A Hero's Guide to Love

by Vanessa Kelly

  “She hates it?” Christian asked. “She never said anything to me. But if that’s the case, certainly I’ll call her Clarissa from now on.”

  “Now you’re being disrespectful,” Lillian scolded, sounding like her mother. “Her proper name is Mrs. Middleton, as well you know. Did you lose all your manners in the Peninsula?”

  Christian’s vibrant eyes turned serious, although a shadow of a smile still lingered on his lips. He executed a faultless bow, looking every inch the dashing officer in his regimentals. “Mrs. Middleton, please forgive my shabby ways. I have been too long away from the civilizing influence of the ladies. You may blame my bad manners on the fact that I spend most of my time in the company of soldiers—an uncouth lot at the best of times.”

  Clarissa forced herself to rally. It was only Christian. What did it matter that he had turned into perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen? Besides, it was foolish for a widow to act in so ninny-headed a fashion over a younger man.

  “There’s no need to apologize, Captain Archer,” she replied, trying to strike a note of friendly disinterest. “We’re the oldest of friends, are we not? I was simply surprised at how …”

  She trailed off, running a quick glance over his tall, impressive physique. How to explain her reaction without sounding like a flustered schoolgirl? Her cheeks began to heat again as she struggled to find the correct response.

  Although the devil was back in his eyes, he took pity on her.

  “I imagine you’re surprised at how I’ve grown,” he said. “I believe I was little more than a callow youth the last time you saw me.”

  Lillian rolled her eyes. “A beanpole, more like it. I never knew a boy as tall and skinny as you were before you joined the army. Father used to say you should have picked the navy, instead. They could have used you as a mast on a frigate.”

  Clarissa smiled with relief as brother and sister bantered back and forth, finally understanding her strange reaction. The last time she had seen Christian he’d been a gangly boy, his body giving no hint yet that he would grow into such a powerful man. In his dress uniform, he was a handsome, intimidating giant.

  “You certainly are quite large,” she interjected into a pause in the conversation. “I’m sure I ’d have to stand on a chair if I wanted to box your ears again. It was so much easier when you were a little boy.”

  Christian’s ready laughter sent a ripple of pleasure humming through her body. Clarissa couldn’t help laughing, too, but more from surprise that she was actually enjoying herself than from the humor of her silly joke. A few nosy guests turned and leveled their quizzing glasses at her, but for once she didn’t care. It had been a long time since she had felt this at ease.

  Christian’s eyes gleamed. “If you ever think I need my ears boxed, Mrs. Middleton, I’ll be happy to escort you to a chair and hand you up. I should be most happy to receive a correction from you.”

  “Really, Christian, the things you say,” huffed Lillian.

  But for all her scolding, Clarissa’s friend was a complete fraud. Lillian gazed at her brother, pride and love shining in her eyes. Clearly, no regrets for Christian’s chosen profession diminished her enjoyment of his company. No fears for his future frayed the edges of her happiness. Lillian and the entire Archer family had sent Christian off to war with their blessings, never doubting that he would cover himself in honor and glory. They seemed happy to make the sacrifice, even as the war dragged on year after year, the casualties mounting ever higher.

  One of those casualties had been Jeremy.

  At the unbidden thought, Clarissa pressed a hand to her stomach, willing the sick feeling that suddenly tightened her insides to subside. Unlike the Archers, she had begged her husband not to join the army. What were king and country to her if the war meant she might lose the man she loved? But Jeremy had gently but firmly overruled all her objections, telling her that every man must do his duty. She had almost hated him then, as she had in the months that followed his death.

  Taking a deep breath, she cast her gaze around, trying to distract herself. But everywhere she looked, she saw only red coats and gold epaulettes. The room overflowed with officers—except for one. The only one who mattered to her, and who was lost forever.

  A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She jerked her head up to meet Christian’s gaze. His too perceptive eyes inspected her.

