Feelings and impressions rushed at him like leaves in a storm: Triumph. Vindication. Exultation. Hope.
Regret.
Injustice.
Dread.
The last three were directed at life and the destiny that required him to leave this woman now.
But when they all blew away, duty remained.
Tristan didn’t know how long he’d held still, but he could feel Delilah’s eyes on him.
He turned and found her expression worried. And wary, and he instantly wanted to make it light again.
He realized he’d basked in her trust and optimism even as he’d taken advantage of it. He was accustomed to those eyes glowing when they saw him.
He strode to the little writing desk, lately the scene of a torturously written poem, and scrawled, in Portuguese:
Gather men. Meet me at Cox’s Livery Stables in fifteen minutes.
Massey would know why.
He blew on the ink, willing it to dry. Behind him, he heard Delilah gathering her dress, her slippers, her hairpins.
He still hadn’t looked at her.
He slid the message back beneath the door. “Dot, if you would be so kind as to hand this to the gentleman waiting outside.”
“Of course, Captain Hardy!” she said cheerily.
He heard her thundering down the stairs.
He finally dared a look at Delilah.
Her eyes were fixed on him unblinkingly. Worried, but still trusting.
“Delilah, I apologize, but I’m afraid I must go out straight away.”
“Is aught amiss? Can I help?”
He watched her pin her hair. He thought how fortunate the man would be to watch her pin it up and take it down every day.
He didn’t want to tell her a placatory lie.
“Yes. Something is amiss. But it will be put to rights.”
They held each other’s eyes.
Her posture was rigid. Her expression was searching, and then it went subtly guarded. And perhaps even a little cynical.
He moved to her swiftly, laid his hand against her cheek. And perhaps he hadn’t the right, but he kissed her again. So she would close her eyes and he wouldn’t have to see that guarded expression, so that he could instead feel her body softening in surrender. Because this might be the last time, and this was how he wanted to remember her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mr. Cox, the current foreman of the livery stables, was weathered and so strapping no one would be surprised if he regularly lifted horses up and out of his way to get to where he needed to go.
He couldn’t lift a group of soldiers up and out of the way, however.