Her Fiery Heart: Brides for the Earl's Sonsa

by Isabel Simonds

  “I only think, well...Gray is young. And...unused to such things.”

  The colonel nodded. “Well, then,” he said. “If not Gray—and he is my only real choice—what say you?”

  “I'll go,” William said.

  The two other people in the room both stared at him. There was silence for a moment, then both spoke at once.

  “Perfect!”

  “No!”

  William closed his eyes, not wanting to have to think about any of it. He had no choice to make besides the one he'd made. But Catharine was going to be furious. He knew that.

  “Well, if you're able and willing, I have to admit you're better suited,” the colonel continued, warmly. “More capable than Gray. Experienced. You speak French like a dock-worker on the night after payday, but that can't be helped. Just keep your gob shut, and it'll all be fine.”

  “No,” she protested. “Colonel, I must insist. I will not—”

  “Think about it, milady,” he soothed. “I cannot think of a better man with whom to entrust your safety. William might be a difficult sort, but a more level head you won't find.”

  A difficult sort, am I? He smiled thinly. Then he saw her face and felt his heart sink. She was worse than angry. She was distraught.

  “Milady,” he said gently. “If we could...”

  “I need to talk to the lieutenant-colonel.” She turned to Wallace, face blank. “At once, if you please?”

  The colonel shrugged expansively. “Why not, milady? Take all the time you need. I have all day.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  William stood as she left, then saluted his superior officer and went out behind her.

  Outside, in the hallway, she whirled round.

  “How dare you...” she hissed.

  “Milady,” he said softly. “I must. It is dangerous, you are aware of the dangers...” he trailed off as she turned away, walking briskly down the hallway. She was wearing a silk dress, he noticed idly, crisp and dark red, a color more suited to a married woman than one of her young age. All the same, he realized breathlessly, it suited her admirably.

  She led him out and into the garden. There, the door shut behind him, she rounded on him.

  “How dare you march in here and order me about! I am committed to this mission. You know that better than anyone,” she hissed. “If the colonel had told me nay, I would accept it. But you know how much this means to me. For you to gainsay me is a betrayal.”

  William sighed. She was clearly hurt. Her chest heaved, and he could see the signs of tears in her eyes. He let out a long shaky breath.

  “Milady, I'm sorry,” he said. Before he'd thought about it, he reached a hand out to her. She recoiled like he was a poison.

  “Don't think to placate me,” she said tightly. “I am hurt, sir. Badly hurt. And if you think I am going to be guided about my country like a babe being guided round a nursery, you have another thing coming. This is my mission, and I will not have you jeopardizing it.”

  “I wouldn't think...”

  “No, you wouldn't!” she spat. “That's the trouble, isn't it? You never do think.”

  He stood there, feeling awful, when she abruptly ran out of words. She drew in a long sigh. Then, to his horror, she turned away, close to tears.

  “Go away,” she said. “Just leave. Please.”

  He turned but didn't move. He heard a sob. Instantly, he turned back to her.

  “Milady! I...” He looked down, horrified, as her face fell and a tear slowly crept down her cheek.

  “Please, go,” she said. “I don't want you to see me like this...”

  William stood, feeling helpless, as she cried.

  “I didn't mean to insult you,” he said. “And I didn't mean to betray your trust in me by gainsaying you to the colonel. I was just worried.”

  She sniffed, and he heard her sobs heighten, then fade. At length, she turned around. Her cheeks were wet, but she stopped crying.

  “I didn't mean to shout at you,” she said, sniffing miserably. “I just...when you, whom I trusted, spoke out against me like that, It was more than I could bear. It's hard enough facing men who think that I cannot do this task because I am different from them. I didn't expect that betrayal from you.”

  William swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about it like that. Now, he could see clearly why he'd upset her so much.

  “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “Really, I am.”

  She sniffed. “Don't be,” she said quietly.

  “I am,” he said.

  She sniffed again, furtively, and before he'd thought about it, William fished in his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. One with his monogram sewn into the corner.

  “Here,” he said.

  She took it. Her fingers brushed against his as she did. He tensed. “Thanks,” she said.

  She blew her nose, loudly, and then crumpled the handkerchief into her drawstring purse.

  “Sorry,” she smiled.

  He sighed. She was so beautiful it hurt. “Milady,” he said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She chuckled. “I do! Screaming at you like a trooper's wife. I suppose I disgraced myself.”

  She sounded bitter. He shook his head vehemently.

  “My lady, I must tell you something.”

  “What?” she asked, looking up with big sad eyes.

  “You are always beautiful. Even when you're cross.”

  She stared at him, astonished. Then she smiled. It was such a beautiful smile that, before he'd thought about it, he was holding her in his arms and kissing her.

  She went tense, and then relaxed against him. He sighed, feeling her lips part softly under his. It felt so good, it hurt. Soft and sweet, her lips were full and parted below his, just admitting his tongue. His whole body tensed and he drew her closer, amazed at how good it felt to hold her soft, sweet-smelling self close.