  “Mrs. Middleton, are you well? It’s very hot in here. Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “Goodness, no,” she replied with a forced laugh. “I’m perfectly well, thank you.”

  “You do look rather odd, dear,” said Lillian, peering at her with concern. “It’s no wonder, since it’s a terrible crush in here and getting worse by the minute. Are you sure—oh, blast! There’s Mother waving at me from the door, looking ready to pitch a fit. No doubt some kitchen disaster has struck, or we’re running out of champagne.”

  She flashed Clarissa an apologetic smile. “I’d better see what’s wrong. You stay with Christian and catch him up on all the on-dits. I’ll see you both at supper.”

  Before Clarissa could even think to object, Lillian slipped away, leaving her alone with a man she felt she no longer knew. And whose presence had thrown her disconcertingly off balance. As she looked into his eyes—so vibrantly blue—the room and the crowds wavered and dimmed, fading away. The strange sensations left her breathless.

  Christian’s angular features registered mock alarm. “Good God, Mrs. Middleton. Left to your own devices with the dreadful boy! Shall I take you over to a chair now, so the boxing of my ears can commence? Or would you rather we stroll about the room and make cutting comments about the other guests? Either way, I promise I’ll do my best to entertain you.”

  His lighthearted jesting eased her tension, and she cast him a smile. “Captain Archer, you’re under no obligation to entertain me. This is your night, after all. I’m sure you’d much rather spend it in the company of a beautiful young debutante than reminiscing with a quiz of an old widow.”

  When he frowned, she inwardly winced. She hadn’t meant the words to come out bitterly, but it had become an old habit. An ugly one, borne of months of anger and grief.

  Christian took her elbow and gently steered her to a shallow window alcove.

  “Mrs. Middleton,” he said, “you must allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your husband. He was a good and kind man, and the world is a poorer place without him. I’m sorry I haven’t had the opportunity to express my sentiments in person until now.”

  Clarissa shook her head. “You needn’t apologize. I was most grateful for the letter you sent me after we received the news. It was a comfort knowing that you spoke with Jeremy only a few weeks before …” She let her voice trail off.

  He slipped easily into the verbal gap. “I was grateful to have had the opportunity to speak to him, and hear the news from home. I’m rarely in one place long enough to receive letters in a timely fashion. Of course, Captain Middleton spoke mostly of you. He was devoted to you, as I’m sure you know.”

  A flash of raw anger burned in her chest. “But not devoted enough to stay home with me, where he belonged,” she said in a clipped voice.

  He looked startled. Hesitating for a moment, he responded in a gentle voice, pitched so only she could hear.

  “Mrs. Middleton … Clarissa … your husband was a man of honor. He did what he believed was right. But it was clear to me, and to everyone who knew him, that his heart remained in England. With you. Why would you ever doubt that?”

  Because I begged him not to go, and yet he did.

  Out of habit, she swallowed the bitter words that came to her tongue, knowing how selfish she would sound. How could Christian, a battle-tested warrior, ever hope to understand what she felt?

  “He should never have gone,” she managed to say in what she hoped was a rational voice. “He was far from strong. Physically, I mean. His doctor told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Christian st
udied her face in silence, his keen eyes thoughtful. That in itself was surprising. She had expected him to deliver a lecture about duty and honor. Everyone else had chastised her when she had tried to stop Jeremy from transferring from the local militia to the regular army. No one had listened to her, or tried to understand.

  “I believe Captain Middleton was stronger than you realize. At least in spirit,” he finally answered. “But he loathed every second that the war took him from your side. Whatever you think about his reasons for going, you must never doubt that.”

  “Thank … thank you,” she stammered. She looked at him uncertainly, not sure what else to say. The familiar, confusing mix of anger, sorrow, and guilt whirled within her, but it seemed muted, as if the individual emotions had lost some of their power.

  Christian waited patiently for her to recover her countenance. Standing with his back to the cheerful mob, he used his body to protect her from the crush. She gazed into his handsome face, and a seductive warmth began to steal through her limbs, along with an oddly familiar sense of something else. Was it belonging?

