by Georgie Lee
Stop it, she chided herself, frightened by the weakness pulling her towards him. She’d forgotten herself with him and, in the end, it’d cost her so much more than she’d gained.
“I’m leaving, Mary,” Mr. Ogden buttoned his coat over his round stomach. “You must be eager for your reunion with your husband.”
"Mind your mouth, and get home to your wife.” She snapped her towel at him, too accustomed to drinking men’s blunt talk to blush, but his teasing tightened the anxiety already twisting her stomach. Everyone expected a happy reunion night for her and Charles. It would be a stretch in the morning to pretend there’d been one.
Her concern increased when Charles leaned against the bar. His scent of sweat, dust and shaving soap settled around her making her want to lay her head in the crook of his neck and inhale. Instead, she rooted herself to her place behind the bar as he spoke, his voice as tempting as a cool breeze in the stifling room. “So, where will I be sleeping?”
She wiped a spot of water off the wood, folded the towel and set it aside. “With me.”
He raised one eyebrow as the tension between them filled the smoky pub. If she had a free room, she’d put him in it, but of the three above stairs, a paying border took one, Aunt Emily the other, while Mary kept her old one. John slept with Aunt Emily tonight because he’d had a nightmare, or so her aunt had said. It seemed more like a plot to see Charles and Mary thrown together rather than a true consoling of a two year old. She should be thankful for her aunt’s plotting. It would make the ruse of their marriage easier to maintain. The longstanding patrons thought her a proper wife and if they learned otherwise, she’d lose their much needed business.
“This way.” She took a lamp from its hook and led him to the stairs. As they climbed the rickety steps, she gripped the lantern handle tight, aware of every rustle of his coat against his waist as he raised one firm leg and then the next to climb the steps behind her. Each inhale of his breath followed by a gentle exhale plucked at the old memories of his hot and needy mouth on hers while he’d pressed her against the stairway wall. She’d been dizzy with desire as she’d brazenly undone each brass button on his coat, and slipped her hands beneath it to caress his chest through his shirt, eager to be in the privacy of her room but not wanting to break from his lips or stop him from caressing her thighs.
“Thank you for handling Mr. Pratt today,” she said as they reached the upper hallway, trying to distract them both from the memories filling the shadows.
“I had to protect my wife.” He bent to avoid the slope of the roof, his face so close to hers she could see the sheen of sweat on his taught neck muscles, and the faint stubble along his jaw. She opened and closed her fingers on the lantern handle, wanting to trace the planes of his cheeks but she couldn’t. Her touch would be an invitation she wasn’t ready to extend. “But we aren’t married.”
He pinned her with a wry and tempting smile. “Not yet.”
She nearly dropped the lantern. Taking a deep breath which almost made her breasts brush his chest, she slid out from between him and the wall. “My room is at the end.”
His wicked grin seemed to shrink the already tight space. “Yes, I remember.”
CHAPTER TEN
The lantern flame flickered in her eyes as she set it on the washstand in her room. The narrow bed under the window was just as he remembered. It was Mary who'd changed. Her problems had tethered her buoyant nature and stolen the light from her face. He yearned to bring it back, to slide his hand behind her neck and draw her lips to his and reclaim not just the passion from their past, but the connection they’d shared in the darkness, and the comfort it’d brought them.
“Do you mind taking the floor?” She motioned to a rag rug, with, if he was not mistaken, a blush of shame.
“I suppose it’s better than a bench downstairs.” He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the turned wood chair. “Besides, I’ve had worse accommodations.”
“I’m sure you have.” She made no move to undress, and instead traced the lantern handle, doing her best to avoid looking at him. “Where were you tonight?”
He stopped in the unlacing of his shirt ties, heartened by her curiosity. “Trying to win money for us.”
“You mean gambling.” Her frown condemned him but not the hope in her eyes. “Did you win?”
“No, but I didn’t lose either.”
“This time.”
“And what about you? Did the pawn shop give you enough?”
Her full lips drew into a surprised O. “How did you know I went there?”
“You aren’t the first to trade a sword for money. There are a lot of old soldiers in London without theirs.”
“So I discovered. I didn’t raise enough.” She sighed as if relieved to tell him the truth. It was the first time she’d been open and trusting with him. It didn’t last though, as she straightened herself against him once more. “I still have some time to figure something out.”
“We have time to figure something out,” he gently corrected, noting how it eased the stiffness of her stance but not the conflict making her lips draw together in a thin line.
“I told you, I don’t need your help.” It wasn’t as forceful a declaration as it’d been earlier today. Her defiance was weakening, and it gave him as much hope as the flush of her cheeks and the nervous play of her fingers on the ribbon of her dress.
