He gave off a harsh laugh. “Not unless you wish it.”
They stared long and hard at one another until Isabella, swinging her hips provocatively, sauntered to the door and waited there. When he did not speak, she opened it. Still he said nothing. Finally she spun around to face him. “I think, Colonel, I choose you for my protector, eh?” There was a challenging gleam in her eyes and a saucy smile on her lips.
Straeford raked her voluptuous figure, and then with an insolent shrug he said, “For a night—why not!”
Confident once more, she came to him. “You will want Isabella for more than one night, my Colonel. You will see.”
“Undoubtedly one of us will,” he drawled and bowed mockingly. How Colonel Dubois was going to react to the matter briefly crossed his mind as he took the woman into his arms.
It was just before dawn when Straeford woke with a ringing sensation in his head and a burning thirst in his throat. He shivered violently and then felt intensely hot. This was going to be some hell of a day, he thought. Nevins had been right after all. He had a touch of fever. As he rolled off the bunk, Isabella automatically pulled the blanket more closely about her in her sleep. After splashing some water on his face, he went outside in search of Billings, who came scurrying up to him.
“My lord, I’ll have some coffee…”
“Never mind that now. I need that concoction—the powder and tea from India.”
“Fever, my lord?” The little man tried not to look anxious as he observed his lordship. Straeford screwed up his face and ran a hand over it. Reluctantly, he nodded in the affirmative. “I’ll see to it at once, my lord.”
While Straeford waited for Billings to return, he looked out over the encampment. Most of the fires had died out, and the men were huddled deep in their blankets. Even though the wind had died down, it was still biting cold, and the leaden sky hung threateningly overhead.
“We’ll move out as soon as the men have been fed,” he told Harding shortly after the major had joined him and Billings. The batman was urging a second cup of tea on his lordship, who declined. “That was quite enough of that vile-tasting brew, my good man. Now let us all get on with the business of this day.”
Both Harding and Billings knew better than to remonstrate further with the earl.
Isabella stretched under the blanket on the bunk and rolled over. As she sat up, clutching the covers to her bosom, she faced Straeford’s piercing stare. “Deus, but it is cold.”
“Get your clothes on then.”
“But first a kiss, sim?” She held out her arms letting the blanket slip to her waist, unashamed of her nakedness.
Ignoring her brazen gesture, Straeford picked up her clothing and threw it at her. “I said get dressed!”
Isabella pursed her lips but decided it was too cold to argue the point and quickly dressed herself. Then coming up behind Straeford, she encircled his waist and leaned against him purring. Unceremoniously, Straeford disentangled himself from her and told her to behave just as Billings entered with their breakfast. Isabella ignored the chair Billings held out for her as Straeford seated himself. Glancing at Isabella’s stormy face, Straeford waved Billings out of the room.
“Come and eat. The food is getting cold.”
“I do not care for food!” She stamped her foot.
“Suit yourself,” he said and began eating.
Infuriated by his lack of interest, Isabella glared at him, but he seemed not to notice. Finally she gave up and came flouncing over to the table. Without a word he handed her a platter.
“I have been informed this morning, that the French are moving this way and should be here in a matter of hours. If you remain here…”
“Deus! You will not leave me behind?”
“I’m returning you to Dubois. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Bah!” Her fork clattered to the plate. “That was yesterday. Today is different, sim?”
“No, it is not!”
“I stay with you,” she demanded.
“No, you do not stay with me. I do not want you,” he stated emphatically as he rose from the table.
“This cannot be true?”
“Oh, but it is. Look, if you don’t want to hang around here, I’ll provide you with a horse and…”
“Diabo! You heartless fiend! I give myself to you and it means nothing? You would abandon me?”
“Oh, come now, don’t play me a Cheltenham tragedy. You offered yourself, and I accepted. If it’s money you want,” he delved into his pocket and held out some coins to her.
“I will scratch your devil eyes out!” She slapped his hand holding the coins aside and jumped at him. And for a third time she found herself knocked to the floor.
