Wellington departed the room and the professor followed him.
Harry stood, as did Bourbon who removed a thick piece of folded paper from the pocket of his black breeches and handed it to him. “I wanted to pass this along to you in private,” Bourbon murmured. “A letter from your fratello, whom I had the chance of visiting not long ago. My apologies. I had forgotten I had the note on me and should have given it to you sooner.”
“Any letter is appreciated, no matter how long it takes to get to me. When you last saw my brother, how was he?” He accepted the letter and turned it over. Indeed, it was from his brother, the seal stamped with Winterly’s crest. Damn, but it had been far too long since he’d last seen his brother, well over a year, not that he didn’t think about his loved ones every single day or read their letters repeatedly every night. He missed them terribly.
“He is very well, as are your mama and sisters. Olivia though, is frustrating him.”
“My youngest sister always has. In what way is she frustrating my brother at present?”
“I loaned her one of my personal items, an earring. That seems to have caused a great fuss.” Bourbon tapped his ear where a large diamond usually glittered. “It is a long story how that came about, but Olivia has had my diamond earring set into a necklace which she now wears. It is irritating your brother since no lady should accept jewelry from any man other than her husband. I am not, of course, her husband. I also have no intention of requesting the jewel be returned when it adorns the neck of an angel.” A grin lifted his lips. “Un bellissimo angelo.”
He knew his sister well and she would have found the captain an interesting enigma, thus why she would have taken the diamond and had the jewel set into a necklace. “There is something you are not telling me though, Captain. Do you have tender feelings for Olivia?”
“Unfortunately, I am meant for no woman.” Bourbon clasped his arm and waved as he strode from the room.
Bourbon was an enigma, one he truly wished to uncover more about. It seemed, perhaps, Olivia did too, otherwise why would she be tugging on the tail of the cobra?
Harry crossed to the window overlooking the inner courtyard and slid the letter into his regimental shirt pocket. He would read it soon, in his chamber before he closed his eyes for the night. For now he waited, his gaze on the infirmary building across the other side of the courtyard.
Long minutes passed before the door finally opened and Miss Julia Chalmers stepped outside, her shift in the infirmary done for the night. Three days of the week the professor’s daughter aided Una and the doctors as they cared for their wounded soldiers. The rest of the week, she aided her father, her love of engineering as strong as Harry’s own love was for it.
She strolled across the gravelly yard and in the center, raised her arms and twirled about, her burgundy skirts flaring and her white silk blouse glowing a golden hue under the moonlight. Her blond locks streamed past her shoulders. Hell, she was so captivating.
What had caused her such sudden delight this night?
The woman was certainly an anomaly, an annoyingly beautiful and exasperatingly clever woman who continually spiked his interest and his desire. She constantly tugged on his tail, causing his protective urges to rise far more than they ever had with any other woman.
She presented a challenge, one he couldn’t resist.
A challenge he had no intention of resisting tonight.
He snuck downstairs.
Chapter 2
Taking in the beauty of the night, Miss Julia Chalmers twirled about in the inner courtyard, the night sky having darkened to an endless midnight-blue with a glittering array of stars. High above, a shooting star whizzed across in a wide arc, then it disappeared on the other side of the barbican where the fort’s guardsmen patrolled. She closed her eyes and made a wish upon it, as Una had taught her as a child.
“You appear lost in thought.” Major Trentbury pushed off the curtain wall, emerging from the shadows.
“I didn’t notice you there.”
“I noticed you.” A grin as he strolled toward her. “What has you smiling this night?”
“I was making a wish. Did you see the shooting star?” Grasping her burgundy skirts, she swished up to him and without fail, whenever she got this close to the man, her traitorous heart skipped a dratted beat. Goodness, but he appeared so wickedly delicious tonight, his blond head tilted at a rakish angle and his amber eyes glinting a reddish-gold. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his face so handsomely beautiful it might have been carved by one of the greatest architects or sculptors of their time. He was also from a titled English family and of far better blood than her, which was why she’d never attempted to take their friendly banter any deeper than she should.
“No, not with such a beguiling sight before me.” He caught her hand and twirled her about.
“Major, you are becoming far too familiar with me.” With a pretend huff, she turned on her heel and marched toward the main entrance. She snuck inside and trod down the eerily dark passageway toward the west wing where hers, Father’s, and Una’s bedchambers were located. The major’s too, unfortunately. His bedchamber adjoined hers along the passageway.
“Captain Anteros Bourbon was here earlier,” he murmured from behind her, his booted footsteps echoing.
“I’m aware. Anteros visited me and Una in the infirmary when he first arrived.”
“You and Anteros are rather close.”
“I’ve known him since I was a little girl.”
“How did you first meet him?” He set a proprietary hand at the small of her back as he came in alongside her.
“Ahh, no one learns anything about Anteros unless he wishes to share that knowledge.”
“My question wasn’t about him. It was about you.”