  He released her reluctantly. She looked up at him. Her eyes had a mix of astonishment and surprise. He thought it was a pleased surprise, a thought that glowed his heart.

  “Forgive me,” he said, bowing. He had gone red. What he had done was a breach of propriety that was shocking in the extreme. He hoped she wasn't cross.

  “I have nothing for which to forgive you,” she said. It was a soft, small statement and he barely heard it. He had to pause a moment, to catch all of it, and another moment for it to make sense. Then he smiled.

  “Thank you, milady.” He felt relief wash through him like a wave.

  She said nothing. When he looked up, she was looking at him. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were soft. He swallowed hard and wished, very much, that he could break propriety again. But he wasn't going to. Once was risk enough.

  “Milady,” he said, bowing to her in a deep, elaborate bow. “I wish you good day.”

  “I will see you tomorrow,” she said. “To make our plans.”

  “Yes, milady,” he nodded.

  “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day.”

  After that, he turned and walked briskly back into the hotel, crossed the hall and headed out. The guard at the door proved eager to hand his property back, and he tucked the pistol back where it belonged: at his hip under the long coat. Out of sight.

  Then he mounted up and rode, slowly and contemplatively, back home.

  He had a lot to think about. He was going on a mission. A dangerous one, full of secrecy, disguise, and peril. He had also just kissed the woman he loved.

  Of the two things, only one of them occupied him fully and kept on resurfacing, over and over, reliving it eternally as he rode. And it had nothing to do with danger.

  He was, he realized, very much in love.

  He wondered, smiling, what Bradford would say to that.

  Chapter 9: A difficult matter

  All the way home, William found himself thinking about her. And it wasn't all about the kiss. It was about the danger.

  They were taking the message to the North. That pa
rt of France they would be going to was entirely different: embattled, contested and more populated, with less space to hide in. It was truly dangerous. And she would be in the heart of it.

  At least I will be with her.

  It was all he could do. His own responsibilities here—the estate, his father, the care of his young siblings—those could all wait. They didn't matter—her life did.

  As soon as he reached the house, William left his horse for Bronley, the stable-hand, to take care of, and headed upstairs. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thought, planning the coming journey.

  “Easy, old boy,” someone said, jarring him awake. “You didn't see me coming!”

  “Oh,” he blinked, noticing Bradford almost in his path. “Didn't see you there. Just thinking hard.”

  “I'll say,” Bradford said. He was clearly about to say something teasing, but he saw William's face and his own expression sank. “Hell, old fellow. You look terrible.”

  William blinked and shook himself. “Sorry. Do I? I was just distracted.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  William shook his head. “Is Father about?”

  “Upstairs, I think,” Bradford jerked his head in the direction of their father's study. “You sure you're well?”

  “I'm fine,” William insisted firmly. “I need to see Father.” He needed to tell him about this upcoming absence. His father relied on him more and more in small ways.

  I don't think I can tell him the other half of the story. That could wait, mayhap, for when he returned.

  “He should still be there,” Bradford said, nodding. “If seeing my tailor's account hasn't set him off in apoplexy.”

  William laughed. “Don't joke,” he added, serious again. “I wonder about that sometimes.”

  “Well, if that tailor's bill doesn't do it, nothing will.” Bradford grinned. “See you, brother. I'm going out.” He headed hurriedly down the staircase.

  “Enjoy yourself,” William called, but his brother was already outside. He continued on his way up the stairs. At the door to his father's study, he knocked. His father looked up.

  “What is it, William?” he asked. William wondered just how worried he looked—his father looked as concerned as Bradford had. Seeing his father, so old and frail looking, added to his burden of worries.

  “Do you have a moment?”

  “Of course, son,” his father said expansively. “All the time in the world.”

  William nodded. “Thanks,” he said, shutting the door behind himself. He sat down on the stool across the desk. “Father, I...had a message from the Colonel. Colonel Wallace.”

  “If you need to go back,” his father said at once, “I understand. The battalion needs you more than I.”

  William swallowed hard, relieved. “Thanks. Father. But, well, it's not...quite like that,” he said carefully.

  “Oh?” his father frowned. “What's it like? Tell me, son. I can see you're worried about it.”

  William sighed. “It's a special mission, Father. I can't send anyone else. It has to be me.”

  “Well, then.” His father shrugged. “You know I like having you here—a bit of a hand with the estate...it makes all the difference. He coughed at that point, and William winced. “But I managed the perditious thing for the last twenty-five years...I can do it a while longer.” He grinned, though to William's eyes he looked tense.

  “Thank you for understanding, Father,” William nodded.

  That had been one of his concerns—that his father was too ill to manage the day-to-day running of the estate alone now.

  “Son...I know you'll come back soon,” his father said, patting his hand in a rare display of affection. “And then you can settle down, eh? I saw you with her.”

  “Who?” William stared. Surely he didn't mean...

  “With that young woman at the ball. Redhead. Striking lass. She suits you, boy. I know the look you gave her. Gave it myself, often enough.” He grinned, pale eyes sparkling.