He cupped her face with his hands and the heat of her tender skin against his made his chest catch. He kept his touch light, waiting for her to pull away but she didn’t. Uncertainty marred her round eyes as she gazed up at him, the fight between her desire to trust him and to push him away clear in the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. They stood achingly close to one another and yet as far away as if he was still in Spain. "You're a strong woman Mary, I don't doubt it, but a strong person also knows when to ask for help. Please, let me help you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mary curled her fingers around his wrists, wanting to pull his hands off but she couldn't. The excitement and carefree wonder of their night together echoed in every flicker of his pulse against her fingertips. It summoned her to him like a bell in a fog did the boats to the shore. For the first time in too many years, the echo of the happy young woman she’d once been sounded again. She wasn’t gone and he could coax her out, if she let him.
“Do you remember the last time we were here, when I told you my fears about my sister and my men?” His tone was low and smooth like the rumble of casks against the taproom floor.
She nodded, not trusting her voice enough to answer.
“Tell me what’s wrong with you. Not the debts or the pub or your mother, but you,” Charles urged, his tenderness as heady as his nearness.
“Th-there’s nothing wrong.” It was difficult to surrender to his gentle entreaty, and to open up to him as she’d done before. It was clear he cared for her, deeply, but so had her mother and it hadn’t stopped her from scorning Mary and giving the pub to Paul who’d betrayed them.
Charles isn't Paul. He'd shown John affection where Paul had ignored him. He'd risen to her defense when he could have left her to fend for herself. He’d tried to win money not just for himself but for her and their son. She’d been foolish to push Charles away. He would have helped her if she’d let him, as he wanted to now. If she’d allowed it then maybe the last three years would have been different. If she trusted him tonight, the next few might change as well, and for the better.
“I’m afraid,” she breathed, her voice trembling like her entire being as she at last revealed the truth, the one she’d hidden from everyone, including Aunt Emily.
“Of what?” He stroked the line of her jaw with his thumb, the gentle pressure reaching deep inside her to melt the frost which had covered her for so long.
“Of being wrong about myself, the pub, and you,” she admitted, more vulnerable than if they were standing together naked.
He didn’t laugh or dismiss her concerns as her m
other had done. He didn’t try and reason them away as Aunt Emily often did. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. She laid her head on his chest as his wide hands stroked her back, and closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart and reveling in the comfort and peace of his embrace.
“You’re not wrong.” His words vibrated through his chest and hers, soothing the last of her doubts.
She leaned back, the eagerness in his eyes as strong as the one in her heart. “I see that now.”
She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his in a kiss as light as the morning mist.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Relief filled Charles as powerfully as desire. The dream he’d carried in Spain and across the channel was at last in his embrace. She finally trusted him as much tonight as their last one together, except the sunrise wouldn’t see him bidding her goodbye, but melding his life with hers. He drew her deeper into the curve of his body as he savored her lips. She didn’t tug away but laced her fingers behind his neck, allowing him to guide them both towards surrender. He slipped the buttons of her dress through the tiny holes, eager to be one with her as they’d been before. She followed his lead, pulling his shirt over his head and moving them closer to one another.
When they were at last free of breeches, boots and her chemise, he laid her on the small bed and covered her body with his. The light play of her fingertips along the line of his shoulders, the flicking of her tongue against his, evoked the young woman who’d captured him before. He swept her skin with his tongue, tasting her like he had the fine food and wine the officers had given him to celebrate his return to the regiment. This homecoming meant more to him than the one with his men for this was where he belonged. As he traced the curve of her hips up to her waist, the anxiety of the day and the long weeks before began to fade. The future wasn’t settled, but he’d see to it the stern Mary who’d greeted him this morning was banished for good, and the sensuous, tantalizing woman beneath him thrived once more. He’d never in his life given in to doubt or fear about himself or his situations and he wouldn’t now. Nor would he allow her to continue to be plagued by the oppression of worry. She didn’t deserve it. Despite her mistakes and the small lies, she was willing to fight for what she wanted which was the best for her son, their son. She hadn’t give up as her mother had but struggled on, doing so even today when it’d seemed there was no hope for her to succeed. He’d make sure she did, that they both did together.
~*~
Mary clung to Charles as they moved together as one, no longer clashing but embracing. Alone with him, there was nothing but his breath in her ear, his stomach against hers, and the exhilaration of their lovemaking. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of their intimacy before and she didn’t tonight, losing herself in the steady pace of his movement. No matter what happened, he would be here for her. He’d help her take care of John and share her burdens in a way not even Aunt Emily had done. He would be a wall of strength for her to lean on and duck behind when threats arose. All would be well. She didn’t know how or in what way but as they cried out together in their mutual release, their bodies entangled, she believed in it as she did his determination to make her a true wife.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Were you scared when you were in Spain?” Mary asked as she intertwined her fingers with his over his bare stomach. The light of the full moon fell in through the window and turned everything a glittering shade of silver. She lay next to Charles, resisting sleep and the arrival of the harsh morning light. Their last night together had ended with parting tears, and even though he would remain beside her come dawn, she wasn’t ready to end this special time together.
“Every day,” he admitted with a long exhale.
She squeezed him tight, wanting to banish the bad memories like he’d tried to banish hers. “How did you fight it?”