  Clarissa frowned and took a step back. That couldn’t possibly be right. She didn’t belong anywhere. Jeremy’s death had pitched her into an obscure landscape, and she hadn’t yet begun to find her way back to where life had been before.

  As she struggled to understand the elusive emotions, Christian moved closer. His muscular thigh, encased in form-fitting white breeches, brushed the skirts of her gown. She shivered, and the soft warmth of only a few moments ago fled, replaced by feelings of both panic and excitement. Sucking in a breath, she willed her racing heart to settle.

  She stared at the medals and ribbons on his broad chest as she gave herself a silent scolding. There was nothing to be afraid of or excited about. Not in conversation with an old friend.

  But then why was she so tongue-tied?

  A mist of perspiration beaded her neck as she searched for a harmless topic of conversation. Christian began to look amused again, and not the least bit awkward. Fortunately for her nerves, he broke the embarrassing silence.

  “Lillian tells me you have just come out of deep mourning. I’m honored that you chose this event to grace with your presence.”

  She blushed, wondering if he was teasing her.

  “Truly, it … it was nothing,” she stammered. Blast! What the devil was wrong with her?

  She tried again. “I was happy to come. You know how persuasive Lillian can be. She would have had my head if I refused. Your mamma, as well. She was quite insistent.”

  Splendid. Now she was babbling. Anyone would think she was a debutante in her first season, instead of a widow approaching her middle years.

  His gaze sharpened. “Clarissa, I’m not teasing you. I am genuinely honored.”

  Her face flamed with the belief that she was making a complete fool of herself.

  “How did you know I thought—” She broke off. “Oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. Shall we talk about something else besides me?”

  “Of course,” he said. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “You,” she blurted out.

  His eyebrows went up and his grin returned. It took all her willpower to repress a groan. Without a doubt, she had truly forgotten how to make polite conversation.

  He leaned back against the curving alcove wall and settled his arms across his chest.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Lillian said you were wounded. Shot through the shoulder. Was the wound very bad? Has it healed?”

  He shrugged, and the muscles of his upper arms flexed under the smooth fabric of his scarlet coat. The gold epaulette on his uniform shimmered in the light of a nearby wall sconce, drawing her reluctant gaze to his brawny shoulders. The moisture in her mouth evaporated.

  “I’ve had worse,” he said. “At least this one gave me an excuse for a furlough. It’s been almost two years since I returned home.”

  Clarissa resisted the impulse to lick her parched lips. She would die before she would let Christian see the extent of her nervousness.

  “You must be very happy to see your family again,” she said brightly.

  His eyes grew dark and knowing as he gave her an appraising inspection. Heat danced across her skin when his gaze fell to her bosom, swelling almost indecently over the edge of her low-cut bodice.

  Clarissa bit her lip, trying not to breathe too heavily as she cursed Lillian for persuading her to wear such a scandalous gown. What must Christian think of her?

  His next statement made the answer crystal clear.

  “There are others I’m just as happy to see,” he murmured in a husky voice. “One of those I ’d like to spend a great deal of time with. Alone, if possible.”

  She stifled a gasp. Was Christian actually flirting with her? How could that be possible?

  Dumbfounded, she took in the wicked gleam in his eyes and the seductive curve of his mouth. Her mind tried desperately to refute what she sensed with every fiber of her being.

  But her mind failed. Christian was flirting with her. Even worse, she feared he was trying to seduce her. Why, she couldn’t begin to fathom. But what she could fathom was that it scared her half to death—for more reasons than she could count, starting with the fact that he was a soldier. She had vowed never to love another soldier.

  Not to mention the fact that Christian was five years her junior.

  “Well, Clarissa,” he purred. “What do you think? Would you like to spend some time with me, starting with the next dance?”

  He moved then, pushing away from the wall to close the distance between them. He loomed over her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look into his face.