“Damn!” he roared, “do that again and I’ll have you chained to the wall.”
“No one uses Isabella! No one!” she screamed.
“Don’t break my eardrums, woman. I can hear you.” His white teeth showed a brutal smile.
“Dubois, he will drive a sword through your black heart. I swear it!”
“Give my regards to the Colonel when you see him,” he jeered and strode out of the small house to meet Harding who had just reined in. “Well, Major, what did you find out?”
“You won’t believe this, but it’s Colonel Dubois, and he wants to meet with you.”
“Dubois, eh?” Straeford was rather pleased by this turn of events.
“What will you do?”
“Meet him, of course. The men won’t be ready to march for another hour. That should give me plenty of time to complete my business with the Colonel.”
“You don’t think it is some kind of trap, do you?”
“I should think not. I believe the man has a sense of honor, and I would imagine a flag of truce will prevent him from attempting to ensnare us.” Straeford beckoned to his batman who was standing at a discreet distance waiting with his horse. “Billings, get the wench and follow us.” Mounting his black stallion, the Colonel motioned to Harding and Drake to follow him.
They rode three miles from their protected campsite, situated in a valley of low-lying hills, out onto a plains area. There, two hundred yards from their adversaries, Straeford and his countrymen halted and waited for Dubois to detach himself from a group of soldiers dressed in blue and head towards them. Straeford, in turn, moved out to join the Frenchman. They approached one another and dismounted, each man holding the other in an unblinking stare. Straeford could see the hatred and jealousy etched in Dubois’ drawn, grey face. He had seen that look before—the look of a disappointed man unable to accept responsibility for his own failures.
“So, Colonel, as you predicted, we meet again.”
“C’est vrai, but still the advantage is yours. It is I who suffer the loss of honor. I who bear the disgrace of defeat in battle. I whose body is maimed…” he choked, unable to continue.
“Is this why you asked to meet with me? To air your grievances?” Straeford’s evident disdain enraged Dubois all the more, but before the Frenchman was able to reply, there was the thunder of hoofbeats which drew bath men’s attention.
“Maurice!” a woman’s voice called.
“Mon Dieu, Isabella!” Dubois whirled to face the woman he had been vainly seeking for days. “I thought you must be dead.”
“No, no, guerreiro minho, I was at the mercy of the English pig!” she spat angrily and tossed her head in Straeford’s direction, a gesture Dubois was quick to interpret. He turned purple with fury. “So, dog, you add insult to injury. You will answer for this with your life.” The man nearly strangled with his frenzy. “I demand satisfaction! Choose now—pistols or swords!”
“Did I not tell you he would kill you?” Isabella crowed joyously.
“Sorry to disappoint you, madam, but I have no intention of duelling over you, now or ever. And since we are under a flag of truce, Colonel,” Straeford faced the angry Frenchman, “you have no choice but to let me withdraw from this farce.” So saying, Straeford swung onto his horse befor
e Dubois could prevent him.
“Sacre Dieu! You will not abandon the demands of honor.” Dubois was incredulous.
“You’ll have to give me more reason than a mere woman to fight over, my friend.”
“Mere woman!” screeched Isabella. “Kill him, Maurice, kill him now.”
“Fight coward! Come down from your high perch and fight like a man,” Dubois demanded.
But Straeford’s response was only to laugh and ride away with Harding and Drake beside him.
“You’ll pay for this! By the holy name of the Bon Dieu I swear you shall pay and I will have my revenge!” Tears from Dubois’ one glittering eye were coursing down his face.
Isabella found release in a string of oaths and cursing.
“The time will come when he will regret his very life. I vow it on my own mother’s grave,” and turning his back on the disappearing horsemen, Dubois mounted his own mare.
“Maurice?” Isabella ran to him in alarm and clutched at his arm. “Wait for me.”
“I want no man’s cast-off—especially the Englishman’s! Get away from me.” He tried to shake loose of her, but she clung to him.
