A Rose for Major Flint (Brides of Waterloo)

by Louise Allen

  *

  It appeared that at soirées one stood around and talked whilst being deafened by shrill female voices and at the same time tried not to spill one’s drink down the gown of the lady nearest you or be caught rolling your eyes at other male sufferers. It was also necessary to keep one’s temper with simpering chits who wanted to coo over him because he must be a hero, male civilians who thought they could have fought the battle better than Wellington and anguished ladies who wanted to talk about the poor dear young men who had been killed or wounded.

  It was all made considerably worse by the need to drag Rose off to some secluded corner and kiss her until that cool, bleak look vanished from her eyes.

  Finally, under the pretext of presenting her with a glass of lemonade, he managed to say, ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘We are talking.’ She was wearing a moss-coloured gown that made her eyes more green than hazel, striking amber jewellery and her hair was swept up into a complex of swirls and plaits that made him want to remove every single pin in it.

  ‘Alone. And not at the top of our voices.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ She sipped her lemonade and smiled at a passing captain of dragoons in a way that had Flint’s hand tightening on the hilt of his dress sword.

  ‘Us. Yesterday.’

  Her lips pursed in a little pout that did nothing for his internal turmoil. ‘It is rather warm and there is a terrace at the side, I think.’ Without waiting for his reply she turned and led the way through the crowd, nodding and smiling and exchanging the odd word here and there. Finally they arrived at a curtained alcove. ‘Through here.’

  Flint followed her, across a lobby, through glazed doors and on to a deserted terrace. ‘Excellent. How did you know this was here? Is this where you would flirt with Haslam?’

  Rose turned away abruptly. ‘Beast!’

  ‘I am sorry.’ He was, he discovered, jealous that she could be so touchy on behalf of the unfortunate lieutenant. ‘Look, Rose, about yesterday. If I could have kept you from meeting those two, I would have done, not because I am ashamed of my past but because it is the past.’

  ‘But you condone adultery. Obviously you do or you would not have slept with two married women. And those are just the ones I know about.’

  ‘I did not break those marriages, they were already broken. I cannot imagine being unfaithful to you.’

  She turned a shoulder, almost as though she was shrugging him off.

  Flint moved closer, lowered his voice. ‘If you are carrying my child, Rose, then you will marry me, trust me or not.’ She would wed him anyway, he had ruined her, but at least if she was not pregnant he had longer to make her happy about it first. ‘You said you thought you loved me.’

  ‘Love?’ She turned then, so close he could gather her into his arms, so he did, expecting a slapped cheek. But she came easily, slid her hands up to his shoulders, tilted her face to look into his.

  It took him time to get his impulses under control and give her the kiss that was prudent for a couple only feet away from a society gathering. He did not feel prudent. What he wanted was to ravage her mouth, tear off that lovely gown, plunge into her body and take her over the edge again and again, gasping his name. He wanted…Rose. Just Rose.

  ‘Love,’ she murmured again. ‘What has that got to do with it, I keep asking myself? I don’t know, Adam. I wish I understood marriage, what it would mean for me. For us.’

  Flint did not understand marriage either, he was quite certain about that. All he knew was that he wanted Rose, that he did not need to explain the fact with nonsense about love and that he was weary of balancing on the edge of his career, on the edge of a new beginning, on the edge of honour. So he kissed her because it was easier than talking, easier than trying to make sense of this. He kissed her and gave up on prudence.

  He took her mouth as though it were a cup of water and he was dying of thirst. He lashed her to him with one arm as she gasped and he pushed the fragile sleeve of her gown from her shoulder with fingers that shook as they closed over the curve of her breast and found her nipple. Rose gasped again, shuddered and raked her fingers into his hair, dragging his mouth to hers.

  The silk and gauze slipped and her whole breast was cupped in his palm and he had no idea if the moans came from her throat or his. It was only when he found his other hand was on the falls of his trousers that reality hit him like the butt of a rifle. ‘Rose.’

