what he meant. “Alone amid laughter,” she murmured.
Colin’s face lit. “You see? You do understand me.”
“Yes.” Emma looked at him with new eyes.
Encouraged, he stepped forward and took her hand. “When I was twenty, I assumed that I would one day fall head over heels in love and be swept into marriage by strong emotion. I am nearly thirty now, and I fear emotion has been burned out of me by long years of battle.” He gazed down at her. “Perhaps you understand this, too, somewhat.”
Their eyes held steadily. Emma was finding it difficult to breathe.
“I have found a great deal to admire in you,” he continued. “You are extremely intelligent. You have a great deal of integrity. I believe we could offer one another comradeship. And perhaps that is the most we can expect at this point in our lives.”
Shaken, she scanned his face. “Comradeship?”
He nodded.
“You are offering me a bargain?” she concluded.
“Yes. You can’t wish to return to the life you left. I require a wife who will not drive me to murder within a week. Our needs seem… suited.”
Emma gazed up at him. She was thinking not of the barren and precarious life she would face abroad, or even of the luxurious existence she could expect as Baroness St. Mawr. What transfixed her was his voice as he spoke of the dark days he had endured in the war and their common understanding of hardship. Something deep inside her had come awake at those words, had responded profoundly to the tone of them, to the reminiscent shadow in his eyes. She had never before met with such kinship. She had never expected it. Emma trembled with the strength of her emotion, though she wasn’t sure what it was. “I…” she began, and could not finish.
“You cannot condemn me to be surrounded by people who know nothing but sunlight,” he said. “I will not abandon you to that fate either,” he added.
A bargain, thought Emma. A clear agreement between two people who understood each other, which offered advantages to each. Not, most emphatically not, a heedless, headstrong leap into disaster. Not the risks and stupidities of a naive young girl’s illusion of true love. This was safe. It was sensible. And it did offer her many things. Comradeship, Emma thought. It was a pleasing concept. “No,” she said.
“No?” he repeated.
“No, I could not condemn you to that,” she added, conscious that it was the truth, even if she was making a serious mistake.
Arabella Tarrant, peering through a crack in the door, put her hands to her mouth to stifle a gratified squeal. This was really a splendid development. Though she hadn’t understood half of what they
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