Enemy of Mine (18 page)

Chapter 17

S
leep had not been kind to Will. He’d been either worried about Erva and how she’d run from him, or the eternal erection he had that made getting comfortable impossible. So he’d hardly rested more than a few hours. Still, this day was an important one, for his army needed to be at the ready. Tomorrow they would attack at Kip’s Bay, then Manhattan.

Rising out of bed in the early morning, he stood before his desk and glanced at his parchment and quills. He needed to write a letter to General Howe and ask to resign. He’d needed to do it yesterday. Glancing down his body, his cock seemed to take on a life of its own, almost looking as though it wanted to write the letter for him. Despite his worry over Erva’s sudden departure after he’d tried to give her pleasure, also in the night he’d, well, tried to remedy his erection, it had not dwindled much. It was no wonder as he thought over and over about the way she tasted, her night jasmine scent all over him, the way she’d clung to his fingers as she came. Lord, that had been beautiful.
She
was beautiful.

He shuddered thinking of her body, her responses, and the way she’d listened to him, and held him in her arms after he’d revealed the story of his wife. It had touched his heart. He knew it then. He loved her. Mayhap he’d loved her from the bumbling beginning, thundering into her chamber the way he had, and her appearing to be a sun goddess rather than a human. Yes, she seemed more related to Apollo than anything he’d ever known before. She was wildly talented, brilliant, and had a heart as warm as sunbeams. However, his stomach soured as he recalled that he’d practically forced himself on her last night.

He raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. Granted, she had seemed eager to become lovers, but he knew better. He knew it wasn’t the right time. He’d rushed things. The lady needed more time to think, more time to know what she wanted. He was, after all, not just a weary warrior, prone to having nightmares about battle, but the nightmares he had about his wife would wake him in the night, make him claw out, searching for answers as to why his wife would take her own life. He was damaged and felt old much of the time. He knew he
looked
older than Erva, for she could hardly pass for a girl of two and twenty. God, she was beautiful. But it was what lay in her heart that made him realize he’d given her his.

He sat at the desk and tried to compose the letter to Howe. Yet every passing second he recalled something more about her, what she had said, the way she felt, the way
he
felt with her arms wrapped around his neck. No longer able to concentrate on basic sentence structures if it weren't associated with Erva, he settled back to worrying. What if she didn’t want him? He had managed to bungle things last night. Like charging into her room upon meeting her, he’d yet again stormed through when he knew she might need more time. He hated to admit it though, but he wasn’t as sorry as he thought he should have been, especially when he remembered the way her orgasm had made her rock into him, made her glow like pink gold in his dark chamber. Still, he needed to do the right thing by her, give her time, and try to keep his damned hands to himself.

Glancing at a clock, he realized he’d lost too many minutes to write the letter and needed to hurry to train his men. He’d try to talk to The General about needing to buy out his commission later. How could he tell Erva his plans? How, indeed, when she needed time to think? And all
he
could think about was creating a life with her. Would she be pleased to live in his manor back in England? Since his wife’s death, he’d removed most of the furniture and decorations. The barn she’d hung herself in had been destroyed by his bare hands and burnt to ashes. However, the large house was naked and in need of color. So like him, he thought. But Erva had given him more color already than he thought possible. She’d changed everything.

He cleaned and dressed in a hurry. Paul came in with the day’s correspondence, newspapers, and coffee. God, the man was good to him.

“Paul?” he asked, suddenly curious. “If you weren’t my man of business, what would you do?”

His stocky friend stiffened and looked at the unlit fireplace. “I suppose I’d be like my father, if you hadn’t taken me in. I’d be a fisherman in Liverpool, barely able to support my wife and children.”

“No,” Will stepped closer to Paul. “I mean, do you
want
to do something different with your life?”

Paul cocked his head, but didn’t look Will in the eyes. “I owe you my life, my lord. If I had survived in my father’s house, and I doubt I would have, for my father’s beatings had gotten too brutal, I would have nothing like what I have now.”

Will stepped even closer, placing a warm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Paul, that’s not what I mean. I thank you for your gratitude, I do. But without your friendship throughout the years, I would have—” he stopped himself from saying anything more. Since his wife’s death, he knew the devastation suicide dealt. It wouldn’t be fair to tell Paul how he’d saved his life time and time again. “My friend, I owe you everything. So I would like to know how to repay you, if there is anything you’d like to accomplish.”

Paul blinked and swallowed. Then looked down at the unlit fireplace again. “I’ve saved quite a bit of currency through the years and gambled with the stocks, making a little more money. I’ve thought of becoming a merchantman. Coffee sells good here in America, and I’ve thought about dabbling in that.”

Will squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You need an investor then. How much to begin?”

Paul looked up, appearing wildly confused. “My lord?”

Will sighed. He wasn’t good with words, with trying to convey his meaning. With Erva, though, it had been effortless. Mayhap because with her he’d never felt judged, condemned. Like his wife had been during their brief courting and in the first months of their marriage, Erva had seemed eager to get to know him, to know him as a man, not as a lord, an earl, a general, but who he was under his skin. Although he did love it when Erva asked him from whence he’d learned his tactics. Lord, she was an angel. Heaven sent.

Again, he had the distinct feeling his wife had a hand with Erva. He could almost sense her presence. And she seemed at peace. Finally at peace.

All of it went straight to his heart, where he felt that organ beat with, for once in so long, joy. Life truly was beautiful.

Even if Erva was to reject him, and she might, considering his blundering antics, he would be eternally grateful for her. She’d given him color when he’d had none. She’d given him peace and finally a reason to keep living. No, not to keep living for her; although, that was a good one. He wanted to live, because Erva, unbeknownst to her, had lifted his head out of dark waters, where he would have surely died.