  She opened her eyes, wide and dark as though she had used belladonna drops. ‘Adam. We can’t, not here…’ She fumbled with the bodice of her gown, pushed up the sleeve, turned and walked swiftly back to the doors. ‘I’m sorry. I wish…’ she murmured and was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adam came back into the reception room ten minutes later. Rose told herself that it was her imagination that he reminded her of the Devil who had come out of the smoke and the mud to kill the demons who threatened her, that the bleak darkness in his eyes and the unsmiling set of his face was simply the expression of a man irritated by inane chatter, an overheated room and sexual frustration. Should she have found some secluded corner with him? No, he was uncomfortable about compromising her here, he had stopped first, after all.

  ‘My dear Miss Tatton, your major is a rather intimidating beast, is he not?’ Lady Grantly fluttered her fan in the direction of Adam, who had propped one shoulder against a pillar and was eyeing the room over the rim of a champagne flute. ‘He looks like a great cat wondering which poor little mouse to pounce upon next. Quite…thrilling.’

  ‘I suspect Major Flint merely has a headache, Lady Grantly. And he is hardly my major. We have only recently become acquainted.’

  ‘Oh? I mustn’t leap to conclusions, must I?’ The older woman’s gaze sharpened on Rose’s face. Rose did her best to look calmly amused and not like a wanton who had been locked in an indecent embrace only minutes before.

  ‘No doubt I misunderstood what I overheard that sad romp Lady Sarah Latymor say outside the Chapel Royal on Sunday. She is the major’s half-sister, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. As you say, she is rather too lively on occasion and she delights in teasing the major. Do excuse me, I see the Misses Hughes bearing down on the poor man. I must go and rescue him.’

  ‘Adam?’ She had no need to touch him. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head and she was quite certain he knew she had been working her way through the guests to his side.

  ‘If you say you are sorry again,’ he remarked softly, ‘I am going to announce our betrothal here and now.’

  ‘Then I will say that I regret not keeping my feelings to myself until we had the opportunity to…talk in private.’ She bowed to some passing acquaintances and tried to ignore the way his lips curved into a sensual, mocking smile at her euphemism. ‘I have been doing a lot of thinking. I found my diaries, you see.’

  ‘And you will take up your pen and start to add entries again? I would be interested to read them.’

  ‘You think it would flatter your self-esteem?’ She showed her teeth in a smile, used her fan, did her best to give the impression of flirtation. How could she write about making love with Adam? The paper would scorch if she ever found the words.

  ‘I would like to think so. But perhaps not. You said you might love me.’

  What had prompted her to such an admission, one that laid her open to such pain? She shrugged and lied. ‘I was upset. Women prefer to gloss their physical desires with a coat of love, I fear. It makes us feel more…ladylike.’

  That surprised a snort of laughter from him. ‘Admitting to hypocrisy, Rose?’

  ‘Aren’t we all hypocrites? Or, at the least, very good actors? Look around you. Look at us. How can any of us ever know what is really going on in the mind of other people?’

  ‘You know it when people are pushed to their extremity,’ Adam said, all the laughter gone. ‘When they are afraid, that is when you see cowardice and courage, fears and resolve. And again, when they make
love, everything, all pretence, is stripped away.’

  ‘Truly?’ That had never occurred to her. What had she seen of Adam when she lay in his arms, when they had been stripped of everything but the most primal pleasure? She had seen a strong man without his defences or pretence, she realised. ‘But women who are…professional, don’t they have to pretend all the time?’

  ‘Yes.’ Adam drained his glass and set it down on a nearby table. ‘And they are very skilled at it. But you can tell if they are holding back, reserving themselves behind a mental wall.’

  Is that where they might see the truth in each other and learn to trust? In bed, making love? But now that intimacy was denied them, closed off until they were married, by which time it would be too late. Or is it?

  ‘Look, Mama is signalling that they are about to leave.’

