Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress Page 8

  ‘Morning,’ she managed.

  He smoothed her hair off her face. ‘We seem to be still in one piece.’

  His stroking hand sent waves of sensation all through her. ‘One piece,’ she repeated.

  She’d danced with gentlemen and even had kisses stolen by one or two, but never had she felt the nearness of a man more acutely than this. She felt naked next to him, even though they were both fully clothed. At the same time she felt completely at ease with him.

  His expression sobered and his hand rested against the back of her neck. ‘I am glad you are here.’

  She opened her mouth to tell him she, too, was glad they were safe in the inn, but he drew her forwards until their bodies touched. His lips were so close she tasted his breath the moment before his lips met hers. His kiss, so gentle at first, seemed to reach down to the most female part of her. A needful sound escaped and she pressed against him.

  His arms tightened around her and she felt the firm shape of him beneath his trousers. Remembering how close her fingers had come to touching him there, she sighed, and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

  This was a completely surprising experience, but she lost herself in the pleasure of such a kiss from this man. The pleasure that radiated throughout her body and made her desire so much more from him.

  She suddenly understood how men and women needed to couple, to join together in that carnal way. She understood it because she felt it with Captain Landon.

  His hand reached under her shirt and rubbed against her breasts, though they were still bound up by her scarf. He might as well have been touching her bare flesh, the sensation was so acute. She wanted to cry out.

  She writhed against him, feeling the evidence of his male member. It had grown bigger, just like the maid described. What harm would there be in letting him bed her? Her reputation was already likely in tatters. Why resist this—this promise of unknown delights? They were already connected by their shared ordeal—why not be connected in flesh?

  His hand journeyed lower. She covered it with her own and directed his hand lower still to the place between her legs where she was needing him to touch her. He complied, bringing intense sensation. As if a part of him, her body moved against his fingers. The sensation grew into exquisite rapture, supreme joy and suddenly, exploding pleasure.

  She seized his shoulders to steady herself.

  He cried out and rolled away from her, grasping his shoulder.

  She’d touched his wound.

  ‘I am sorry. I am sorry.’ She sat up and reached for him, fearful she’d done some irreparable damage.

  He covered the wound with his hand. ‘Do not touch it!’ he cried. Breathing heavily as if he’d run a league, he made a mollifying gesture with his hand. ‘Give me a moment.’

  Pain had thrust Allan back to reason.

  By God, he’d been about to make love to her! He’d already touched her in ways a gentleman would never touch a respectable female who was not his wife. What was he thinking?

  He had not been thinking, merely feeling, revelling in her beauty, her nearness and his need. He’d taken advantage of her in the most abominable way.

  The pain subsided enough for him to sit next to her. ‘It is I who should apologise,’ he rasped. ‘I took advantage.’ He shook his head. After all she had done for him, he’d engaged in selfish indulgence. ‘It will not happen again.’

  ‘You are sorry that happened between us?’ Her question was asked in a tone he could only interpret as dismay. She turned away from him and straightened her clothing.

  How could he explain it to her? He had aroused her, seduced her so well that she would have easily allowed him to deflower her. How did he admit to this valiant woman who had saved his life that he had been selfish enough to abandon all propriety with her?

  As he watched her, his senses merely flamed anew and he could think only of tasting her lips again or feeling her convulse against his fingers. He was in danger of repeating his behaviour and more. He spun away, got up and walked to the window.

  The window faced the stable and the scent of horse, leather and hay wafted the great distance to their third-floor room. The scent reminded him of the peasant’s stable, of Miss Pallant bringing him water and food and tending his wound, of her aiming a pistol at a huge man with an axe a man who could have cut her down as easily as chopping wood for winter.

  And he would repay her with dishonour.

  Her half-boots sounded against the wooden floor. ‘I will go below and see to some food and clean bandages for your wound.’