He shrugged. “By always continuing on. There was no other choice.”
She admired his steadfastness and wanted to share in it. “And how will we continue on?”
He placed a kiss on the top of her undone hair then drew her deeper into the curve of his shoulders. “First, we’ll plan a wedding in secret so no one is the wiser about it. I assume your aunt will act as a witness?”
He raised her hand and circled her ring finger with his.
“Nothing would make her happier.” She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. “She’s been after me to accept you.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked her.” He cuffed her playfully under the chin and it brought a wide smile to her lips, the first genuine one she’d dared in ages.
“And before the wedding? How will we deal with Mr. Pratt?” She wanted to hear his solution.
He pushed her hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “We’ll think of some way out of this muddle.”
“Yes, we will.” She snuggled against him, not heartened by his answer, but with the weight of his arm around her, the sense of safety and hope which had eluded her for the last three years returned.
~*~
Charles stared at the rough ceiling beams as he listened to Mary’s steady breathing beside him. Even with her warm body tucked against his, he couldn’t find enough tranquility to fall into a deep sleep of his own. Despite his assurances they would be fine, the only solution he had to their problems was his determination to see her through this as he’d seen his men through the long month behind enemy lines, and a single idea he didn’t wish to entertain. He prayed she’d gained enough confidence in him to at least consider the suggestion which kept coming to him no matter how many other solutions he tried to concoct in order to set it aside.
No, it won’t come to that.
He’d say nothing about it until he was forced to. Like her pawning and his gambling, he believed something would happen to change everything. It had in Spain when the farmer who’d held Charles and his unit at gunpoint while the French had crept through the nearby forest had turned out to be a sympathetic Spaniard. As Charles had faced down the old musket barrel, he’d thought their succeeding at getting back to the fort was over, but he’d been wrong. With any luck, he’d be wrong again. Tomorrow, a solution would come to him. It had to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The easy conversation which had floated between them as they’d helped each other dress and then broken their fast ended when they entered the common room. Mr. Pratt waited for them at the bar, smug as a conquering general.
Charles strode up to him, refusing to be intimidated by the man. "What are you doing here?"
"You said to bring ya' proof and I have it." He shoved a wrinkled paper at Charles who snatched it from his meaty hands. Mary came up beside him and read the document too. It outlined her stepfather's debt, his payments and the interest he'd accrued along with his mark and the placing of the Marquis of Granby as collateral.
"Is this Paul’s signature?" Charles asked, not willing to take the man’s word. Sadly, Mary nodded, the color which had lit up her face during their time above stairs draining away. Charles fixed on Mr. Pratt. "It wasn't the hundred you claimed, but fifty." It was still too much.
"I can't name all of me clients' debts off the top of me head," he sneered, before he seemed to cheer. "But I hear you're in need of money. I could loan it to you, add it to what's already owed by this place and then you’d have a fine posting with the Army and could well afford to pay me back."
The memory of the sallow man who'd eavesdropped on Charles’ conversation with Aaron rushed back to him. He stared at Mr. Pratt, working to appear more jovial about his money troubles than he really was. "You heard wrong, I’m quite capable of purchasing my commission without your assistance."
Mr. Pratt snatched the paper out of Charles's hand."Think you're too proud to take money from the likes of me, are you? Well, if you have enough for your commission then you have enough to pay me back, and you'd better do it by tomorrow morning or I'll summon the bailiff and claim my due, then yo
u'll be wishing you’d accepted me offer."
He turned on one thick heel and stormed out of the pub.
Charles pressed his fingertips into the cool top of the bar, the unease which had filled the early morning hours while Mary had slept beside him returning. Between then and now he still hadn’t thought of some way out of their predicament, and an opportunity for earning money had yet to present itself, except the one he’d avoided considering.
“What are we going to do?” Mary asked, the small crease between her eyes deeper than before.
Charles hesitated. After Mr. Pratt’s visit, there appeared to be only one option left and he was certain she wouldn’t like it. He hated having to propose it, but he had little choice. Without money they would lose the pub anyway. He straightened and turned to her, calling on his experience leading men in the Army to steady him. There’d been many times in Spain when he’d had to command things of his soldiers they hadn’t liked or which were dangerous, but they’d been necessary. He hadn’t flinched there and he wouldn’t do so here.
He drew her into the tap room and shut the door on Mr. Ogden and the few other patrons’ curiosity. Then he faced her and with all the composure of an officer laid out his idea. "We can sell the Marquis of Granby, repay Mr. Pratt from the profits, and use the rest to start our life together.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Sell the pub?" Shock stole the vigor of Mary’s voice before she reclaimed it and with it the raging fury she’d been forced to hide every time she’d faced down Paul and one of his disastrous decisions. “I won’t. My grandfather established this pub with the money he received from the Marquis of Granby for fighting with him in the Seven Years war. I won’t give up on his dream, or mine for John. Someday, I want my son to be his own master and not beholden to anyone else for his livelihood, the way my mother and I were to Paul.”
