The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

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      This book is for my wonderful and courageous friend,

       Garland Whiddon Rowland. This is for all those discussions about what love is when we were teens still anticipating it. Oh, and for being my maid of honor once I found it! So happy that you found it, too!

       Prologue

       London

       July 25, 1815

      Caine Morleigh studiously avoided touching the cloth bandages covering his eyes as he waited for the physician to arrive. For five long weeks, his injuries had remained under wraps, the bandages changed by feel in pitch-dark to avoid further damage from the light. And to avoid revelation, he admitted to himself. Today, he would know whether his sight had been destroyed.

      There would be so much for him to learn if that proved so. Already, he had begun counting steps from one place to another so that he could eventually get about the house unaided. He fed himself in private still, but was becoming good at it.

      Control would not be beyond him. In time, he would be able to manage the impediment, if forced to it. Damn, but he hated being dependent. Impatience warred with apprehension as the wait dragged on in the drawing room of his uncle, Earl of Hadley.

      He heard his aunt Hadley gasp again as Trent, his best friend and companion, regaled her with prettied-up details of their final day on the field of battle. Caine paid little heed to the words. He’d heard it all before in considerably more graphic terms. Hell, he had lived it. Trent talked entirely too much, but his effort here was admirable, Caine admitted. It was Trent’s way of lessening the tension and distracting everyone from the purpose of the gathering.

      “We were wounded on the charge along with most of our brigade, most never to rise again! Caine fell beside me, unable to see, and I, my leg badly twisted, could not hope to walk. But did we lie there and die? No, ma’am! I served as his eyes whilst he got us to my horse. His horse had collapsed, you see, so we mounted double and rejoined the charge, galloping full speed. There was no going back….”

      Someone cleared their throat and Trent, thank God, left off his narrative at the interruption. “Dr. Ackers and Miss Belinda Thoren-Snipes,” Jenkins, the butler, announced.

      “Show them in! Show them in!” his aunt exclaimed. Caine heard the rustle of taffeta skirts as Aunt Hadley approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I thought he would never come.”

      “How convenient they’ve arrived together,” his uncle said. “I sent a note round for your Belinda to join us, too. I knew you would want her here.”

      Caine sighed, wishing he had not. He wanted to discover for himself whether he could see before he encountered his fiancée. If he was to be blind for life, she should not be held to the betrothal. For that reason, he had not initiated any contact at all since his return to London.

      He had no trouble recalling how she had looked the last time he had seen her. He hoped against hope he would see her again. She was a blonde, rose-cheeked beauty, his Belinda. Her image had sustained him for nearly two years as he had faced the ugliness of war.

      He heard approaching footsteps, the physician’s heavier masculine tread interspersed with the soft click of Belinda’s dainty shoes on the marble floor of the corridor. Did he actually smell the scent of her lilac perfume as she entered, or was that merely a fond brush of memory and expectation? Caine was convinced he loved her and had from their first meeting.

      Despite that, he realized he knew very little about his future wife. He had courted her, of course, but not for long and always under the strictest of supervision. Their СКАЧАТЬ