  ‘Will they allow me to walk you home, do you think?’ Adam rested his hand in the small of her back, guiding her as they made their way over to their hostess to take their leave. She wanted to lean back against that broad palm and those long fingers, that focus of heat and that possessive touch. ‘I would like to talk with you alone.’

  ‘It is not so very far.’ Perhaps it was for the best, too much had been said tonight to leave unexplored. And perhaps they would kiss again. ‘Ask them.’

  He already was, his rare, and very charming, smile deployed to tactical advantage. Mama is already more than resigned to him as a son-in-law. So is Papa.

  ‘There is a full moon,’ Adam said. ‘And such a beautiful view from the ramparts walk in moonlight. I would like to show Miss Tatton.’

  ‘Do not let her get chilled,’ Lord Thetford said, the sternness countered by a nod of approval.

  ‘You have won them over,’ Rose said as Adam swirled her evening cloak around her shoulders and her parents went down the steps to their waiting carriage.

  ‘I have simply been straightforward with them.’ He tucked her hand under his elbow and flipped one side of his own cloak back so his sword hand was free. Rose did not think he expected footpads in the well-lit elegant streets, it was simply an automatic gesture of readiness that made her heart beat a little faster. She was being protected by a warrior.

  ‘Your father appreciates that I did not attempt to wriggle out of responsibility and the fact that I have money enough for comfort, if not luxury. Your mother finds me alarming and more than a little shocking, but she is also comforted by the thought that I would put a bullet in anyone who threatened you.’

  ‘Mama is not so bloodthirsty!’

  ‘Believe me, she is in the defence of her only daughter. I would not have given a fig for my life if she had been holding a loaded gun when I walked into your drawing room the day you returned home. Wait until you have a child and see if you are not prepared to kill or be killed for her. Giving you a large, fierce mongrel guard dog makes perfect sense to Lady Thetford.’

  ‘Was your mother so protective of you?’ Was this dangerous ground to stray on to?

  ‘Lord, yes.’ She could feel him relax beside her. ‘She was a miniature dragon. All this—’ he waved his free hand down the length of his body ‘—is purely my dearest papa. My mother was about five foot three, a pocket Venus with the heart of a tiger. I suspect the only thing that stopped her putting a bullet in the earl was the thought that she’d be abandoning me.’

  ‘But you joined the army so young,’ Rose protested. How could any woman let a fourteen-year-old boy go off to war?

  ‘I went when she was at market.’ The tension was back in the long body so close to hers. ‘My grasp of tactics was good even then.’

  ‘But you saw her again?’ Oh, that poor woman.

  ‘No.’ There was a long, aching pause. ‘She died the following year giving birth to her husband’s child.’ Another pause. ‘I had thought she was safe once she was married.’

  Rose wanted to stop right there and weep. Instead she made her voice as steady as his. ‘When did you hear about it?’

  ‘A month or so after the funeral. A lad from our village joined up.’

  They walked in silence for a few minutes while she fought for some composure.

  ‘Rose? You are very quiet.’

  ‘I am trying not to cry.’

  ‘Over me?’ Adam sounded bemused.

  ‘Of course over you, you great clothhead.’

  ‘Other than my mother I do not think anyone has ever wanted to weep over me,’ he said eventually.

  ‘No heartbroken women?’

  ‘I do not break hearts,’ he said firmly.

  Only mine. I do love him and yet I cannot see behind that facade, she thought as she swallowed the tears he would reject. He would have her believe he was not affected by his upbringing, but she was certain the scars still hurt. Under that tough exterior was the rebellious boy who feared he had abandoned his mother. He called himself her fierce mongrel guard dog. This pretence of a courtship was forcing him to confront the fact of his birth every minute they were in company. If they married, would the whispers ever stop? Mrs Flint? She’s the daughter of a viscount, but he’s baseborn, of course…

  It mattered not one whit to her. Adam had made himself a gentleman in every way that mattered, but she feared she would never convince him that was what she believed. And what basis was that for a marriage, where one partner knew he had been trapped and the other had no confidence he could remain faithful to her when all the time he was being punished for gallantry and kindness?