  ‘Wait,’ he cried, intending to tell her he alone was at fault, intending to ask her forgiveness. Instead, below he spied a man.

  A man in a red coat.

  A red uniform.

  He turned to her, so quickly that pain shot through his shoulder again. He clutched it and laboured to speak. ‘There are English soldiers down there.’ Three men in red coats entered the stable. ‘I can get you back to Brussels at last.’

  Chapter Six

  By late afternoon they were on the road to Brussels, a wide, flat, well-travelled road very unlike the ones they’d ridden the previous day. They rode in a carriage and Valour remained at the village stable. The English soldiers had lent them the money for the trip and for stabling Valour. Captain Landon had given them his vowel, although Marian was determined to pay for all of it.

  She glanced out of the carriage window and watched wounded soldiers, in wagons and on foot, head towards Brussels. Even three days after the battle there were still great numbers of wounded on the road.

  She turned to Captain Landon. His eyes were closed and his head rested against the side of the carriage. He was still weak, but insisted upon escorting her back to Brussels.

  It would have been much easier if he would have allowed her to make the journey alone. Then their goodbyes would have already been spoken, and she could make him a memory or perhaps forget altogether that he regretted nearly making love to her.

  She knew that men needed to bed women. The teachers at the boarding school had explained that to her and Domina. They’d explained that men visited brothels and kept mistresses and seduced maids because men must bed women. Men’s urges were very strong. Once aroused, they must be satisfied.

  This was the reason a young lady must never be alone with a man and must never titillate his carnal desires. Alarming tales reinforced this lesson, tales of respectable girls bearing babies out of wedlock, being tossed out of their homes and winding up as women of the street.

  Marian understood perfectly now.

  At the time she had listened to these lessons with an arched brow. Certainly she would be able to handle any man who dared make unwanted advances towards her.

  What she had not understood was that she, too, could be overpowered by irresistible urges. And that one man could arouse them. Captain Landon.

  Marian flushed with shame at the memory of what happened between them, Yet at the same time she yearned to repeat the experience.

  She sighed. It was all too confusing.

  ‘What is it?’ His eyes were open and gazing at her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Surely he could not read her mind. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You sighed.’

  She turned back to the window so he could not see her pink cheeks. ‘I was looking at all the wounded soldiers. Why are they still on the road? Why are they not cared for?’

  ‘They said at the inn there were many casualties.’ He glanced out the window and swore softly. ‘Good God.’

  ‘They have been on the road for miles. So many of them,’ she whispered.

  He leaned further out of the window. ‘I can see Brussels ahead.’

  ‘We are near?’ They had been on the road for five hours, but she was still not ready. She looked into his eyes. ‘Then we will be saying goodbye soon.’

  His expression sobered. ‘As soon as you are safely returned to your friends.’

  Her friends? She could hardly remember them. ‘I
t will seem odd.’

  ‘To be with your friends again?’

  ‘No.’ Her throat tightened. ‘To not be with you.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Indeed.’

  Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Perhaps we can see each other? In Brussels, I mean?’

  He averted his gaze. ‘That may not be advisable.’

  She felt crushed. Had her wanton behaviour caused so great a dislike he wished to avoid her? Then why had he not simply sent her back to Brussels alone?

  ‘I see.’ Her voice came out sharp.

  He turned back to her. ‘Maybe news of your escapade can be kept quiet. At Hougoumont and at the village you were disguised as a boy. No one knew you. You may be able to return with your reputation intact.’

  ‘My reputation.’ She thought of the previous night. ‘Perhaps my wanton behaviour deserves a bad reputation.’

  He took her hand. ‘That was my fault. My dishonor. I ought to offer—’

  ‘No!’ She pulled her hand away. ‘I will not make you pay for what was my fault. It was all my fault. I came to the battlefield. I joined you in bed. I—I made you touch me.’

  He shook his head. ‘It is just that right now. I have nothing to give you. No wealth. Nothing.’

