Mary listened in silence, her heart going out to him. She put her hand on his bare shoulder, aware of the faint roughness of the scars beneath her fingers.
‘You were a young man then, Justin, little more than a boy.’
‘That does not excuse my behaviour.’
‘You fell in love with an experienced older woman who treated you shamefully. It is no wonder if you went a little wild. The fact that since then you have never allowed yourself to trifle with a respectable woman, that you have done your best to avoid raising false hopes, is not the behaviour of a philanderer.’ Her hands slid over his shoulders and she pressed her naked form against his bare back, willing him to take comfort from her. ‘You are not your father, Randall.’
‘You are being very kind.’
‘Kind!’ She sat back, pulling at him until he turned to face her. ‘I am telling you what I see. If you were truly a libertine, do you think you would be telling me all this? You would take your pleasures and leave me to suffer any consequences. Instead of that you wish to leave me, when we might have a few more days together.’ She cupped his face in her hands and stared up into his sombre, brooding face. ‘Is that what you want, Randall?’
His hands slid up her arms until they were resting on her shoulders.
‘You know it isn’t.’
She dropped her head to one side and rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand.
‘Then come back to me when you can. I want to see as much as possible of you, until war comes.’
Randall felt his blood stirring again and fought to keep his calm.
‘Don’t, Mary. How can I do what is right when you bewitch me like this? We are playing with fire, my dear, but this world is very unjust, and it is you who will suffer if we are found out.’
‘I know it. We are agreed that marriage is out of the question and I am prepared to take the risk.’
His heart went out to her, his brave, indomitable Mary, who looked tousled and vulnerable and lovely in the cold morning light.
‘You could lose your livelihood.’
‘I shall manage.’
‘I could make over an allowance—’
‘No!’ She pushed him away, her eyes suddenly fierce. ‘I am willing to be your mistress, my lord, not your wife or your whore.’ As always when she was angry, she addressed him formally, as if emphasising the difference she perceived in their stations. ‘You insult me, sir.’
‘That was not my intention.’
‘Then let us talk no more of it.’ The light of battle died from her eyes. She said wistfully, ‘Shall I see you tonight?’
‘I do not think that will be possible. Wellington is holding one of his suppers and I must attend. It will be very late when it is finished. Too late for me to call upon you.’
‘I should not mind that.’
‘But I should.’ He kissed her. ‘You take too many chances for me, Mary.’
She wound her arms about his neck.
‘You are worth the risk,’ she whispered. ‘I believe in you, Randall.’
* * *
It was agony to leave her, but he managed it and made his way back to the Rue Ducale through the near empty streets. Telling Mary about the past had cleansed him and his mind was now full of her image, lying amongst the tumbled sheets, her hair a dark lustrous cloud against the pillows and a glow in her eyes that made him feel like a king. He had never felt so complete, yet he still wanted more, he could not wait to see her again. Mayhap he could send his apologies to the duke and spend the evening with Mary after all. He shook his head, knowing it was impossible and cursing himself for a fool, but a smile was bubbling up inside and his heart was singing as he returned to his lodgings to prepare for the day.
* * *
It was past midnight when Randall returned to the Rue Ducale and he was dog-tired. The news was not good; there were reports of the French moving towards the border. He must see Mary in the morning and persuade her to leave Brussels. The thought depressed him. At first he had tried to tell himself that it need not be the end, that he could send for her later, when the danger had passed, but in his heart he knew it would not work. Despite her protestations that she did not believe in marriage, if they entered into any other union the world would see her as his mistress. What would she do? She was not one for a life of idleness, but she would not be able to continue running her school. She would be shunned by his family and polite society, forced to live in the shadowy world of the demi-monde or the camp followers. The shame of it would kill her.
No, it would be best if they parted now, while it was still possible that he could leave her with her reputation intact.
It should not be difficult. He had known many women in the past and never felt more than a moment’s regret at leaving any of them, but as he ran up the stairs to his apartment, some inner voice told him that leaving Mary would be different.
* * *
Robbins was waiting for him, a look of profound gloom and disapprobation on his rugged features.
‘You have a visitor, my lord,’ he announced in a voice of doom. ‘She’s waiting for you in your sitting room.’
‘She?’
Robbins nodded. ‘I tried to reason with her, my lord, but it was no good. Determined, she was.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘She did come veiled, though.’
Randall barely heard him. In two strides he had crossed the passage and opened the door to his sitting room. Mary was there, composedly reading a book. He should scold her and send her away, but he could not. It was as if he had conjured her by his wishful thinking.
‘You should not be here,’ he said, although he knew his eyes would give the lie to his words.
She rose and held out her hands to him.
‘Jacques heard today in the market that the French are coming. Is it true?’
A ragged laugh escaped him. ‘It would appear that gossip travels faster than the duke’s spies.’
‘But is it so?’