  ‘Explain love to me,’ Adam said abruptly. ‘Not mother and child, or friendship love. Love between men and women.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can.’ Rose stopped under a street lamp and tried to see his face.

  His shako shadowed his expression, but his voice was faintly mocking when he said, ‘You thought you were in love with Haslam.’

  ‘And I was not. I believe now that I had become afraid that there was something wrong with me, that I could never trust enough to love. Gerald was very sweet, very open. It was all on the surface with him, no dark, hidden corners.’ Not like you.

  ‘Hmm.’ Adam’s mouth twisted as if he had bitten a lemon. ‘No dark corners, but he was prepared to elope with a young lady, marriage to whom would be advantageous. He took you even after your father had turned him down, even when his duty should have told him he would be needed to fight at any moment.’

  ‘Are you saying Gerald wanted me for my money? Because I was a good match?’

  Flint shrugged. ‘Yes. Obviously.’

  It took a moment for the full insult to sink in. When it did her face stung with the heat of the blood in her cheeks. ‘I do not know, Major Flint, which is more breathtaking, your complete lack of tact or your opinion that no man would want me for anything other than mercenary gain!’ The fact that she had confided those fears to her diary did not excuse him coming right out and saying it, damn him.

  ‘Did he know you well? Was he a friend, a lover?’

  ‘No, of course not. You know he was not my lover.’ There was a nasty acid knot in her stomach. Gerald hadn’t wanted her for herself either. Obviously. She had been deceived yet again and everyone else could see it but her.

  ‘And nor was he your friend. Rose, listen to me. I know you. I am your lover, I have seen you in circumstances that strip a person’s soul bare. I know I want you because of who you are, what you are, not who your father is or how large your dowry.’

  She tried to make sense of his words, unwilling to focus on them too hard in case she misunderstood. But she had to ask him. ‘Adam, are you saying you’re in love with me?’

  He shifted abruptly and now she could see his face. It was not that of a lover, it was the face of a tough, unsentimental fighter backed into a corner. ‘How the blazes do I know?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve just said I don’t understand love. Why is that women are so fixated on it anyway? I’m in lust with you, I like you, I want to look after you and it is my duty to marry you. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘No. No, it isn’t.’ Rose backed
away. One step, two. ‘I cannot trust without love, I cannot see beyond the surface without love.’ Adam reached out and caught her by the wrist before she could retreat any further. ‘You say you have never broken hearts, but you would break mine even more easily than you could break my wrist.’

  His fingers closed over the narrow bones, the stammering beat of her pulse, encircling them completely, a hold as careful and as unbreakable as Dog’s jaws closing on a newborn lamb that needed carrying. ‘Rose, take what we already have, stop thinking so much.’

  ‘I cannot stop thinking,’ she protested.

  ‘We’ve got this.’ He tugged gently until they were toe to toe, then traced the curve of her lips with his forefinger, the calloused, slightly rough tip fretting at the delicate skin. She shivered, wanting more. Wanting him. ‘You came to my bed, Rose. There must have been something you desired, even then.’

  ‘I still do,’ she admitted, unable to look away from his mouth. The corner kicked up into the secret smile he seemed to save for her alone. ‘I had never thought about men like that before, not…carnally.’

  ‘Carnally. Fancy word for something simple. All your barriers were down, Rose, that’s all. You weren’t thinking then, just feeling. You went with your instincts to trust me.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ Her voice seemed to come from a long way away and she still could not tear her gaze away from his mouth. His evening beard was just beginning to grow back, despite a close shave, and the dark shadow threw the sensual curve into sharper relief. There was a tiny scar at the right-hand corner. His own finger rested lightly under the swell of her own lower lip, quite still. She opened her mouth and touched it with the tip of her tongue and Adam’s tongue moved over his own lips in response.

  ‘I miss you in my bed.’

  ‘I miss being there.’

  ‘This close to your courses there is little risk and besides, I would be careful.’