by Beth Elliot
APRIL AND MAY
Beth Elliott
© Beth Elliott 2010
Beth Elliott has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2010 by Robert Hale LTD.
This edition published in 2016 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Prologue
London, November 1799
Rose smoothed down the skirts of her blue silk evening gown and studied the toe of her embroidered dance slipper, peeping out from under the elegantly pintucked hem. Too excited to stand still, she turned this way and that, admiring the floral arrangements and the sparkling chandeliers in the ballroom. She turned impulsively to her friend Jane and Jane’s mother, Lady Carlyle.
‘This is so wonderful,’ she exclaimed, ‘My first ball and in such a splendid setting. I know I shall enjoy every moment.’ She paused to watch as another group of young ladies arrived to be greeted before turning back to Jane. ‘When will they make the announcement about your engagement?’
‘It will be after supper. Freddy will get the orchestra to play a few bars to call everyone’s attention. And then…’ Jane clasped her hands and twirled round in excitement, causing her mother to glance at her in reproof.
‘I do love him so,’ Jane whispered to Rose behind her fan, ‘and I think you are in a fair way to loving his younger brother.’
Rose gave a gasp. ‘But I have only known him for a month. I- I like him very much, of course. But you know my father has it settled that I shall marry his godson, Hugh. He is a lieutenant in the Navy,’ she added when Jane raised her brows.
Jane said nothing, merely making her mouth prim. Her green eyes were alight with amusement. Rose fidgeted with her fan, put up a hand to pat her shining golden hair and grew hotter and pinker all the time. Eventually she darted a glance at her friend to see Jane smiling broadly at her.
‘I am so happy myself tonight,’ said Jane, ‘that I want you, my dearest friend, to be happy as well. And if you think it has escaped my attention that every time Tom visits us, he always looks round the room to see if you are there I assure you that you would be wrong. Moreover,’ she went on ruthlessly, watching the blush deepen on Rose’s cheeks, ‘you always look up eagerly whenever the door opens, until Tom arrives. And then you both talk to each other endlessly.’
‘We find we share so many ideas,’ stuttered Rose.
‘Well, now you can enjoy the opportunity to share a few more. Here come Freddy and Tom now. How fine they look.’
Rose turned her head eagerly. The two young men were advancing through the crowd. They were both tall, and athletic looking with the same dark eyes and thick curly brown hair. Rose tried to remain demure and cool but her friend was right. She had only to see Tom for her heart to beat faster. A wave of pleasure swept over her at the knowledge that they could be together once more.
When Jane had written the news of her forthcoming betrothal and begged her old school friend to pay her a long visit in Town, Mr Graham had been reluctant to give permission. He did not want his daughter to be influenced by what he called the empty-headed pleasure-seekers of London society. Rose, however, longed for some variety in her life. At last she had been allowed to make the journey, under the care of her older and very sober brother, George and his new wife, Augusta, as they went to London on a visit to Augusta’s parents.
Rose was determined to make the most of every precious minute of her stay. Jane’s circle of friends was lively, pleasant and welcoming. Her future fiancé, the dashing Freddy Hawkesleigh, was handsome enough to make Rose feel slightly envious until the day when he brought his younger brother to call. Tom Hawkesleigh was even taller than Freddy. He had the same dark eyes and good looks, with an engaging grin and a warmth of character that instantly appealed to Rose.
No sooner had she and Tom been introduced than they became inseparable. It seemed as if they had always known each other. They discovered that they held similar opinions on everything, from painting to literature, from sport to music and on ideas for improving society, especially the lot of the lower classes.
Jane’s words were still ringing in her ears as Rose watched Tom approaching. Even as he exchanged a word here and there while he worked his way through the groups of people, his eyes were on her and she could see the glow in them. She felt the response come from her very core and smiled happily at him.
‘You see,’ murmured Jane, ‘you are opening like a flower in the sunshine.’
Rose pressed her hand to her lips as the truth shot through her. This warmth that overwhelmed her each time she saw him was love, just as Jane had said. It was not because he was so tall, and so good-looking. The bond they shared had more to do with a sense of them being like two halves of one whole. It felt as if they had always understood each other’s thoughts.
He reached her at last and raised his eyebrows with a comical expression of relief. A bow and a word to Lady Carlyle and Tom was holding out his hand to lead Rose into the set to dance and be happy.
‘Charming dress,’ he said in his deep voice that sent a thrill down her spine as usual, ‘makes you look like a nymph from one of those old paintings over there.’ He nodded towards the wall. ‘This pale blue is most becoming.’
Rose smiled back at him. He was so smart in his claret coloured jacket and dazzlingly white linen. It was obvious he had taken extreme care over tying his cravat. His ivory coloured breeches seemed moulded to his well-muscled thighs. That thick brown hair with its sun bleached strands was much neater than usual. She thought he looked very distinguished. She could smell the spicy cologne he used, mingled with the scent she had quickly come to recognise as his own and the fresh smell of clean linen.
