A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(69)
Author: Tessa Dare

And she could be so happy—so blissfully, completely happy—as his wife.

“Don’t you want a real home, Bram? You know, a place with a roof and . . . and walls, and those rare luxuries called windows? Upholstery, even. Carpets, drapes. Proper meals and a nice, warm bed.”

“I’ve never been one for homely comforts. Five-course meals on fine china, wallpapered parlors . . . That life just isn’t for me. But I could grow to appreciate a bed, if you’re the one warming it.” He tugged on her wrist, attempting to draw her close.

She resisted. She would never have the strength to say this without the benefit of some distance between them. “A home isn’t only defined by what you need, Bram. It’s also about the people who need you. What am I to do when you’re gone? What about your cousin? What about all the men and women in Spindle Cove who are working so hard for you right now, even as we speak? You’re their lord. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yes. It does.” His gaze firmed, and so did his grip. “It means a great deal. And the best way I know how to repay them is by finishing this war. Protecting the freedoms they enjoy and the sovereignty of the land they call home. Susanna, this isn’t a matter of England clinging to some island it probably should have never seized. You know Bonaparte must be defeated.”

“And he can’t possibly be defeated without your personal presence in Spain? That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think? My father has done more to combat Napoleon’s forces than you ever will, and he hasn’t left Sussex in a decade.”

“Well, I’m not like your father.”

“No, you’re not.” She lifted one shoulder. “And once Napoleon is defeated, what then? There will always be another conflict, another campaign. An outpost somewhere that requires defense. Where does it end?”

“That’s the thing about duty,” he bit out. “It doesn’t.”

She stared at him, slowly shaking her head. “You’re afraid.”

He made a dismissive noise.

“You are. You are a big, strong man with a wounded leg, who feels useless and terrified. You say you don’t need a home or a family or a community or love?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Please. You want those things so badly, the yearning just wafts from you like steam. But you’re afraid to truly reach for them. Afraid you’ll fail. You’d rather die chasing your old life than screw up the courage to forge a new one.”

His hand clenched her wrist, tight as a manacle. “Who said anything about dying or failing? Christ, you’re always limiting people, holding them back. Your father’s too old to work. Your friends are too delicate to dance.”

“Limiting people? After all you’ve learned of me and this place, you would accuse me of holding these young women back?” A lump formed in her throat. “How can you say such a thing?”

“After all you’ve learned of me, you still can’t trust me? Marry me, and trust that I’ll finish this war and come back to you. For God’s sake, Susanna—” His voice broke, and he looked away briefly before continuing. “I’m no stranger to doubt, this past year. But of all people, I thought you believed in me.”

“I do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she dabbed it with the heel of her free hand. “I do believe in you, Bram. I believe in you more than you believe in yourself. Do I believe you can be a capable field commander? Of course I do. But I also believe you could be so much more. A leader off the battlefield, as well as on. A respected lord, essential to his community . . . perhaps even a voice for your soldiers in Parliament.” She pressed a fist to her belly. “I believe you’d make a wonderful husband and father.”

His grip on her arm gentled. “Then why—”

“I just can’t marry you, not like this.” She tugged her wrist from his clasp. With her other hand, she cradled it, rubbing away the red marks of his grip and cursing the scars that would never, ever fade. She stumbled a pace in retreat. “Can’t you understand? I won’t be abandoned again.”

The world was suddenly so quiet. No crashing waves, no gusting breeze. No calling gulls.

When she finally gathered the strength to look at him, his eyes were intense, searching. And his question pierced her straight through the heart.

“Who’s afraid now?”

She let action be her answer. She turned and fled.

Twenty-three

A few evenings later, Bram stood watch on the very same turret. It was a dark, cloudy night, and there was nothing but shifting mist to see. With so little to occupy his thoughts, he once again found himself reliving that last encounter with Susanna. Again and again, the night brought her words back to him.

I won’t be abandoned again.

God above, he did not intend to abandon her. All he wanted was to marry the woman, so that no matter how far apart the world flung them, there would always be a tether connecting her life to his.

She needed a man like him. A man sure enough of himself to enjoy her cleverness, rather than be cowed by it. A man brave enough to challenge her, to push her beyond the boundaries she’d set for herself. A man strong enough to protect her, if she ventured a little too far. Those were all the things she needed, as the remarkable woman she’d become.

But somewhere inside that woman huddled an awkward, frightened, wounded girl, who desperately craved something else: a man who would tuck neatly into her safe, scheduled life and promise to never, ever leave her alone. Bram just didn’t think he could—or even should—be that man for her.

When Thorne came to relieve him at the pitch-black hour of two, Bram accepted the torch his corporal silently offered and made his way down the winding stairs. Moths fluttered around him, drawn to the heat and flame.

He emerged onto the bailey and surveyed the neat rows of tents. The sounds of snoring and the occasional cough kept the night from growing too still. A fluffy ghost of a creature wandered toward him, emerging from the shadows.

Bram stared down at the lamb.

The lamb stared up at him.

He gave in and withdrew a handful of corn from his pocket, strewing it on the ground. “Why can’t I eat you?” he asked irritably. Though he knew the answer well enough. “Because she named you, you miserable thing. And now I’m stuck with a pet.”

Ever since he’d arrived here, Susanna had been busy as a spider, spinning little wisps of sentiment, connecting him to this place in ways he had no wish to be connected. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d begin to feel trapped.