They were so close their racing breaths mingled, and Anna’s heart drummed more than any amount of dancing could justify. And then, with the lightest, faintest whisper of a touch, his lips brushed hers.
So good it made her quiver with delight, but it wasn’t enough. She wound her arms around his neck, one hand buried in his hair to pull his head down to hers, just as he drew her to him. He kissed her again, this time hungry and rough. Anna was lost to thought, lost to reason, lost to everything but the wonderful feel of his mouth on hers, hot and insistent, his hair, so thick and soft—she was pulling at it in her urgency—his hands at her back, crushing her against him.
Abruptly he broke the kiss and pushed her away. She swayed on her feet and almost stumbled.
“Bloody hell.” He ran a hand through his hair, stopping at the exact spot she had tugged at in her frenzy.
Reality rushed back. She raised her hands to her face. “Oh, God.” Before he could speak again, she turned and fled for the safety of her tent.
Chapter Five
Dazed though he was, Will watched to make sure she made it back to her tent. Then he staggered off into the deepest shadows, far away from the singers by the campfire or the sentry pickets, and leaned against a tree.
If anyone had asked him an hour ago what he thought of Mrs. Arrington, he would’ve said he wished her well. He might have added that he was honored to have her consider him a friend. If pressed, he would’ve acknowledged her to be a beautiful woman—he wasn’t blind. But he hadn’t realized he wanted her. He had no business wanting her.
But he could still feel her body arched against his. He knew that if he hadn’t stopped when he did, they would both be out here now, scrambling to push aside the layers of clothing that kept them from joining. They’d been just that hungry, just that heedless.
He had known it was wrong to dance with her, especially to so bawdy a song. But he had put up only a token resistance. He’d been so glad to dance, so glad to have a woman in his arms—a soft, lovely, well-curved woman—that alone in the darkness it had been easy to forget that he was only a sergeant while she was the niece of an earl. And once the song was over it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to kiss her.
He was a fool. A reckless idiot. He’d known better and yielded to temptation anyway. He recognized the wild mood that had driven her to dance—death had turned her world upside down, and she was frantic to prove she was still alive, just like men who went drinking and wenching after a bloody action. He had taken advantage of her in a moment of weakness, and tomorrow he would have to make her an apology.
But he wanted her. He wanted her so very badly.
He stayed out there a long time. When he finally sought his bedroll, everyone but the sentries had long since fallen asleep. The ground was no harder than any other he had slept on, but he felt every pebble, every uneven patch beneath him, as slumber eluded him long into the lonely night.
***
Mrs. Kent was a snorer, a loud one, but Anna didn’t even attempt to persuade herself that was why she lay awake. No, what robbed her of her sleep was the depth of her folly.
Why had she not understood until the moment their dance began that she admired Sergeant Atkins as a man? The signs had been there. Her heart beat faster when she saw him, and while he was within her view she had eyes for no one else. She had watched him all day, admiring his tall, lean form and the graceful, loose-limbed way he moved. Of course she thought highly of him whenever she remembered how they had met. He had been so capable and calm while delivering Juana’s baby, and it gave her a guilty thrill to think of how he had stood between her and Sebastian.
Yet she had been stubbornly blind to the possibility that she could admire so unsuitable a man, and so dulled to her own heart after two years of building a wall around it that she had almost forgotten what the first hints of desire felt like.
In her blindness she had used Sergeant Atkins to fulfill her wild, whimsical urge to dance, never dreaming there could be consequences. She was heartily ashamed, and she burned with humiliation when she thought of that kiss and how it had ended. She had completely forgotten herself and all but thrown herself at him, desperate to satisfy the fierce hunger their dance had ignited. That must be why he had stopped and pushed her away. Her cursed immodest enthusiasm must have given him a disgust of her.
Maybe Sebastian had been right about her. There in Sergeant Atkins’s arms, she had wished everyone else in the camp to Hades if only they could be alone to keep touching, keep kissing and let the inevitable happen. Surely such longings were the mark of a wanton.
She stirred restlessly. How could she sleep when all she could think of was that kiss?
She lifted her hand to her lips. Still they felt strange—swollen and tingling. She remembered the way he had slid his tongue across them just before she opened her mouth under his, so thirsty and eager to drink him in. Almost without conscious thought, she ran her hand down her body, skimming across her breasts and belly, to settle between her thighs.
There she halted for a moment, her hand still. Two years. Two years it had been since she had felt the slightest urge to do…this. During her girlhood she had discovered, quite by accident, that touching herself in certain places and certain ways caused delightful sensations. She had never spoken of it to anyone, but eventually she had connected that pleasure with her aunt’s hints about the marriage bed. She had been eager for her wedding night because she was certain it had to feel all the more exquisite when it wasn’t a solitary act.
But Sebastian had despised her passion. With him she had known first pain, then a dreary endurance and determination to do her duty. Before she had been married a month, she had lost all her hunger for the pleasures of the flesh. Yet now those desires were coming back to life.
