The Kent Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  Perce shuddered, reached for Sabrina, and pulled her tightly against him. Then he kissed her again and pushed himself more upright to a sitting position. Sabrina sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.

  “What are you going to say?” she asked. “Are you going to resign? Perce…please. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  “It’s a miracle any of us are alive,” he said harshly, and then, more gently, “No, I’m not going to resign. This was the most horrible thing I’ve ever lived through, but the worst of it is that it was all for nothing. Nothing was decided by this battle. There are thousands dead, tens of thousands, and I don’t know how many more are maimed and will die—and we’re right back where we started.”

  “It isn’t your war,” Sabrina cried.

  “Don’t be a fool. If Boney beats Russia, England will be all alone against him. If I can read the handwriting on the wall, it may help.”

  Sabrina swallowed. “You expect Bonaparte to win.”

  Perce looked out past her, his eyes still heavy after twelve hours of sleep. Bonaparte will beat Bennigsen,” he said flatly. “I wasn’t sure after Pultusk. There we held a great advantage on the ground, but they had more men. This time we had most of the advantages. Our men were better fed, more rested, and far more accustomed to the weather. We had the advantage of higher ground. Everything else was about even. The men—” He clenched his teeth, swallowed, and began again. “I’ve never seen such dogged courage, such heroism…on both sides. Still, we should have rolled over them. Boney just outmaneuvered Bennigsen. Of course, his generals are better, too, or more eager.”

  “But William was saying that Bonaparte was hurt worse because he’s short of manpower and far from his base.”

  “That’s true enough, but we weren’t in any shape to go after him. The advantage will evaporate with time. There’s another problem. Bennigsen’s going to play up Boney’s losses and play down our own. That’s his way, and also he doesn’t want to be superseded by another general. That will make double trouble. We’ll get fewer replacements, more slowly—and Bennigsen will stay in command.”

  “But I don’t see what it has to do with you,” Sabrina protested desperately. “It seems to me that if you’re so sure Bonaparte will win the next battle, it’s a better reason to resign now. Boney doesn’t like the English. If you get captured—”

  “Sabrina.”

  The one word, sad, touched with a longing that was already being denied, stopped her.

  “Bennigsen doesn’t trust anyone,” Perce went on quietly, “but he has come nearest to trust with me. He knows I don’t wish to be a general in the Russian army, and my rank isn’t high enough for me to steal any of his glory, so he doesn’t need to worry about me stabbing him in the back to gain promotion. He thinks I’m an English spy, which is true, I suppose, but he doesn’t care about that right now because he understands that British aims and his aims are pretty much the same—to beat Boney. After Pultusk he even talked to me a little about his plans and used me almost exclusively as a liaison with the other generals.”

  “But—“

  “Sabrina, surely you must see that this places me in an advantageous position for gathering information. Now, if Bennigsen retains command and is defeated in the next major battle, it will be very important to discover whether Alexander will continue to fight or will make terms. And if he makes terms, what terms. It is crucial for the English to have the inside information that I can provide for them,”

  “I’m sorry, Perce,” Sabrina whispered. “I’m frightened. I didn’t get any of your letters after the battle of Pultusk, except the one you wrote on the seventh. I thought you were dead. It hurt so much. I can’t…I’m afraid.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her again. “If it’s any consolation,” he said, smiling, after their lips parted, “I’m scared nearly witless myself. I don’t want to see another battle like this. But I have to stay with it, Brina.” He hugged her once more, fiercely, then grinned at her. “Where’s this dinner I’ve been promised?”

  “I’m thinking of withdrawing the offer,” she said, blinking back tears. “Any man who talks politics instead of answering my thoughtful question about where he wants dinner served isn’t hungry.”

  Perce was looking at her fixedly, and he brought a hand up to trace the line of her cheek with his finger. Then he ran it down her throat, along the edge of her spencer where it lay open to expose the front of her low-cut gown.

  “Maybe I’m not so hungry,” he murmured.