  Did he think she cared about such things? No, she cared about love. She’d seen marriage without love and wanted none of it.

  The Captain went on. ‘We stopped before we went too far. If we can protect your reputation, it will be as if this whole time did not happen.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘If not, I will offer—’

  She waved a hand. ‘Enough, Captain. You are not obligated to marry me. Take me back to the Fentons. We will both of us act as if nothing happened.’

  Outwardly she might be able to pretend that her life was unchanged, but truly her time with Captain Landon had changed everything inside her. All the frivolity that had consumed her and Domina before—the routs, the balls, the latest ladies’ fashions—seemed meaningless to her now.

  They soon entered the city. Soldiers were everywhere, sitting on the pavement or leaning against buildings, all wounded, all looking as if they needed a bed and much doctoring.

  ‘Look at them.’ Marian cried in alarm. ‘Is there no shelter for them? No care for them?’

  The captain, too, looked affected by the sight. ‘There must be too many.’

  ‘You have a room, though, do you not, Captain?’ she asked. ‘You have a place to stay in Brussels?’

  ‘Not in Brussels,’ he responded. ‘I will go back to the village inn where we were last night. I have to get Valour, after all. And when I am a bit more healed, I must return to the regiment.’

  She glanced out the window again at the numbers of homeless soldiers. ‘But the coachman said he will return there tomorrow, not tonight.’

  He gave a not-too-reassuring smile. ‘I’ll find something for tonight.’

  ‘Where?’ she cried. If there were rooms available, no men would be on the streets. ‘Do you have friends in Brussels?’

  He shrugged. ‘Likely not. My regiment is probably already on the march.’

  Marian felt distraught. She would stay on the street with him, to care for him, rather than have him be alone.

  ‘Do not worry about me.’

  The carriage entered the more fashionable part of the city, where London society had chosen housing. Even on these familiar streets, soldiers were languishing.

  The Fentons’ rooms were nearby. Marian took a breath against a sudden pang of anxiety. ‘We are almost there.’ She could not leave him without knowing he had a place to stay.

  The carriage stopped.

  ‘Is this the place?’ he asked.

  They were practically in front of the Fentons’ door. ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

  Climbing from the carriage caused him pain, but the captain insisted upon helping her out.

  He spoke to the driver. ‘Where will I find you?’

  The coachman named the stable where he would refresh the horses. ‘I’ll take whatever passengers I can find and leave tomorrow morning by eight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Captain replied.

  As the carriage rolled away, he glanced at Marian. ‘Which door?’

  She pointed. ‘This one.’

  He did not move, instead stood looking down upon her.

  ‘Oh, Captain,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot bear for us to be parted.’

  He enfolded her in his arms and she buried her face against his chest, feeling the bandage beneath his clothing.

  ‘Nor I,’ he murmured, holding her even tighter. ‘We will meet again some day.’

  Marian wished she could believe him, but it felt like she would be parted from him for ever.

  He released her slowly, caressing her face before knocking upon the Fentons’ door.

  A manservant opened it.

  ‘Captain Landon escorting Miss Pallant,’ the captain said.

  The manservant gaped first at the captain, then Marian. She looked down at herself, still in Domina’s brother’s clothes, now torn and shabby. The captain’s coat was ripped where the musket ball had pierced it.

  ‘Come in.’ The manservant stepped aside. ‘I’ll announce you.’

  He left them waiting in the hall. The captain pressed his hand to his shoulder again and pain flitted across his face.

  At least they had had shelter in the Belgian farmer’s stable—where would the captain be this night, before returning to the inn and Valour?

  She glanced around the hall, at the marble table holding a vase of flowers, at the silver tray, now empty, that had once held piles of invitations. There was no chair for the captain. She’d never noticed the lack of a chair before.

  A quarter of an hour passed before the servant returned to escort them above stairs to the Fentons’ drawing room. When they entered, both Sir Roger and Lady Fenton were present.

