The Officer's Temptation | A Regency Romance

Chapter Sixteen : By Candlelight

The pen made a dry scratching sound across the paper. Marlowe squinted unhappily in the light of the low-burning candle at the sentence he had just written.  He crossed through his words and scowled in consternation. Now the page was too messy. And the message was foolish. He crumpled the sheet in his hand. His letters to his parents and his sister were complete, sealed and waiting on his desk should the worst come to pass. He was writing to Kate now, and it was slow-going. It was not just that the words were evading him, but also the pain in his hand. The cut from the glass was still raw and inflamed, and with the residual stiffness from his injury, holding the pen was incredibly uncomfortable. Not to mention that he wanted his letter to Kate to be perfect. How could he encapsulate all that he felt when he looked at her? All that he regretted? He sighed. It would be easier to pen an apology to Nicholas, but he assumed that if Nicholas killed him tomorrow, the letter would just be thrown unread into the fire in anger. 

Marlowe had made so many grave mistakes. His eyes felt heavy and dry. He only wanted to sleep, although it seemed a shame to waste what could be his last few hours living in dreams. He set aside the pen and lowered his head to his hands. He should have been better for his friend. He was tired and his mind wandered back to when they had been younger men, at one of their first balls. Marlowe had been dying of excitement, had flirted with every eligible young woman there, asking all the prettiest to dance without fear. And Nicholas had been paralyzed by his shyness, preferring to stare at his shoes, blushing and fumbling his words every time a pretty girl approached. He had always been insecure. And instead of helping him, supporting him, Marlowe had made love to his wife behind his back. He felt sick. Had he ever done anything to be a worthy friend to Nicholas? Christ, he hadn't even been there for him when his father had died. He deserved the duel. He deserved injury or death or whatever other cruel fate awaited him afterwards.

He looked at the letter again. How could he possibly hope to explain that all to Kate? He had just taken out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his pen back in the inkwell when the floorboard creaked in the hall. It was a tiny sound but his muscles tensed and the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. The house had been quiet for hours as it was now well past midnight. He strained his ears, listening closely, and though there were no more creaks in the hallway, he knew without a doubt that there was someone in the hall. As quick as a cat, he prowled noiselessly to the door. He waited for a moment, and then yanked it open.

Kate's hand was raised, as if to knock, but she jerked it back reflexively and clapped it over her own mouth to stifle a gasp. "Bloody hell!" she swore quietly.

"What are you doing out here?" he hissed. It did not escape his notice that she was dressed in her night rail, with only a dressing gown belted loosely over. Her beautiful dark hair was hanging in a thick plait over one shoulder and tied off with a blue ribbon. "Someone could see you."

"Then let me in," she whispered, pushing past him and not waiting for an answer. Her eyes roved over the candle on his desk and the letters sitting tidily to the side. She looked at him with an expression of absolute betrayal. "Then I was right." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You've told him and he has challenged you."

Marlowe shut the door silently. "Yes," he admitted defeatedly. "Is that why you've come?" He rubbed his eyes. "And how did you even know?"

"I was sleeping," she said. "For a while. But I woke up and I thought about how you looked at me earlier. When you said you had something to attend to. Of course you told him. And of course he challenged you. It was inevitable. So how could I sleep, Marlowe? How could I sleep?" She curled her fingertips to her face in dismay, looking pale. He was afraid for a moment that she would cry, but instead she looked at him accusingly. "What are you going to do?"