The dance was lively and they did not speak, merely exchanging a look or a smile from time to time. When the final chord sounded, Rose was hot and breathless.
‘Drink?’ asked Tom. She nodded eagerly. He seized two glasses from a nearby waiter and they sipped.
Rose frowned at the glass in her hand. ‘Tom, this is champagne. I am a debutante and this is my first ball. Lady Carlyle said I must drink nothing stronger than lemonade.’
He laughed. ‘One glass will not hurt you. My brother is getting engaged tonight. You can ignore the rules on this occasion. Drink up!’ He raised his glass to her then drained it in two gulps.
She sipped thirstily. It was not a very large glass after all. They danced again and at the end of it they drank more champagne. Rose began to find the room too crowded. The combination of the wine, the press of people and the heat from so many hundreds of candles in the chandeliers was
overpowering.
‘Why can they not open a few windows,’ she murmured to Tom, ‘There is no air in here at all.’
He was also looking rather hot. He nodded. ‘I am sure my shirt points are wilting. It seems as if the whole of the ton has come to Freddy and Jane’s ball. I say, Rose,’ he added in concern, ‘you have gone white. Come on, let’s find a quieter spot for you.’
He grasped her firmly under the elbow and steered her towards the doorway. She was indeed feeling quite light-headed and let him lead her, leaning gratefully on his strong arm. He took her into a small side room and flung up the sash. Rose leaned out of the window and took in deep breaths of the cool night air.
‘Better?’ He turned his head towards her and his deep voice feathered across her bare shoulders. He was standing so close that her skirts were touching his trouser leg. He also breathed in the cool air gratefully. ‘Phew! We needed that.’
She nodded, her eyes closed. The fresh air felt wonderful after the noise and crush in the ballroom. But Tom’s large body so close beside her was making her feel giddy again. Then she felt his breath on her neck as he sighed. He grasped her arm.
‘Rose…’ his voice was almost a groan.
She opened her eyes in alarm. ‘What is it?’ Without realising, she placed a hand on his chest, moving even closer at the sight of the trouble in his face.
Tom did not answer at once. He gazed at her as if trying to imprint her features on his mind, from her blue eyes and straight little nose to the enchanting arch of her brows; from her sweet smile to her thick, golden hair, swept up in an elaborate style this evening and set off with a sky blue ribbon to match her gown. She waited in growing anxiety.
‘Tom, what is wrong? Why are you so distressed.’
His chiselled features looked tight, there were lines beside his mouth, which was set in a grim line. His eyes were narrowed. Even so, he was still devastatingly handsome and she felt the usual thrill of pleasure as she gazed at him. But now there was a chill in her heart. At last he heaved a sigh and turned away. He gripped the window sill with both hands. ‘You know I am a soldier.’
She nodded, rigid with anxiety.
‘I have received a message from my colonel,’ he said in a low voice. ‘In two days I must rejoin my regiment. We are ordered overseas again.’
Rose’s deep blue eyes widened in horror. Her throat closed up so that she could not speak. Life without Tom seemed impossible. She put up a hand to touch his cheek. She gave a shuddering sigh and the next instant Tom’s arms closed round her.
‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘I can manage if you stay calm.’ He rubbed his cheek against her hair, then she felt him pressing a kiss on her cheekbone. Rose lifted her face and offered her lips mutely. He needed no further invitation. His mouth covered hers and she yielded to the sensation of delight, swept away in a drugging pleasure. Tom drew her so close her soft curves moulded against his muscled form. The familiar smell and shape of him felt so right, Rose knew she had come home.
She was past thinking now, had forgotten why she was here, she only knew that she wanted this kiss to go on forever. She put her arms round his neck, pulling his head closer still. At once the pressure of his lips grew deeper, more fierce, calling for her to respond in kind. Rose felt an answering flame and kissed him back urgently, moaning with pleasure as his arms tightened around her. Her body came alive with a host of new sensations.
In some corner of her mind, however, she knew she should not be doing this. It took an enormous effort of will but she pulled back slightly. At once he relaxed his hold. They stared wildly at each other, panting hard. Rose swallowed convulsively. Wrong or not, she wanted Tom to kiss her again.
Both moved forward at the same instant and this time their kiss was more savage, more needy. They were both frantic to bind themselves indelibly to each other. Rose slid her hands up from Tom’s broad chest, over his firm jaw and hard cheekbones into his thick hair. He gave a growl and pulled her even closer, one hand at the back of her neck. She pressed herself even closer against him.
The world had shrunk to the space within Tom’s arms. Here she was safe. Her legs were shaking and she clung helplessly against him. His breathing had become hoarse, slow with a beat of passion. He was brushing little kisses across her cheekbones, against her eyelids, then beneath her ear. A delicious pang shot down her whole body to her toes as he kissed the tender flesh in the hollow of her neck.
She trembled as his large hands slid down her back and clutched her against him. Then came the slide of her sleeve being pushed down. She gave a sigh of pure pleasure when he pressed his mouth to the delicate skin of her shoulder. Her head fell back as a sharp thrill pulsed through her. She felt his warm breath against her breast and heard him growl again.
