She stared up at the normally unflappable major. As their gazes met in the dim tent, a spark flared between them which Vevina knew could no longer be denied.
“Tis nothing, deer blood. I shot one for our Christmas feast, and Mitchell and I carried it home,” she explained in a near whisper, as the warm fingers stroked the bare flesh at the top of her chemise.
“You shouldn’t be doing such heavy work,” he scolded, his hands stroking her shoulders now, their eyes locked, both hardly daring to breathe except to inhale the rich scent of the other, he leather, sandalwood and citrus, she lavender and rose. “What if you were with child, and injured yourself in the woods.”
“I couldn’t possibly be with child,” she replied unthinkingly.
Suddenly his midnight blue eyes sparked anew, and Stewart’s mouth bore down on hers in a crushing kiss which left her reeling.
Vevina clung onto his shoulders for support, for she was sure her feet had been swept out from under her. She was still standing, but pressed so tightly up against the Major’s hard muscular frame that there was no mistaking what he wanted of her.
“Major, my husband!” she eventually managed to whisper against his hot, seeking tongue as he pulled her head backwards.
“Is a fool for bringing you here. A fool for not making love to you again and again, filling you with dozens of babies,” Stewart murmured against the ivory column of her throat.
Vevina gasped as he ran his hand down her flat stomach and pressed hard, soothing as well as increasing the fiery aching sensation which was rapidly building.
“Were you my woman, Viv, I would make love to you so thoroughly you’d never be able to look at another man, much less do this with him,” Stewart rasped, as his head moved lower to her bared bosom.
He nipped playfully at the creamy peaks while his booted leg moved between her thighs and pushed upwards against the soft mound of her femininity.
Vevina’s head lolled back as she writhed, powerlessly enthralled by the desire which flooded her loins. “Major, you mustn’t,” she groaned.
But her hands told a different story as she pulled his head closer to her bosom, cradling it against her tenderly as she ran her fingers through the silky softness of his jet black hair.
“Major, what must you think of me, to treat me like a common whore,” she heard herself say, despite the roiling passion in the pit of her belly aching to be assuaged.
With that he let her go abruptly, so that she nearly fell.
“Is that that you think of me?” he raged.
Vevina trembled at the suddenness of his anger. “It’s more to do with what you think of me, Major,” she pointed out quietly.
“Kissing me behind my husband’s back is not appropriate. I can’t remain here if this is the way you wish to treat me. I may be poor and defenseless, but I will not give myself to any man out of gratitude,” Vevina said proudly.
Stewart felt a tight fist close around his throat. “No, of course not. My apologies, Madam. It was the sight of you seemingly wounded which overcame my better judgment,” he excused himself, before almost running from the tent.
Only when he was safely outside in the crisp wintry air did he slow down and reply what had just happened in his mind's eye.
Gratitude. A cold word, but it had reminded him of her vulnerable position. The last thing he wanted was for Viv to lay with him because she felt she had to.
No, when he made love to her, he wanted her to come willingly into his bed, because she couldn’t help herself.
Stewart admitted that Will James was a very large obstacle. Would Stewart himself think less of Viv for being unfaithful to Will?
But Stewart reminded himself bitterly that all women were flawed, even the one woman in his life whom he had thought he loved. They were all dishonest and capable of betrayal.
Damn it, he had to stay away from Viv James. Her husband was just across they way, and the last thing he needed was complicated scene. He would try to dampen his burning desires, and treat her as he would any other camp woman.
Vevina for her own part had been shocked at how much she had enjoyed the kiss, and had only remembered just in time that she was meant to be married to Will.
It reminded her of a shadowy experience about a year ago, at her fancy dress ball in honor of her engagement to a neighboring landlord’s son, when she had met a tall dark man clad in a uniform.
She wondered if she had allowed Stewart to kiss her because he vaguely reminded her of the mysterious visitor. The sensations she had felt in the stranger's arms dancing, kissing, caressing, had never been repeated again until now.
Vevina wondered if she had a wanton nature. Surely it had to be wrong for a woman to respond so freely to a man? Especially a man she hardly knew.
But then, from the moment the mysterious gentleman had taken her hand at the ball, Vevina reminisced, it was almost as if her unknown guest had known her inside and out. He had been a far cry from Willoughby, her supposed fiance, whome she had been persuaded to become engaged to merely for the sake of their adjoining estates.
He had tried to kiss her, but it had been little more than a passionless peck for her, mildly distasteful.
With the man in the garden, it had all be so wonderful, flaming kisses, soaring sensations, a maelstrom of need and desire.
So why had he disappeared suddenly? One minute her father had come over chatting and smiling, saying the strange soldier wished to speak to her on an important matter. The next she had entered the library, only to find it empty.