  Sabrina made a wordless sound, whether of invitation or protest she did not know herself as Perce bent forward to kiss the cleft between her breasts. She thought guiltily that he must be starved, but such practical considerations were already fading from her mind. He pushed the spencer off her shoulder, and then pulled at the sleeve. When that arm was bare, Sabrina used the hand to play with Perce’s hair and touch his ear. He pulled the sleeve off her other arm, dropped the spencer to the floor, and plucked at the tie that held Sabrina’s gown in under her breasts. That was easily undone, but when he began to tug the dress off her shoulder, Sabrina lifted her head.

  “Don’t. You’ll tear it,” she whispered.

  That would be impossible to explain. Perce desisted. “Take it off, then,” he said thickly.

  It was crazy. Katy might walk in on them. Sabrina stood up and pulled the dress off over her head. She didn’t care if the whole Grande Armée walked in on them. She would have to go back to England, and Peace would have to stay. God alone knew when she would see him and touch him again. She was not leaving because William was going, not because of conventionality. At this moment Sabrina would gladly have offered to remain openly as Perce’s mistress, but she knew she would be a burden and a danger to him.

  “You are so beautiful,” Perce murmured, watching as she removed her underclothes, “all of you. It’s quite dreadful. I can’t even look at the snow without thinking of you. Your skin has the same silvery shine. Sometimes I would reach out and touch a drift. The wind carves them into shapes—a shoulder, a hip—and I would be surprised because they were cold.”

  His voice was a low monotone, like that of a man mesmerized, but Sabrina felt as if it were touching her. And when he reached out and ran a hand caressingly over her shoulder and hip, the sensation seemed part of the vocal caress. She stood quite still, aware of the need to hurry, that delay might mean detection, but she was quite indifferent to the danger. It was more important to enjoy and be enjoyed than to be safe.

  “Now I’m surprised that you are warm,” Peace said. “Am I dying in that hell out there, dreaming of my snow maiden?”

  He pulled her close suddenly, fiercely, burrowing his face between her breasts so hard he hurt her. Sabrina stroked his hair, still speckled with blood that was not his own, which she had not been able to wash out, mute evidence of agony or death that had brushed close by him. Her other hand stroked his back, feeling the play of hard muscle, the shoulder blades and ribs too prominent from loss of weight.

  The feel of her body seemed, at least for this moment, to block ugly memory. Perce relaxed his grip somewhat and began to kiss her, then leaned back slowly, drawing her with him until the edge of the bed touched her thighs. He released her completely then and slid down, lifting the quilts at the same time so she could slip in beside him. As soon as she was in the bed, he clutched her close again, as the brief loss of contact had unleashed the horrors that plagued him. And, for all his eagerness, he was not ready.

  Sabrina had no difficulty connecting the fearful words Am I dying in that hell out there, dreaming…with Perce’s impotence. Dreaming. When a man dreams, she assumed, he is the aggressor. All she could think of was that she must make herself real to him, and she began to caress him more actively, more intimately, copying his own actions the last time they had made love. He uttered a soft exclamation of surprise as she began to run her lips down his body, but the sound soon changed to incoherent murmurs of pl
easure.

  The warm, wet mouth, the tiny scrape of teeth, worked a near-immediate miracle of resurrection. Perce moaned, tried to heave his hips upward, and desisted with a gasp as pain lanced through his abused feet. He had to lie still, and for some reason that made what Sabrina was doing more exciting. He pulled at her, kissing and sucking whatever part presented itself to his mouth.

  Meanwhile, Sabrina found she was as much stimulated by her activities as was her lover, and his nearly drove her wild. She yielded when Perce pulled her up urgently and helped her mount him. She had been so excited by readying him, that she came to climax at once, with his first few thrusts, but he was not nearly finished and succeeded in arousing her again so that she found herself convulsed with pleasure a second time, not quite so violently, but sweetly all the same.