Then, like cold water, came a sharp voice.
‘How dare you conduct yourselves in such a disgusting manner.’
Tom lifted his head. His chest was heaving. Rose struggled to open her eyes. Her body was limp with sensation and she clung to Tom to keep from falling. He kept one arm round her waist and tried to pull her sleeve back onto her shoulder with his other hand.
‘Stand away!’ the cold voice said again. ‘Rose, you will come with me. You, sir, will remain here.’
By now, Rose had managed to take a shaky step back from Tom. She tugged at her dress with hands that trembled. Augusta, her sister-in-law, was glaring at her in outrage.
‘I am sorry, Augusta, we did not mean-’
‘Sorry! You behave like a trollop and you think “sorry” will excuse you? Adjust your dress properly. George and I will escort you home at once.’
‘But I am staying with Jane. It will look very odd if I leave her home in the middle of a ball.’
‘You will do as I say,’ Augusta’s thin bosom had swelled in indignation. Her pale face was mottled with disapproval. ‘You have brought disgrace on the family – ’
‘That is doing it too strong,’ interrupted Tom, who was trying in vain to smooth his unruly hair. ‘Perhaps you could give us a minute to explain –’
‘Nothing can excuse your shameful conduct, sir! Be so good as to wait here. I shall inform your father.’
Tom shot her a glance of dislike. He turned to Rose. ‘I am so sorry to have brought this upon you. I will call on you in the morning.’
Rose nodded dumbly. She wanted to put her arms round him again. She tried to convey her feelings by her look but Augusta grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.
‘And do not think you will ever see him again, miss,’ she hissed.
‘Of course I will,’ protested Rose, ‘did you not hear him say he will call-’
‘After such a disgrace, that is impossible. You cannot be trusted. And he is only a younger son!’
Chapter One
Constantinople, May 1804
The tall man in the silken robes and turban put the papers down on the table and placed a strong brown hand lightly on them.
‘For these, I thank you,’ he said, inclining his head to the two men seated opposite him. His keen eyes went from the Ambassador, fidgeting with his snuffbox, to Tom Hawkesleigh. Tom sat very upright and kept his face impassive but his gaze was intent. Kerim Pasha permitted himself a slight smile. ‘You have been very prompt and the plan you outline is extremely clear and detailed. His Majesty, Sultan Selim, will certainly be pleased to consider it.’
Tom quelled his sigh of relief. He maintained a politely interested expression while inside, his heart swelled with a fierce joy. He had worked non-stop to produce this plan in the two weeks since his first meeting with this powerful minister. The Ambassador was desperate to beat the French bid for this task of modernising the Turkish army. It would never do to allow Napoleon’s envoy such a glittering triumph.
‘There is just one thing,’ continued Kerim Pasha, causing Tom to crash back to earth, ‘His Majesty would appreciate sketches - the more modern uniforms are such an important part of the scheme.’
> ‘I felt it would be presumptuous of me to decide on that aspect of the matter,’ said Tom, his deep voice rumbling even more than usual. ‘Moreover, sir, I have to say that I am no artist.’ He looked very directly at Kerim Pasha. The Turk’s eyes narrowed in amusement but his hawklike face remained impassive.
The Ambassador cleared his throat. ‘If you wish for some sketches, Your Excellency, Mr Hawkesleigh will supply them very shortly. They would just be suggestions, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Kerim Pasha nodded. ‘But it is an integral part of the whole scheme. If we modernise our weapons and our tactics, we must have modern uniforms that are appropriate for using them.’
There was a moment’s pause. Then, ‘Right away, Hawkesleigh,’ urged the Ambassador. ‘His Excellency and I can discuss further details while you come up with a few sketches.’
Tom checked the protest that rose to his lips. For God’s sake, had the man not heard him say he could not draw? His nostrils flared with a burst of rage but he bent his head to conceal it, stood, bowed to their guest and left the room.
He closed the door carefully then a thunderous frown descended on his handsome face. Swearing bitterly under his breath he strode along the wide passageway. He glared around as he went, looking for some way to vent his anger. Tom paused on the threshold of his own office. His assistant was sitting at the desk, copying notes into a ledger. A gleam of hope came into Tom’s eyes as he considered the blond head bent over the books.
‘Can you draw, Seb?’
The young man looked up, his blue eyes wide open in astonishment. ‘Draw? No.’ he said baldly, ‘not at all.’
‘Get out then.’ snarled Tom. He dropped into the chair hastily vacated by a bewildered and alarmed Sebastian Welland. Still scowling, he added: ‘and just see that I am not disturbed.’
Half an hour later another balled up sheet of paper hit the wall. Tom pushed back his chair with a frustrated sigh. He strode over to the window. He frowned out at the Embassy garden with its trees and flowering shrubs but he found no inspiration there. He raked his fingers through his hair, banged his fist against the wall, muttered a few choice oaths and wheeled round, back to his desk.