“No, Maurice, you can’t do this to me. I, too, have been ill-used and seek revenge for my suffering.”
Dubois tried to shake free of her again, but she clung more desperately. “Let me help you,” Isabella begged. “Please.”
Dubois paused. “Help me? How?”
The frantic woman grasped for a straw and found it. “The British occupy my country. With the aid of some of my countrymen it would be easy to spy on that devil, and one day when he is most vulnerable, we will strike,” she promised breathlessly.
As Dubois hesitated, considering Isabella’s offer, a cruel smile played about his mouth, and she knew she had won. “Come,” he sighed, “I will wait for you.”
7
Having just completed the last details involved with the removal of the Christmas decorations, a task that always saddened her, Marisa held up one of the ornaments in the air and reflected on the joy and warmth of the season. It was a pity its goodwill could not remain alive all year, she thought wistfully. During this moment of quiet she sipped a delicious hot cup of tea and thought about Christmas next year. Would that terrible war finally come to an end? How would her marriage to the earl change her life?
She was locked deep in the privacy of her thoughts when her solitude was suddenly broken by the noise of someone coming down the hallway. When she opened the drawing room doors to see who it was, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There, standing in front of her as big as life, was her brother!
“John? Why, John!” She rushed into his open arms, hugging and kissing him. “You’re home! Can it really be true?”
She stepped back for a moment to take a longer look at him, her face suddenly waxing serious. “You’re so pale… and you look so thin.” He appeared exhausted to her, his eyes bearing a gaunt look, his face sallow in appearance. Why, the war actually aged him, she thought, and an overpowering sense of panic seized her. “You haven’t been injured, have you? You are all right, aren’t you?” she blurted out, both hands clasping his.
“Oh, yes, I’m all right,” he said, smiling weakly. “There’s nothing wrong. I haven’t been hurt in any way.”
Marisa’s eyes lowered in relief. “Come dear brother, please sit down. There is some hot tea and buttered scones for you here. We needn’t talk at all about that dreadful war right now.”
“But I’m afraid I must,” he protested. “It’s the only way I can rid myself of this nightmare. And a nightmare it certainly has been.”
“Perhaps… perhaps we should wait for papa,” she suggested, trying to divert his thinking.
“No… I… I couldn’t face him, really. Not yet.”
Marisa instantly perceived a tone of desperation in his protest. “Very well, dear, whatever you wish.”
“Did you receive all of my letters?” He sipped a cup of tea and Marisa thought she saw his hand tremble but she couldn’t be certain.
“Until November. Then they stopped coming regularly and we began to worry.”
“That’s when the warlords decided we’d been idle long enough,” he stated with obvious bitterness. “Vimeiro wasn’t enough for them, so they sent us into Spain to confront the French there. We got as far as Salamanca when the roof caved in. Napoleon’s army outnumbered us so badly that all we could do was retreat as fast as possible to La Corun~a where the fleet was waiting to transport us home. The French were at our heels the entire time.”
Marisa looked intently at her brother but wished there were some way she could help him turn his mind away from his war experiences. Obviously, it was painful for him to relate them to her, but all she could do was nod sympathetically and listen as he continued.
“And finally, they caught up with us… It was horrible!” His voice cracked as he continued. “Guns and cannons exploding. Men shouting, running blindly, screaming, not knowing what to do or where to go. They began dropping like flies and then panic set in. The ranks broke completely, and it was every man for himself. We just couldn’t stand up to their bombardments and we knew it. I tried to round up as many men as I could, and we made our way back to board the ships, leaving so many behind, wounded, crying out for medical aid, dying right there in front of us as we passed…” He buried his head in his hands and sobbed violently. Marisa, torn with pity, comforted him and helped him slowly regain his composure.
“I’m sorry, Marisa,” he shuddered. “It’s just that I can’t get that scene out of my mind. It feels like it’s locked in my memory… those dying faces and somehow here I am, alive. I don’t understand any of it.”