Reluctantly she had agreed with her father that it must have been some wine-induced prank. Her papa had announced her engagement to Mr. Willoughby just as they had planned before the stranger had set her emotions into such a spin.
Vevina had tried in vain to discover the identity of the man in the soldier's costume, but no one had been able to tell her anything about him that she didn't already know. He had come and gone without a trace.
In the end she had been convinced he had truly been a soldier, and had returned to his regiment without sparing a thought for the girl he had toyed with, in whose dreams he had become the ideal lover.
After a few months of Willoughby pressing for a wedding date, she knew she could never commit to the pathetic noodle wholeheartedly. He was only interested in her fortune, not her as a woman.
Vevina had insisted on breaking off her engagement in the end, hoping beyond reason that the stranger would return for her. She also knowing she could never bring herself to marry a man she despised, however much family and friends pressured her to do so.
Vevina sighed as she buttoned her clean shirt and washed out the ruined one, then hung it to dry. She would use it for rags and bandages.
She recalled with a start the special embroidery she was doing on all Stewart’s shirts for his Christmas present. Timing was running out if she was to get them done in time.
She took out her notions and moved them to Wilfred’s tent. She would sit up all night and finish them so they would be ready for the morning. Anything to repay the Major for his kindness.
And anything to not have to share the tent with him, toss and turn, her skin sparking with unfulfilled desires she scarecely dared to name, but found herself increasingly willing to act upon should Stewart dare to kiss her like that again.
Chapter Nine
That night, Stewart was disturbed when Viv never returned to the tent they were sharing, and insisted she would stay by Wilfred’s side all night.
The Major paced up and down restlessly like a panther, sure he had driven her away with his torrid kiss that afternoon. What was he to do? He knew it was wrong to want her so badly, married though she was. But want her he did, and Viv was not sleeping with Will again if he had his way.
Finally at about midnight he could stand it no longer. He brewed up some tea and took it to Will's tent as an excuse for entering, and drew the flap aside gently.
He saw Viv sitting by the bed with a candle, with Will s
ound asleep. He recognized his own shirts and stocks, and saw her embroidering in the dim candlelight as if her life depended upon it.
Withdrawing, he stood outside musing on this turn of events, so unlike what he had vividly imagined. She must have wanted to sew his clothes secretly there, but why? Christmas, of course, he realized in a flash.
Pleased with her thoughtfulness toward him, Stewart was determined to reciprocate. To make the most of this chance to pamper the lovely young woman without seeming to obvious in his regard for her.
He set about making his own preparations for the holiday, and took out the locket he had managed to find for her, which went around the neck on a black velvet ribbon. He had also found her some combs and ribbons for her lush auburn hair, and a pipe and some tobacco for Will. He had even found some smelling and bath salts, and now moved the laundry tub into his tent.
The next morning he asked Bob to boil up plenty of hot water, and was pleased to see Martha Beckett stroll in early.
“I be looking for Viv,” she said with a smile, dandling her rounding infant Jack up and down. “I ‘ave a present for her for Christmas.”
The weather was unusually mild for Christmas Day, Stewart noted. He looked at the cherubic child and asked, “How would you like to help me give her a present, and you and baby one as well?”
"Gladly. How?"
Together they filled the bathtub with boiling water, and then Stewart went to fetch Viv.
Vevina started guiltily when she saw she had fallen asleep in her chair, and left her work all around Will's tent for Stewart to see.
He pretended not to notice as he took her work-roughened hand in his.
“Come here, I need you.”
She did not withdraw her hand, so he savored the contact as he led her back to his own tent.
Her brows had drawn down in confusion at his request to accompany him. She smiled and practically wept for joy at the sight of the steaming scented tub.
“Oh, thank you,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.
Martha giggled, and Stewart blushed. “Well, er, Merry Christmas, ladies. I shall not come near this tent for two hours. But I’ll flog the pair of you if dinner isn’t ready by three this afternoon!”
“Don’t worry, Major, it will be!” Viv promised, blowing him a kiss as he ducked out of the tent, his face flaming even further.
Vevina and Martha took turns scrubbing each other's backs, and dipping baby Jack in the tub. He seemed fascinated by the water, and cooed and splashed happily while the women soaked until their skin was wrinkled and the water began to turn cold.
Bob discreetly brought in several more buckets of warm water, his back to them the whole time, and they scrubbed their hair and combed and brushed it with the items in the packet Stewart insisted Vevina open once he had gone.
Martha was a more shapely woman that herself, but Ensign Parks’ looser shirts and breeche still fit her well enough, and Martha was delighted to have a change of clothes.
“Are ye sure, Miss? You was given ‘em, and you need ‘em just as much as I,” Martha protested.
“Don’t be silly. Besides, it’s Christmas.”
After their ablutions, the women tackled the deer, pheasant and hares, and Bob went on a scavenging expedition to trade slabs of deer meat for wine, rum and vegetables.