She hadn’t known a kiss could feel like that, so rough and urgent. What if they hadn’t stopped—if he hadn’t stopped? How would it feel to join out of passion instead of grim duty on one side, stubborn determination to father heirs on the other? How would it feel with him? What would it be like to act the wanton in truth? Slowly, carefully—she couldn’t thrash, couldn’t make a sound—she caressed her body and imagined the hands were his until at last she brought herself a measure of release and fell into a half-sated sleep.
***
The next morning they prepared to march while dawn was but a faint hope of light. As teamsters hitched their oxen and soldiers bustled about, Anna waited by a wagon, conversing politely with one of the wounded, an artillery lieutenant she had met several months ago in winter quarters.
Footsteps approached behind her, a tread already familiar. “Mrs. Arrington, ma’am?”
Never before had she heard Sergeant Atkins sound so tentative. She turned to face him, straightening her bonnet and smoothing her dress. “Yes, Sergeant?”
“May I have a word with you, if you please?”
“Of course.” She swallowed and forced a smile. “Lieutenant Ellis, if you’ll excuse me.”
He smiled back, inoffensively flirtatious. “As long as you promise to visit me again soon.”
She agreed and followed Sergeant Atkins to the edge of the rough road. They were in plain sight of the hurrying soldiers, teamsters and orderlies, but in the dim light and bustle of preparation, they were inconspicuous.
For a moment they surveyed each other in strained silence. There was something different about him. It puzzled her briefly, but then she realized it was his uniform. She’d never seen him look so correct before. His green jacket was buttoned all the way up to his throat where his black stock was neatly fastened. That distracting saber scar of his, which last night she had imagined tracing with her tongue, was hidden. No bare head or jaunty foraging cap today; instead he wore his tall shako. Even his shoes looked as though he’d given them a polish, and his red-and-black sash—like his stripes, a mark of his rank—was carefully knotted and settled just above his lean hips with geometric precision. A lump formed in her throat. He
looked like a model for a toy soldier.
He stared past her. “Mrs. Arrington, ma’am,” he said with the air of a rehearsed speech, “I owe you an apology for my behavior last night. I took advantage of you. I’m ashamed of it, and it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t apologize,” she blurted. How could he be the one apologizing when it was her fault? Their eyes met, and she swallowed hard. She’d never seen more beautiful eyes on a man, so golden and intent.
He narrowed them. “But I kissed you. I had no right—”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. “I kissed you back,” she murmured, then wished the words unsaid. He must realize she had hardly been a passive recipient of his attentions, but she cursed her wayward tongue for acknowledging it so openly.
His parade-ground posture relaxed a trifle, and he was recognizably her Sergeant Atkins again. She released the breath she hadn’t meant to hold. But he shook his head. “We can’t let it happen again.”
She closed her eyes. “I know.” She looked at him again and forced herself to speak in a level voice. “But do not insult me by apologizing for something that was as much my doing as yours. I wish it hadn’t happened, because I wanted you for my friend on this journey, and now—” she spread her hands, “—it’s impossible. I’m sorry.”
He smiled, achingly wistful. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, neither are you.”
“That wasn’t an apology. That was regret.”
“Oh.” Abruptly his eyes widened, his nostrils flared slightly, and he turned stiff and correct again. “Lieutenant Montmorency.”
Anna whirled around to discover the young officer watching them from no more than four feet away, his expression hovering between accusation and bewilderment.
“Has Sergeant Atkins been disturbing you, ma’am?” he asked.
Anna thought quickly. What explanation could she give for the inappropriate familiarity that had doubtless been obvious to this interloper? “Not at all, Lieutenant,” she said. “He only asked me if I could think of anything to make the journey easier for Juana, since it is so soon after her confinement.” She turned back to Sergeant Atkins and tried to infuse her voice with both the warmth of friendship and the coolness of superior rank. “And I shall be glad to do anything I can.”
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement? Admiration? “Thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind.”
“Very well, then. Sergeant, Lieutenant, I bid you good morning.” She walked slowly toward her donkey, her head held high, her mind in a whirl.
***
Will and Lieutenant Montmorency studied each other for a moment. “Sir?” Will asked as the silence began to stretch into something uncomfortable.
Montmorency looked down his nose at him—an impressive feat, since they were much of a height. “Do not bother Mrs. Arrington again,” he said. “She shouldn’t feel obliged to concern herself with the welfare of camp followers.”
“Very well, sir.” He couldn’t speak to her again in any case, after what had passed between them.
“Aren’t you with vanguard again today, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
Will saluted and headed toward his post. As he walked, he removed his hat, pulled off his stock—damned itchy choking thing—and undid the top few buttons of his jacket. There. He’d said his piece. Now he just had to ignore her all the way to Lisbon. Somehow. He prayed for good weather, smooth roads, anything to shorten the journey. The sooner she was on a ship bound for England, the better for both of them.
“There you are,” Dan said when he reached the head of the column. The vanguard was assembled, ready to march, and two riflemen had been sent ahead to scout their path and warn them of any obstacles blocking the road.
He raised his eyebrows at the censure in Dan’s voice. “Was I missing?”
“Not this morning, no.” They fell in together as the column began its march. Dan lowered his voice, too low for anyone else to hear above the creaking of the wagon wheels. “But Juana and I did wonder where you’d got to last night.”