  Clarissa sucked in a startled breath, both terrified and fascinated by the blatant invitation in his eyes. It made her legs tremble and her body grow weak. His gloved hand moved down the bare flesh of her arm, trailing shivers in its wake. He took her hand in a gentle clasp, weaving their fingers together.

  “It’s only a dance, Clarissa,” he murmured. “What’s the harm?”

  She let out a sigh—almost a whimper—as some part of her addled brain urged her to give in. To lean into his big, hard body and allow him to sweep her away. He made her feel alive again, full of sparkling energy and heat. Part of her welcomed it with a burning need to escape the cold that had wrapped itself around her heart and soul for so long.

  Almost without thought, she returned the pressure of his hand. He smiled, his eyes flaring with something like triumph. His hand closed around hers, hard and possessive.

  With a thump, Clarissa fell to earth. A thousand voices in her head urged her to flee before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Christian had no business treating her this way. Like a woman to be desired, not a widow sworn never to love again.

  She snatched her hand away. “You must forgive me. I promised Lillian I would help her with something.”

  He frowned, puzzlement chasing away some of the heat in his eyes.

  “I’m sure Lillian would prefer you to stay here and enjoy yourself. I will be glad to provide any excuse you need to avert her irritation.”

  That was exactly what she was afraid of.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said, backing away from him.

  She bumped into a stout dowager, who promptly dropped her fan. Rolling his eyes, Christian scooped it up and handed it back to the protesting matron. Clarissa seized the opportunity to escape into the crush of guests.

  As she wove her way to the door, she chanced a glance back in Christian’s direction. He stood where she had left him, hands on his lean hips, his stern gaze locked on to her across the room. She froze like a rabbit before a fox, and his mobile eyebrows lifted in enquiry. Then he gave her a slow, satisfied curve of the lips.

  With that, she turned and fled. But a quiet, inner voice whispered that whatever his game was, Christian would not let her escape so easily the next time.

  Christian eyed Clarissa’s barely restrain
ed dash to freedom. She held her slender back ramrod straight, but her shoulders, hitched up around her ears, spoke of how thoroughly he had unnerved her.

  Biting back an oath, he started after her. He’d made several unforgivable blunders, any one of which would have given her ample reason to flee. No wonder, because his first sight of her had knocked him back on his heels, and years of repressed desire had come roaring to the surface. What little caution he’d had—and he’d never had much when it came to her—evaporated like morning mist under a blazing Spanish sun.

  Clarissa disappeared behind a group of preening dandies, but a moment later he caught a glimpse of her guinea-gold hair, pulled back in a simple chignon. God, she was lovely. So lovely it made his chest ache with a pain he’d spent years trying to banish. He would never have thought it possible, but she was even more beautiful than she’d been eight years ago. Perhaps her suffering and grief had harrowed her body and spirit down to their perfect, essential elements, for there was no artifice to Clarissa. Everything she was and had ever been could be read in the pure lines of her face, and in the honest clarity of her amber-colored gaze.

  He remembered the last time they’d met, on her wedding day. Clarissa had been twenty-three—almost on the shelf, by the standards of the ton. But no one who watched her walk down the aisle could think that. For years, dozens of suitors had vied for her hand, attracted by her pale beauty, her kind nature, and her generous fortune. She had refused them all, including the high-borne lords.

  But then she met Jeremy Middleton, a scholarly young gentleman from a good but not particularly fashionable military family. In his own quiet way, Jeremy had swept Clarissa off her feet. They were married two months to the day after Lillian introduced them.

  A week later, Christian had persuaded his father to purchase his commission in the regulars, not the militia. Having to remain in England while seeing Clarissa in the arms of another man would have driven him mad. Yes, he was five years her junior and had never stood a chance with her, but he’d adored her since he was a stripling. The gap in their ages hadn’t made a damn bit of difference to him. And not the years, the miles, or the other women in his life had ever fully erased her presence in his heart.