‘I fear it is.’ He took her outstretched hands and squeezed them. ‘It is time; you must leave Brussels, Mary.’
‘Not yet. I shall remain here as long as your fashionable ladies. You will not be rid of me as easily as that, my lord.’
At the sight of her smile, the soft glow in her eyes, his tiredness left him. All considerations of restraint disappeared. He swept her into his arms and kissed her before carrying her through into the adjoining bedroom.
Their coupling was as heady and overwhelming as ever. Her touch inflamed him as he covered her soft skin with kisses. He burned to bury himself deep within her, but forced himself to go slowly, determined to put her pleasure first. She moved restlessly beneath him but he refused to hurry, keeping himself under control until he had taken her to the edge of frenzy and only when she tipped over the edge did he allow himself to finish.
They lay together in the darkness, sated, complete. When the night air began to cool their skin they slipped between the bedcovers and fell asleep, waking with the dawn, still wrapped in each others’ arms.
* * *
When Mary awoke she was aware of two things. One, that it was daylight and Randall was still with her. The other, that she was not in her own bed. She was at Randall’s lodgings. She had arrived there after dark, heavily veiled. His man had recognised her and had not sent her away, although what he thought of such forward behaviour she dreaded to think. Instead she considered Randall’s reaction. He had been surprised to see her, but pleased, too. She stretched and pressed herself a little closer to his naked body. He was sleeping, snoring gently, the soft sound like the quiet growl of some sleeping beast. A tiger, mayhap, certainly something dangerous.
She slipped her leg over his thigh, revelling in the feel of skin on skin. He shifted his position and she felt him, aroused and hard against her. Such warmth
, such closeness, how would she ever live without it? How would she ever live without Randall? The soft snoring stopped. He was awake now. His arms tightened around her and she felt the rough stubble of his cheek against her skin as he sought her lips. She pushed the unwelcome thoughts away as she gave herself up to his kiss.
* * *
An hour later they were still in bed, listening to the sounds of the city coming in through the open window.
‘Thank goodness I have a veil,’ she murmured as she lay beside him, her head resting on his chest.
‘Robbins shall order a carriage to take you home.’
‘And shall I see you there this evening, my lord?’
‘Unfortunately not. The duke is insisting his officers attend the ball tonight.’ Her disappointment must have shown in her face for he hugged her, adding, ‘It is an order and I am obliged to obey it.’
‘Perhaps the duke is trying to reassure everyone that there is no need for alarm.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Will you be able to come to the Rue Haute afterwards?’
‘I do not know.’
His hesitation was brief, but it was enough. She clung to him, suddenly knowing that this would be the last time she would see him. She knew a moment of terror, or weakness, and could not stop the words from bursting out of her.
‘Oh, Randall, I wish you did not have to fight, I would give anything to have you safe away from here!’
‘I am a soldier, Mary. Fighting is what I do.’
‘Of course.’ She forced a smile, ashamed of her outburst. ‘I would not have you other than you are.’
Her bravery was rewarded with a kiss, but much as she would have liked it to go on forever she broke it off.
‘It is growing late, my lord. We must get dressed.’
‘Always so sensible, Mary.’
‘Would you rather I clung to you, weeping?’ She slipped off the bed and began to collect up her clothes.
They dressed quickly and in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Mary used the small mirror on the wall to brush out her curls and re-pin them. Her eyes strayed to Randall’s reflection and their eyes met.
He cleared his throat. She had learned it was a sign that he was ill at ease.
‘Mary, when this is over, do you think you could put aside your radical principles and live with me?’ She froze and he continued, a note of apology in his voice. ‘As my wife, I mean. It would have to be marriage, I’m afraid. I have responsibilities that I cannot shuffle off and I want you with me at Chalfont. Could you take that risk with me? And it is a risk, you know I have never proved faithful to a woman yet, but with you I think I could do it. So what do you say, do you think you could bear to be my countess despite your principles, could you bring yourself to marry me?’
Her hairbrush fell from her nerveless fingers and she turned towards him, staring.
She said slowly, ‘I would not ask that of you, my lord.’
‘I know, but it is the only solution I can think of since I cannot live without you. It would mean compromise, I know, but I would not expect you to give up everything that you believe in. You would be taking the fight to the enemy, so to speak.’ For a moment his eyes glinted with laughter before they grew serious again. ‘I do not want to lose you, Mary. I am very much afraid that I love you.’
Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly.
‘Oh, Randall!’
‘You are crying,’ he said, frowning. ‘I did not mean to make you unhappy.’
She gave a shaky laugh.
‘I am not unhappy. Knowing you love me has made me the happiest woman in the world.’
‘And do you think, perhaps, that you might be able to love me?’
‘I do.’ She went into his arms, turning her face up for his kiss. ‘Oh, Randall, I love you so much.’
‘Can you love me?’ he asked at last. His hand cradled her cheek as he wiped away her tears with his thumb. ‘I am not adept at soft phrases or kindly gestures.’