  William swallowed hard. “Father, um...you're right.”

  “I am. I know I am. Well, I look forward to getting some new young people about the house. Bit tired of just me and your mama and the odd visit from the four of you.”

  William sighed. This was the moment to say something, if he was going to do it.

  “Um, Father...it's not as simple as you think.”

  “Simple?” He chuckled. “I know...it never seems that way. Young men always think it's terribly hard.” he laughed.

  “Father...”

  “Well? What is it? The lass is clearly the same as you, in many ways. Fine background, learned...maybe more good-looking, even...” he grinned. “But I don't see any difficulties.”

  William sighed. “Father, she is of my social standing. That's not the difficulty.”

  “Then what is, pray?”

  William tensed. If he was going to tell his father that Claudine Farlane was actually Catharine Favor, now was not the best time. But the opportunity to do so had been presented so neatly, he could not simply let it pass him by.

  “Father, please. I need to tell you something.”

  “Yes, son?” His father leaned forward, interested. “Tell me. I'm listening, whatever it is.”

  William sighed. He didn't want to do this, but he had to.

  “Father, Claudine Farlane is not...who she appears. You see...she's...her real name is Catharine Favor.”

  There. He'd said it.

  The effect was as spectacular as he had thought it to be.

  “What?” his father whispered. He wasn't red anymore; he was white. William wasn't sure if that was better or worse. He pushed back his chair, ready to rise and run for help if necessary.

  “Father, please. I know you and Lord Favor have some difficulties in the past, but—”

  “Difficulties!” his father stormed. “Son! It's not my difficulties. He's a rotten traitor.”

  “Father, please...” William winced. He did not wish to hear it. This was the father of the woman he loved!

  “No, son! On this matter, I will not back down. By George! The fellow is not simply a difficult person—I know I'm difficult sometimes, I can forgive anything—it's far more important. The man betrayed his country. He's a filthy French spy.”

  “Father!”

  William's heart felt as if someone had punched it. Not only was his father traducing the name of the woman he loved, he also didn't know anything. Her family had an affinity with France, clearly. But why was that a problem? And, now, she was a spy! For England. How dare he call that filthy!

  “Father,” he said. He kept his voice quiet. “I do not think you have a right to make such accusations. You do not know that to be true. And...” He was going to continue, but he was instantly cut off.

  “I do know it! There was an inquiry! The whole London society was talking of it!”

  “Father...” William closed his eyes. He honestly did not want to hear this. “I have no interest in the past. Catharine is not her father. She is an honest woman.”

  “Maybe,” his father snorted. “How do you know? You have known her a long while?”

  “We met in France,” William said. The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it.

  “In France! Oh! I see!” his father raged. “And what do you think she was doing there, eh? Spying, perhaps?”

  That was too far. William felt his temper go beyond his means to hold it in. He pushed back his chair and stood.

  “Father. That is too much. I can bear insults heaped on her family. But you will not traduce the name of the woman I love. Not in this house, before me.”

  His father stared at him. He opened his mouth, astonished, then shut it.

  “You think to order me, in North Hall?”

  “I think to order you in matters of my own heart.”

  His father gaped at him. He was gray now, neither white nor red, and William had a sudden feeling that perhaps he had gone too far, that his father's health migh
t not take this final shock. He pushed back his chair and walked to the door.

  “William?” his father called after him. “Wait.”

  “No,” William said, heading out of the door. He was calm now, able to think through the blinding haze of rage. “Father, I respect you. But I cannot stand by and hear the name of one dearest to my heart insulted. I would not be worthy of respect if I could. I am going to France, and she is going with me.”

  “What?” His father whispered. “Son, you're mad. She's not to be trusted. You can't.”

  “Yes,” William said, “I can. I'm going to.”

  He walked out of the doorway and down the stairs. He realized, when he reached the bottom, that he was shaking.

  He leaned on the lintel, taking deep breaths.

  I can't believe he said that. I don't want to. I want to forget all about it. How dare he! She's a spy, yes. But she's working for England! She's a kind, brave, capable...

  He stopped. His heart knew that. His heart knew all those things, intimately. But there was a tiny piece of his mind that wondered, now. How loyal to France was her father? Why was she born there? Was there any truth in what he said?

  “I don't care,” he said, strongly. What her father did had no bearing on what she did. That was the past. This was the present. And it was their future.

  He was going to France with Catharine Favor.

  His heart knew this was right.

  He stood up again and headed upstairs. He was going to pack. The mission might not require an immediate departure, but he was going to see if he could push it forward. He had to get out of this house. He would not spend a moment longer in this house, where the words his father had said would keep on echoing in his mind, tormenting him.

  He needed to see her again, to show himself they were not true.

  He needed to go to France.

  Chapter 10: In France

  The wind ruffled William's hair where he stood on the deck. He sighed and breathed in the sea air, then turned toward the woman who stood beside him. She looked so beautiful, her oval face serene, that he had to smile.