“John, you can’t dwell on this thing.” Marisa tried to soothe him. “Eventually it will pass away.”
“No. I don’t think it ever will. Not if I have to face anything like that again. And I… I don’t think I can. No matter how father feels about it.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to get him to understand your feelings,” she said, trying to reassure him.
“He understands nothing—nothing but his own ambition!”
“Hush, John! You’re very upset at this moment and this is not the time to discuss the problem of father.”
A wan smile crossed his lips in reaction to her admonition. “Hmmph! The ‘problem of father’? Now that’s an interesting way of putting it, I must say.”
“Yes, it is rather,” Marisa said with an impish smile, hoping to coax him into a better mood. “Here, let me pour you some more tea before it gets cold.”
“Not now,” he said, holding his hand over the cup. “I can’t stay any longer. I must see Ruth before father returns.”
“John,” she pleaded as he rose to leave. She did not want to broach another untimely topic, but there seemed no other choice. “Perhaps you should wait until you see father. You know how he feels about your tendre for Ruth.”
Her suggestion set his eyes ablaze. “I won’t be bullied by him anymore,” John thundered. “I joined this infernal army because of him, but I’ll be damned if I will be forced into a marriage just to please him. Now maybe you intend doing that, but…”
“Please, John, don’t say it.”
“Hmm, come to think of it now, you haven’t even asked after ‘the great man’,” he claimed with an accusatory tone. “That’s how much you care about him, is it?”
“No, that’s not fair, John! I was just about to question you concerning him, but I haven’t gotten around to it.” Marisa’s voice trailed off as she winced under her brother’s sarcastic gaze. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me what has happened to him? Please don’t taunt me this way! You know that I must find out.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you unnecessarily. Rest assured that he is quite all right. He has not been hurt. As a matter of fact, he is one of the few officers who can claim a victory in this disastrous campaign. His men annihilated a French fort near Taro, I understand, but even he had to
give way under Napoleon’s onslaught. It was just too overpowering, and so he brought his men home with the rest of us.”
“So he has returned!” An anxious feeling swept inside her. Soon he would be back to see her, and the final wedding arrangements would be made. From that point on, she heard nothing of John’s remaining conversation. She looked at him directly, nodded appropriately, and even contributed a sentence or phrase to his continuing discussion, but it was merely a mechanical ritual for Marisa. The thought of the earl returning had so seized her mind she was unable to respond accurately to several innocuous questions John had posed without her asking him to repeat them each time.
When her brother had finally gone, Marisa was left alone with a thousand thoughts whirling madly within her brain. When had he come back? Why hadn’t she asked John? And where was he now? After all of these months, when would he see her?
Their meeting was not to occur until a full two weeks had gone by, and then it was due only to the efforts of Lady Maxwell, who had announced a small dinner party in their honor. It was not, however, the kind of reunion that Marisa had hoped it would be. She had devoted many hours to her toilette in anxious preparation for that evening, determined that when the earl saw her for this first time in many months he would be captivated by her appearance. And when she made her entrée that evening, Marisa did, indeed, radiate beauty. Her high-waisted gown of soft peach satin enhanced her pale yellow hair charmingly styled à la Sappho for this affair. Her firm, well-proportioned breasts arched impudently beneath her low, tight-fitting decolletage where, directly below, a ribbon cinched smartly underneath her bosom. A burgundy velvet Spencer with a high-standing collar completed her ensemble, and she carried a petite embroidered bag at her side.
Many male eyes lingered in her direction throughout the evening, but, unbelievably, the earl showed scant interest upon being reunited with his wife-to-be. At their initial meeting, he had greeted her with a formal kiss on the hand and had exchanged not more than a few brief sentences with her before he was off talking to first this lord and then that viscount, and so it went. Even during dinner, conversation was dominated by the gentlemen present so that no intimate discussion was possible between the two of them. Feeling uneasy in the company of these garrulous socialites, Marisa wavered between shyness and outright anger at her inability to communicate freely with her husband-to-be.
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