  They were quiet for a while, simply lying together in warm comfort, until Perce said softly, “Sorry to seem so unromantic, Brina, but I’ve got to have something to eat.”

  It was not true. He was hungry but would gladly have starved to keep the delight of lying warm and loving beside Sabrina. Only there was no delight. Perce was horribly aware of the stupidity of what he had done and the danger of discovery. He simply used the best excuse that would not hurt or frighten Sabrina to get her to leave the bed.

  “Oh, goodness,” she cried, getting up at once. “I forgot all about it. I’ll run down and tell Katy.”

  “Not like that, in God’s name,” he laughed.

  Sabrina made a “don’t be silly” gesture and began to dress, making for the door as soon as her clothes were on. Perce stopped her with a hissed, “Your hair!” and she turned back and stooped by the mirror to pin up some strands that had fallen down altogether, however, she did not trouble to redo it, explaining that some disorder would be expected when she was in and out of closets and drawers to do the packing. The word brought them both up short, staring at each other. Perce started to speak, and then closed his mouth firmly. Sabrina waited a moment but then moved toward the door.

  With her hand on the latch she said, “Stay in bed. I’ll bring up a tray for you.” And when it looked as if he would protest, “It’s really easier than setting up the dining room, and it will be easier to talk, too. If you come down, Charlot will insist on serving.”

  “No gruel,” Perce called after her as she went out, and he heard her laughing as she went down.

  He slid down under the covers again, annoyed with himself for not reminding Sabrina to bring some clothing, but she had not forgotten. Charlot came in soon after she left with a shirt and smallclothes and a dressing gown. As Perce was inserted tenderly into the garments, Charlot explained that his breeches had not been salvageable. New nether garments were being made, using the old as a pattern, by a local tailor. They would be ready, hopefully, by the next morning.

  Perce assumed the exquisite care in dressing him and the efficiency about the breeches were Charlot’s attempts to demonstrate to him what he was missing by employing a boor like Sergei. Perce jerked his mind away from Sergei’s finding him after that last bloody attempt to take back Eylau. They had all been in the fighting that time, even the general’s aides, but there were only Ivan Petrovitch and himself left, and he wouldn’t have been alive if not for Sergei. He couldn’t think about it. If he did, he would begin to shake, and he would not shake in front of Charlot. He fixed his mind on Charlot’s delicate drawing up over his legs of Elvan’s smalls, and his lips twisted wryly. How unfortunate that he couldn’t slip into Elvan’s role with as little fuss as he slipped into his clothing.

  Obviously, Sabrina was concerned with the same subject, but she was approaching it from a more practical angle. She allowed Perce to eat, which he did with considerable concentration, while she went on with her packing until he looked up from the plate of his own accord. Then Sabrina turned to face him.

  “This morning when William came home to sleep for a few hours, he said we must have a reckoning. I’m going to tell him I want to end the marriage.”

  “No!” Perce exclaimed.

  The color faded from Sabrina’s face “You want me to stay married to William?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Brina,” he snapped. “There’s nothing I want more than your freedom. That’s why I don’t want you to say anything to Elvan. Stall! Cry! Have hysterics or the vapors! Do anything you like, but don’t discuss the matter with him until you talk to Roger. You’re bound to say just the wrong thing.”

  There was good sense in that, but Sabrina felt a flicker of unease Perce had said he wanted her to be free, but he hadn’t said he wanted to marry her himself. She told herself she was a fool and called to memory the way he had clutched at her, not only for sex but for comfort.

  “I’m not so sure it will be so easy to wait until I can speak with Roger,” she said.

  “Is William giving you trouble?” Perce asked tightly.

  “No. He’s been too busy. Diplomatically, the situation is a mess. But once we’re on the ship, I don’t know how we’ll travel or what the accommodations will be.”