He came back with a full basket, and Martha set to work peeling and preparing them, while Vevina went to see Wilfred.
He was sitting up in bed reading when she came in. She smiled and said, “Merry Christmas.”
She gave him a woolen vest that she had knitted herself for under his uniform, and a book of Byron’s poems she had managed to barter for with Ensign Parks. The young officer now had the finest collection of linen outside of London thanks to her handiwork, and Vevina was gradually gathering more sewing materials, a small hand mirror, bottles, jars and other useful items she thought might one day come in handy.
Just as she was kissing her brother, Stewart came in. He looked away abruptly, as though he'd seen something dreadful.
“No, Major, come in,” Wilfred requested, trying to comprehend why Stewart was already backing out of the tent, looking at him with such seeming hostility.
“Compliments of the season, sir. I must thank you for all you've done for us. It's very generous. I’ll never forget your kindness. I’ll go back to my regimental duties as soon as I can, and we shall inconvenience you no longer.”
Stewart was so alarmed at the younger man's words that he paused in his retreat. “Private James, you and your wife are no inconvenience whatever. As soon as you're well, I wish you to become my secretary. Mine has just died, and Viv had proven herself indispensable around my camp. You'll stay with me, and this tent shall be yours. But don't overtax your strength. You've been ill for some time, and badly treated long before that.”
Wilfred’s eyes took on a warning glare. Vevina hastened to avoid any confrontation between the two men by pretending to check his temperature and see if his pillow needed fluffing.
“I’m sure Will is delighted to have the chance to be your secretary, sir. He shall be fit for work in a few more days.”
“Until he is, however, he must have complete rest,” Stewart insisted, “so if you need you wife for anything, she'll be in my tent.”
Stewart made ready to defend his decision, but Wilfred made no demur. He smiled and nodded. "Fine, thank you. This tent is very small and Viv needs her rest as well.” He then turned his attention to his book of poetry.
Stewart gazed at the young man for any sign of jealousy or resentment, but found none. He cleared his throat, and offered Will and Viv their presents.
Wilfred immediately lit his pipe and sucked in the smoke like a drowning man gasping for air. “Splendid, sir, my favorite mixture from Bond Street,” he said with obvious delight.
Vevina shot him a reproachful look. Really, it was too careless of him to have let that slip.
But Stewart seemed to not hear the statement, preoccupied as he was with tying the locket he had gifted her with around her neck. He stroked the black velvet ribbon and asked in a husky voice, “Whose portraits shall you put in it?”
“Well, I have none, but I can get one of Will made, I suppose.”
The answer did not please him in the least. “Yes, Ensign Parks is an accomplished young artist. He does caricatures of the generals which are magnificent,” Stewart said. “I can have him paint anyone you like in the camp. Just tell me when?”
Vevina sensed the hidden meaning in his words, and thought with delight of a small picture of him to carry around with her. But it simply wouldn’t do, not in her current position.
“Thank you, Major Fitzgerald, you're most civil. I'll attend to the matter soon,” she reassured him with a dazzling smile.
Their presents given, Stewart could see no further reason to stay. As he left the tent, he heard Wilfred say behind him, “Really, Viv, he seems quite taken with you. It’s peculiar, that he of all people, would be the one to help us.”
Her tone was strained, fraught. “Please, Will, don’t remind me. I have no wish to talk about it now.”
Wilfred sighed, and Stewart moved closer to the tent to catch his words.
“How different life would be if your young man had stayed with you, married you.”
“Don’t, it’s too painful!" Vevina cried.
Stewart could hear the tears in her voice.
"Don’t you think I’m conscious every minute of all that has been lost?”
“I’m sorry, Viv. The Major’s presents, and the Major, are a constant reminder of all that's happened. I can’t help but wish things could be different for both of us. That there was some way I could change things, make you happy.”
“You’ve done your best, Will." She moved over to pat this shoulder. "I couldn’t ask for more. We’ve muddled along well enough up until now. We’ll manage somehow. Let's just take it one day at a time. It'll all work out. The tru
th will be revealed one day. But it’s pointless wishing vainly for foolish dreams of what might have been. Besides, who knows, perhaps all of our losses will result in even bigger gains?”
“My practical little optimist. Happy Christmas, my dear." He kissed her hand. "And may you have whatever your heart desires this time next year.”
Stewart scurried away from the tent as some soldiers approached. Once alone in the privacy of his tent, pondered over the meaning of all he had heard.
Viv had loved someone else, and yet had had to marry Will? Why? The man had run out on her. Left her with child perhaps, and she had then lost the baby, or worse still, had had to leave it behind? Or the child had died? Or perhaps this mysterious would-be husband had been the cause of all the trouble they had been through?
Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Page 7