‘You told me as much from the beginning,’ she said, smiling mistily up at him. ‘I love you even more because of it.’
‘Then you will marry me?’
With terrifying clarity she knew there was nothing she wanted to do more, but something held her back, some inexplicable feeling that if she agreed, if she went against all the teachings of her childhood, she would be punished.
‘Ask me again, when the battle is over.’
‘Say yes now and I will write to my mother, then if anything should happen to me—’
Quickly she put her fingers against his lips.
‘Do not say such things. I am very much afraid that if I accept your proposal now some vengeful deity will take you away from me.’
Randall laughed and shook his head. ‘My men will tell you I have a charmed life, or a charmed sword.’ He nodded to where his uniform was hanging from a peg on the wall. ‘You see the sword hanging up there? It is my dress sword, worn for occasions such as the ball tonight. In here is another sword.’ He walked over to the large trunk pushed against the wall and lifted the lid. ‘This one is a much older weapon. You can see how the decoration has lost its glitter and the scabbard is worn and faded with use. It belonged to my grandfather. He wore it at every engagement and I have done the same, it has always seen us through safely. It is the Latymor Luck.’ He closed the lid and turned to her. ‘Does that reassure you?’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot believe you would put so much store in a superstition, my love, it is not like you.’
* * *
Randall wondered for a moment if he should answer truthfully, but he wanted to drive the anxious look from her eyes, so he said confidently, ‘The Latymor sword is different: I would not think of going into battle without it.’ One glossy ringlet was lying on her shoulder and he picked it up. It curled around his finger, reminding him of the way she had wound herself around his heart. A foolish analogy. By heaven, he was becoming quite sentimental, but for once he did not care. He lifted the curl to his lips. ‘Go and finish putting up your hair, my love, you look as if you have been ravished.’
His words dispelled the shadow from her eyes and the twinkle returned. They sparkled at him, emerald green.
‘That is just what has happened to me.’
She looked so adorable he could not resist another kiss, then reluctantly he let her go. A clock somewhere chimed the hour. Nine o’clock. Robbins would be pacing up and down, waiting to shave him. Let him wait. He would not rush Mary out of his rooms. He might never see her again.
Chapter Nine
At last Mary was ready to leave. She had delayed as long as she could, savouring those final moments with Randall, knowing it could be the last time they were together until after—she drew in a stiffening breath. She must be strong. He had enough to concern him without worrying about her, too.
She had only to put on her cloak and bonnet, but before she did so she went into his arms for one final kiss. She wanted to beg him not to leave her, not to fight, but she knew he would never neglect his duty so she must be brave, show him that she could be a good soldier’s wife.
‘Goodbye, my love.’ She touched his cheek, the dark stubble rough beneath her fingers. He covered her hand with his own and pulled it down to his mouth, pressing a kiss into the palm.
‘Never goodbye, Mary. If you have to leave Brussels before I return, go to Antwerp and I will find you there.’
‘Of course.’
What if we are overrun by the French? What if we have to quit the country?
What if you do not survive?
The questions ran around in her head, but she dared not voice any of them. Instead she said calmly, ‘Will you ask Robbins to call a carriage for me?’
He went out to find his servant and she
put on her cloak and bonnet. By the time he came back she was shrouded from head to foot, the heavy veil pulled down over her face so that Randall should not see the tears on her cheeks. When he reached out for her she resisted.
‘No, please, do not touch me.’
She took his hands and squeezed them, knowing that if he came any closer, if he took her in his arms again, her bravery would desert her and she would break down in tears.
* * *
Randall stood by the window and watched the carriage drive off, carrying Mary back to the Rue Haute. She was gone and heaven only knew when they would meet again. He felt as if she had taken his heart with her and left a gaping, aching void. He turned away. There was no time to dwell on his feelings. There was work to do. Striding to the door, he called impatiently for Robbins to bring his shaving water.
* * *
The morning was well advanced when Randall rode out to Roosbos. As he trotted into the camp he was struck by the air of calm tranquillity. Men were sitting around camp fires or lounging at their ease against the gun carriages, enjoying the sunshine. They needed to be ready: from the reports he had heard in Brussels he knew it would not be long before they were called to action. He sought out Flint, eyeing the dishevelled officer with disfavour. He knew before he gave the order what Flint’s reaction would be. He saw the look of horror on the major’s face even before he had finished speaking.
‘Many officers would give a month’s pay for an invitation to the duchess’s ball,’ he barked, when Flint had made it perfectly clear that he would rather not attend.
‘Then let Major Bartlett go,’ suggested Flint, his tone only a hair’s breadth away from insolence. ‘Or better still, Sheffield. He’s less of a rogue than the rest of us.’
‘If you think I would let Bartlett anywhere near the ladies then your wits have gone begging,’ retorted Randall. ‘And as for Sheffield...’
A Lady for Lord Randall Page 15