Will smiled down at his friend. “Would a thousand pounds suffice as a good start to your coffee business?”

“Are you—” Paul shrugged free from Will and sidestepped. “Are you buying me out of my employment? Do you no longer wish for me to serve you?”

Will stepped closer yet again. “No, my friend. If this gives you joy, then stay, stay forever. I just...I’ve come to realize how selfish I’ve been with you, holding you back, making you serve me, for I had no other friends to rely on.”

Paul cleared his throat. “My lord, it has always been my honor to do so.”

Will had to clear his own throat from that sentiment.

“You have always been best the employer and...friend to me too.”

“I wish to do better by you. I want you to be...happy—”

“I am happy.”

“I wish for you to be happ
ier
then. For I fear by forcing you to serve me, I’ve been selfish, not allowing you to be more, as it were. I think you have a remarkable mind for business and investments. You’ve gained me a few thousand pounds by playing with the stocks, which I have no mind for. The least I can do is give it back to you, for you to do something with your life that causes you to be exceedingly content.”

Paul’s dark brows furrowed, and he looked down to the ground. “But I don’t wish to leave your service.”

“Then don’t. Have the best of both worlds. Remain my man of business and start your own.”

Paul glanced up, his brows still cast down, but a glint of a smile shone on one corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then let his smile bloom. “Thank you.”

Will took a step back, always unsure what to do with gratitude. “I—yes. Oh! I, um, have a rather delicate job to ask of you.”

Paul bowed slightly.

Will walked to his bureau where he’d stuffed Erva’s torn undergarments. He inhaled sharply, then revealed her beautiful light shift, the tear down the center of it.

“I—er, could you find a discrete tailor to see about repairing these?”

Paul walked over in two strides. “What did you do to her?”

Surprised at Paul’s tone, Will didn’t answer. He supposed it was rather imposing of him to think that Paul wouldn’t have a reaction, especially when seeing the torn muslin crumpled in his hands.

His friend glanced up at him, his face stern.

Will took a breath. “Believe it or not, we didn’t...she wanted...I wanted to...but we didn’t...she asked me to...”

Paul raised one hand, palm out. He inspected the clothes closer, but was careful not to touch them. “She asked you to do this?”

Will nodded.

“But you didn’t make love to her?”

Will narrowed his eyes, thinking how to answer that.

“So you tore off her clothes, but you didn’t get anything out of the bargain?”

“She was naked, isn’t that enough?”

Paul softly chuckled. “Poor bastard.” Then he looked more at the shift. “I’d bet this can’t be fixed.”

“Oh.”

“You could buy her new garments.”

“I like that idea.”

Paul glanced up at Will again. “You like the lady, hmm?”

“I’m going to marry her if she’ll have me.”

Paul’s brows shot up. “You already asked her?”

Will looked down with a mighty sigh. “I need to do that yet.”

Again, his man of business silently laughed. “My lord, she would be an idiot if she didn’t accept your hand in marriage.”

Will could only give him a shy grin. “She’s so lovely, and I’m so—”

“You’re a good catch...Will. Don’t think otherwise.”

It was the first time Paul had ever used his first name. He’d said it carefully, as if gauging Will’s reaction. But it felt right that he finally had. It felt even more right for Paul to become his own man of business. Life was finally feeling good and right, and it would be even better with Erva at his side.

Will grinned. “Is the lady awake? Ready to go?”

Paul shook his head. “No, Mrs. Jacobs said she’d check on her soon, but no noise emits from her chamber yet.”

Wondering if she’d had a rough night with sleep, Will nodded. “I have much to discuss with the lady.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps I’ll check on her myself.” Will said the statement more like a question, as if to gain acceptance from Paul.

Paul just smiled. “I think it best if you did.”

“Do you?”

His man of business finally chuckled a little louder. “You’re going to marry the woman, so go to her.”

Will almost bound away like a heartaching juvenile. But as he opened the door to his own chamber he turned to his friend. “Thank you. You are such a good—”

Paul shook his head and laughed. “Go, you sentimental sap.”

Will chuckled himself then in two steps found himself at Erva’s door. He rapped quietly, waited, but heard nothing. Knocking again a little louder, desperation flooded his veins. He had to take a quick breath, and remind himself that nothing untoward could happen to Erva while he’d been in his chamber. She wasn’t...self-destructive.

But he didn’t hear a stir. Oh Lord, he’d been so aggressive last night. Perhaps the look Paul had given him upon seeing the torn garments was due him. Squaring his shoulders, he unlatched the door and crept into her room. She had one window open and all the world’s sunbeams seemed to pour pure light onto her slumbering form. Lying on a chaise, she appeared like Sleeping Beauty. Flowing long white-yellow hair reached up and over the top of the chaise, her face was caressed into a pillow, and her limbs lay long and elegantly posed. What was it about the woman that displayed all his romantic thoughts, making him think her some damsel from the past?

But then he halted, watching her chest. Did it rise? A flash of seeing Julia strung up from the rafters crashed through him. Despite her gray tone, she had looked so alive. He’d had to hold her for hours, listening for any breath whatsoever before he relented that she had passed. Clumsily, he rushed to Erva and felt her warm breath against his hand. She merely slept. Slept soundly, yes, but she was alive. His throat had tightened during his panic, and he was beyond elated that she was alive.

That was how simple it was for him, he realized. She’d entered his life and had changed it considerably. Just her existence had done that much for him. How could he not love her? He’d been a prisoner of grief. No, it wasn’t merely grief, but self-incrimination, guilt, and shame that had hammered him into a coffin, still alive but dead inside. Now...God, Paul had called him a sentimental sap, and he knew he was. But he liked it. He loved it.