Page 20 of The Duelist for the Ton
“No, sir, it’s merely a—”
“Death!” he interrupted. “They’re dead because of me. I can see them…” His head jerked to one side. “Bodies—surrounded by bodies…everywhere.”
“There’s no battle here,” Portia said. “You’re in Earl Thorpe’s library.”
He shook his head with a frantic, jerking motion, and she reached for his sleeve. As soon as she touched it, he jerked away, falling back against the wall. His eyes widening, he shuffled backward until he was pressed against the wall, and lowered his head, staring at the floor.
“Colonel…” she began, and he flinched.
“Begone, demon!” he cried. “I’m destined for Hades, but you’ll not take me yet.”
Reid!That was it.
“Colonel Reid!” Portia cried, and he jerked his head up.
“H-have I seen you before?” he croaked.
“At the hospital,” she said, “visiting the wounded soldiers, including your friend.”
Recognition flickered in his eyes and he tilted his head to one side. Then his gaze began to shift out of focus.
“You’re not at the mouth of Hades, Colonel Reid,” she said, “and I’m no demon. I’m a mortal woman.”
“N-no…”
Portia crouched beside him and set her book on the floor. “Colonel, may I take your hand?”
His lack of response she took for assent, and she slipped her hand in his. For a moment, it lay limp and unresponsive, then his fingers curled around hers, his touch solidifying as, perhaps, did his awareness of his surroundings. She caught her breath as a fizz of want bubbled in her center at the feel of his skin against hers.
Then she chided herself. Now was not the time to succumb to desire, no matter how his strong-featured face had slipped into her dreams in the nights since she’d first seen him at the hospital—his brooding demeanor in contrast to Captain Broom’s more congenial disposition.
What had Dr. McIver said?
Some men suffer as much as those whom the war has maimed.
In fact, perhaps they suffered more—their injuries were not visible and therefore ignored and laughed at by an uncaring world.
What horrors had this man witnessed to cause such suffering?
“Colonel Reid, do you remember me?”
He lifted his gaze and his eyes began to focus, the wildness in their expression fading, to be replaced by a sheen of shame.
“Colonel,” Portia said, lowering her voice to a gentle whisper, “tell me what you see.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool.”
At that moment, another bang sounded outside and he flinched, his forehead creasing in pain. She lifted his hand to her lips, and he drew in a sharp breath. Warm brown eyes fixed on her, then darkened to the color of mahogany as he slid his fingers across hers, interlocking their hands.
“The battlefield…”
“No, colonel,” she whispered. “We’re in a library. Tell me what you see.”
He blinked and shifted his gaze. “A candle,” he said.
“Very good. What else?”
He blinked, slowly, and his chest rose and fell in a deep breath.