  Perce looked down at the remaining food on his tray as if he no longer recognized what it was. “I’ll try to get leave,” he said. “I’ll come with you, and—”

  Almost all the doubt Sabrina had felt dissipated. “No.” She came up to the bed and put a hand on his. With her other hand she pulled his face toward her. “If I thought I could make you stay in England, I’d lie and say that would help. But I know you’ll just turn around and come back here. By that time your precious general will have found a new favorite or will have decided there was some dreadful anti-Bennigsen motive for the trip. So, no. It wouldn’t help, Perce.”

  “I could make him stay away from you,” he said.

  “I suppose you could, but that would be a disaster. You’re a fine one to tell me I’d say the wrong thing. I’ll manage.” She let go of him. “Finish your dinner.”

  He began to eat again, more slowly, and Sabrina went back to her packing. After several more mouthfuls Perce said, “Would you get me something to write with, Sabrina?”

  He wanted her out of the room for a few minutes because he was drowning in a flood of jealousy so violent that a lifetime of masking his expression would not be enough to hide this emotion. It was utterly ridiculous for him to be jealous. He knew it was ridiculous. Hadn’t Sabrina just told him she intended to dissolve her marriage? And hadn’t she made love to him in a way that… Where the devil had she learned that? Perce felt himself flush and thanked God Sabrina had left the room. He called himself an ungrateful idiot. He had needed it, and out of love, she had given him what he needed. How dared he be jealous.

  There was no sense to it. Perce knew why Sabrina had rejected his offer to travel with her. She was quite right. And Sabrina was not the kind to use people, at least not knowingly. The cold rage of jealousy caught him again. He thought of the dead on the battlefield, and each one of them had Lord Elvan’s face.

  The door opened, and Sabrina came in. She removed the empty soup bowl and set a small basket of bread down on the quilt so there was room on his tray for a sheet of paper and the inkwell. Perce wrote the few lines necessary to give his address and describe his condition to his senior officer, then folded the sheet, wrote Bennigsen’s name on the flat surface, and took off his seal ring, which he handed to Sabrina.

  “Will you seal it for me, please? Send it the best way to Prussian headquarters. Someone there will surely know where Bennigsen is by now.”

  “Perce, what’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  She knows me too well, he thought. “Nothing. Reaction, I suppose. I’m angry at the whole world.”

  It was the best he could do, and to his mingled shame and relief Sabrina accepted it. She was distressed because she knew she could not understand or share what he had suffered, but she was respectful of such pain, unlikely to prod at it. Perce was ashamed of playing on her feelings, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that the worry in he
r eyes held no personal hurt. Nonetheless he found he could not eat any more when Sabrina left to seal his letter, and he put the tray aside and swung his legs out of bed, frowning as he saw the condition of his feet. Served him right, he thought, for never setting a foot to the ground when a horse was available.

  Then he passed a hand over his face. He would have to buy horses and saddles. No, maybe not saddles; Sergei had cached those when they gave up the horses—no, mules.

  He closed his eyes. By then there were no horses. They were all dead, poor beasts. Bravo, Major, Red. It wasn’t fair that such beautiful, innocent creatures should die in a man’s war. Tears burned behind his eyes, and he fought them back. He wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t.

  Money…well, he had some. He and Sergei had carried the gold in money belts, but it wouldn’t be enough to buy three or four good horses. And he had to live, too. That didn’t matter. Either Elvan or Hutchinson would advance him what he needed, and he could give them a draft on his bank in London. He had a banker in St. Petersburg, too, but there wasn’t time to write to him.

  A more immediate problem was where to stay. It was courting disaster to remain here. He knew he would not be able to keep his hands off Sabrina, and she no longer seemed to care whether or not they were discovered. But that was stupid. There was some chance that Roger would be able to arrange an annulment. Then he would be able to marry her, which would be impossible if Elvan divorced her. There might be a few cold shoulders turned toward her after an annulment, but he hoped not many or for long. In any case, their children would be legitimate. It was all his own fault, too. How could he have been so stupid as not to know he loved her until she was beyond his reach?

  Sabrina found him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “Perce, stop,” she said. “Thinking about it can’t help.”