“Did you?” Will asked, annoyed. He’d already had his fill this morning of people who couldn’t mind their own business.
“We worried you might be up to no good.”
“When have I ever? And what kind of ‘no good’ could anyone be up to out here in the middle of nowhere?” Will stooped to clear a fallen branch from the road and quickly caught up with Dan.
“We thought you might’ve gone off with Mrs. Arrington.”
“Why would you think that?” He did his best to sound amazed.
Dan shrugged. “After all she’s been through, I doubt she’d mind a little comfort just now. And I’ve noticed how you stare at each other when you think no one is looking.”
Dan was entirely too good at noticing. “Surely you don’t imagine I spent the night in dalliance with her.”
“Dalliance? Is that what her kind call it? I suppose she’s too ladylike for a knee-trembler, or a good fu—”
“Don’t!” he snapped, his hand curling into a fist. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hand. What had got into him? He wasn’t usually quick to anger.
Dan spread his hands. “I shouldn’t have spoken of her that way. But, damn it, Will, I’m worried about you.”
“You needn’t be.”
“Really? You think I can’t see how it is for you, being just a little above the rest of us?”
Will sputtered in search of a response. He knew humility wasn’t among his virtues, but surely he didn’t put on airs like young Montmorency. “But I—when have I ever acted like I thought anyone was beneath me?”
“It’s not how you act, it’s what you are. You’re not here because it was join up or starve, or join up or be transported. You ran away from a perfectly good home. You’ve had schooling. You can read—”
“So can you and every NCO in this regiment,” Will said.
They crested a hill and paused for breath. “Yes, and you’re the one that taught me! But it’s one thing to be able to read slow if you must, and another to be always on the prowl for a new book because it’s your idea of fun. Face it, Will, you’re a cut above most of us, and you’re too clever by half. It’s no wonder the captain likes you—you’re the only man in the whole regiment as book-mad as he is. And it’s no wonder a lady like Mrs. Arrington would give you a second look. But that doesn’t make you their equal.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he asked wearily as they began walking again.
“Sometimes I think you forget. You look at her like you’re starving and she’s a feast. But it can’t be. You’d never be more than a few days’ dalliance to her before she went back to her own kind. And proud as you are, you’d hate that. I’m telling you this for your own good. The lady is trouble.”
“You named your daughter after her.”
“And if I’d known she was going to get herself widowed and start making sheep’s eyes at you, I might’ve chosen differently.”
“Where are Juana and Anita today?” Will asked. Anything to change the subject.
“Riding in one of the wagons. Your Mrs. Arrington spoke to some of the wounded men and got them to make room for her. She’s strong, but it’s too soon for her to walk so far, and wash and cook besides.”
Will smiled. So Mrs. Arrington had made truth of the lie she’d concocted for their protection. “Much too soon. You have to admit Mrs. Arrington is thoughtful. And she’s not mine.”
“Almost left that out, didn’t you? I’m not denying she’s good and kind. If she was my friend, I’d be warning her. You’re as dangerous to her as she is to you.”
“I know. And that’s why I mean to stay away from her.”
“May I hold you to that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They walked on in silence.
The day’s march proved uneventful. Again the men had success shooting game for the dinner pot. It was hotter than the day before, so they made camp by a stream in mid
afternoon rather than pushing on through the worst of the heat.
Until they stopped, Will avoided Mrs. Arrington simply by staying at his post at the front of the column. But it was impossible not to catch frequent glimpses of her in such a small camp. He saw her laugh at some joke Bailey made as he set up the tent she shared with Mrs. Kent. Resentment stabbed through him. If he hadn’t been a fool the night before, he could’ve been the one who got to help her, to enjoy, however briefly, the pleasure of her company.
At twilight he almost ran into her when he walked around the side of a wagon and she was there, scrambling to catch up with Mrs. Kent a few strides ahead. Neither smiled or spoke, though their eyes met and held. She broke the spell first, dipping into a slight curtsey as though he were a gentleman acquaintance before hurrying to join her companion.
That night he stayed with the group around the fire after dinner, leaving Dan to see to the sentries. Instead of songs, the riflemen turned to storytelling over their ale ration. Men traded tales of battles, told jokes that had been heard a thousand times over the course of the campaign but still earned a chuckle or two and teased each other about successful and failed love.
After a time a lull fell over the conversation. “Sergeant,” Bailey said, “have you got a book with you?”
Several voices murmured in approval. Since it was well-known that Captain Matheson loaned him books, he was often asked to read by the fire.
“I’ve got Shakespeare’s sonnets,” he said.
“Read us a bit, then.”
He fetched the slim volume from his haversack and paged through it until he found a poem that exactly suited his frame of mind. He shifted so that the firelight shone clearly on the page. “Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know’st thy estimate.” He poured his heart into it, reading as though Mrs. Arrington were there to hear it. The rhythm of the words wove its spell and despite his unhappiness, he felt a certain satisfaction in holding his audience rapt. As he reached the final couplet, the night was silent but for his voice and the crackle of the fire. “Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.” He gave the last lines a bitter twist as he looked up.
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