  Lady Fenton glared at Marian. ‘You have some nerve returning here big-as-you-please.’

  Marian’s face burned as if it had been slapped. She had not expected a warm welcome, but this was no welcome at all.

  Captain Landon stepped forward. ‘Allow me to explain—’

  Sir Roger raised his quizzing glass to his eye. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Captain Landon, sir,’ he responded. ‘Miss Pallant has been through a great deal. She deserves your every consideration.’

  Lady Fenton laughed. ‘Consideration? She has dishonoured us! Acted totally against anything we could wish—’

  Marian broke in. ‘Is Domina safe?’

  ‘Domina?’ the lady huffed. ‘Safe from your bad influence, I can tell you. She told us you ran off during the night—off to be with some soldier, we could guess.’ Lady Fenton turned to Captain Landon. ‘You, sir? Did she run off with you?’

  The captain’s eyes turned flinty. ‘You misunderstand.’

  Sir Roger pursed his lips. He turned away from Marian and addressed himself to the captain. ‘Our son’s horse came back, obviously having been ridden hard. Some of our son’s clothing was missing.’ He gestured to Marian. ‘Domina eventually admitted Marian had run off.’

  Lady Fenton added, ‘At first our daughter would not tell us where she had gone. We soon wore her down—’

  Sir Roger went on. ‘Our daughter said Marian wished to witness the battle, but we do not credit that.’

  ‘What well-bred young lady would even think to witness a battle?’ His wife shook her head. ‘Not that she is as well bred as she pretends, born in India and all that. This behaviour is hoydenish in the extreme.’

  ‘Domina is unhurt?’ All the abuse of her character washed over Marian for the moment. None of it mattered if her friend had come home in one piece.

  Lady Fenton shot daggers at her. ‘She is vastly hurt by your behaviour and by how you abused her friendship and took advantage of us all.’

  The captain straightened. ‘You have been misled. Miss Pallant did not—’

  Lady Fenton held up a hand. ‘Do not say a word. I will
not believe it.’

  It finally dawned on Marian that Domina had blamed the entire escapade on her. She swallowed. ‘Leave it, Captain. They will not hear you.’

  Lady Fenton glared at her. ‘Your trunk is packed. Take it now or send instructions where to deliver it.’

  The captain stepped forwards. ‘Wait a moment. You accepted responsibility for this young lady. You are still responsible for her.’

  Lady Fenton laughed in his face. ‘It seems you have accepted responsibility for her. It is you who have dishonoured her, is it not, sir?’

  His eyes blazed at the woman. ‘Miss Pallant has done nothing that requires apology.’

  Marian felt her face burn. He was wrong and he knew it. ‘I do not wish to stay here. I will go back in the carriage.’

  The captain turned to her. ‘You will not leave. These people brought you to Brussels and they will not abandon you now.’

  ‘She will go,’ Sir Roger said.

  The Fentons had been like a mother and father to her. Domina had been like a sister. Or so she’d thought.

  How easily they turned her out.

  ‘It is near dark.’ The captain spoke in a firm voice. ‘There is no guarantee of finding accommodations so late.’

  Not for him either, she thought.

  ‘Tomorrow I will make other arrangements for her,’ he went on. ‘Tonight she stays with you or a story will soon circulate about how respectable young women cannot trust you to chaperon them.’

  ‘You would not dare speak against us.’ Lady Fenton looked as if she would explode.

  The captain glared.

  ‘Very well.’ Lady Fenton’s shoulders slumped. ‘She must confine herself to her room. I do not wish to set eyes on her again.’

  He nodded and turned to Marian, reaching over to steady himself on the back of a chair. ‘I’ll come for you in the morning.’

  She could not help but feel relief. She would be parted from him for only a night.

  Her brows knit. ‘But you have no place to stay tonight.’ She turned to the Fentons. ‘There is room in this house. He must stay here.’