“It was about him too.” She passed a stone sculpture depicting a warrior at war, the light from a candle in a wall sconce flickering its soft light. “Maybe one day I shall tell you. For now though, all you need to know is that he is one of my dearest friends.”
“Men don’t keep ladies as friends.”
“Well, this lady does.” She reached her chamber, swept around and confronted him with her arms crossed and one foot tapping the floor. “Good night, Major.”
He caught a wayward strand of her golden hair and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her lobe for a moment too long before he suddenly straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. Clearing his throat and arching one brow, he said, “How is the man who was harmed at the cliffside excavation site?”
“He is on the mend. Una and the doctor will continue to look after him.”
“Does he recall the accident?”
“No, and he might never do so.”
“I see.” A breeze whistled through from an open door somewhere farther down the passageway, the wind causing her to shiver. The major shifted and blocked the breeze with his body then released his clasped hands and rubbed her arms. “Are you cold?”
“No, and would you please cease touching me.”
“I can’t help it. I tell myself not to, then I break my word every time. It’s most aggravating, although perhaps if you weren’t quite so alluring it would make things easier.” He caught one of her hands, lifted it to his lips and kissed the inside of her palm. “Good night, Miss Chalmers.”
Her heart lurched at his lingering kiss, at the way he continued to look deep into her eyes, at the way he didn’t move even an inch toward his chamber door. “Why do you torment me so?”
“It is you who torments me.” Dipping his head closer, his voice got thicker, huskier. “You’re beautiful and intelligent and fascinating. You draw me toward you as no other lady ever has, although if I’m being truthful, most of the time I’m doing my damnedest not to throttle you. You’re forever finding trouble.”
“I too hold the desire to throttle you.”
“You’re also a wonderful conversationalist.”
“I am? In what way?” She itched to p
ush the longer strands of his blond hair away from his brow so she could see his eyes better.
“Your understanding of the science of engineering is outstanding.”
“I’m a daughter taught at her father’s knee. The fact that I understand engineering so well isn’t any surprise at all.”
Footsteps tapped, and she searched the gloomy dark behind her.
Six-year-old Otis appeared around the corner with a three-legged stool in one hand and a candle in the other. Beside them, he set the stool on the stone floor with a rattle, clambered up and wobbled as he tried to set the candle into an empty holder, which would be impossible since the holder was gummed up with dried wax.
“Let me help you, Otis.” She swung the cook’s son from the stool and settled the child back on his feet. “I’ve told you before to ask me for help when replacing the candles. The floor of these passageways can be uneven in places and if you fall, you’ll get hurt.”
“I couldn’t find ye, miss.” Cheeks smeared with dirt and his big blue eyes wide, he handed her his candle.
“Well, now you have found me.”
“Here, allow me to change the candle.” Harry pinched it from her hand and with his dagger, scooped the caked wax clear of the holder and slotted the new candle in. No stool required.
Beaming, the boy heaved the stool into his arms and trotted away.
“Well, Major, our conversation has been enlightening, as per usual, but my bed awaits me and I’m—”
More footsteps, a far heavier clomp, like that of soldiers.
“Damn it,” the major muttered and opened her chamber door before dragging her inside and shutting it.
“What on earth are you doing?” Flabbergasted, all she could do was stare at him.
“I didn’t want to be caught standing outside your chamber.”
“Your chamber is right next door. You could have continued on.”
“My apologies, I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I should, which is your fault. You always muddle my mind when you’re so close.” He slid the bolt home and leaned one ear against the paneled wood.
“Can you hear anything?” She touched his shoulder as she leaned one ear to the door too, her chamber cozy and warm since one of the maids had already lit her fire.
“Whoever the men are, they’ve slowed their step.”
Her door handle suddenly rattled and she jerked back a step, shocked that one of the soldiers at St. Vincent’s would think to enter her chamber without knocking, or even enter at all.
“Which chamber did you say belongs to the Chalmers chit?” A gruff question from the other side of her door.
“This one right here.” Another rattle. “Maybe this is the major’s door. I could be wrong.”
Harry whispered in her ear, “That’s Greaves and Rogers. Their voices are unmistakable. Have they pestered you before?”
“No,” she whispered back.
“She gets me all hot and bothered,” muttered Greaves from outside, his gravelly tone now unmistakable to her too.
“The lass has the lips of a siren, all full and plump. She’d make a fine tumble. Better than the doxies, I’d be willing to wager.” Rogers’ sly voice, all conceited and egotistical. “Maybe she’s still with the healer. We’ll find her tomorrow and see if she’ll let us flip her skirts.”
She shuddered with disgust.
“Like hell they will,” the major muttered under his breath, his hands fisted.
She gripped his hands to keep him with her rather than having him storm out her door. They couldn’t be found together, not alone like this, not in the middle of the night.
Greaves and Rogers seemed to be done and their footsteps continued on down the passageway. Once they’d faded away, she tried to calm the man beside her. “Major, none of the soldiers here at the fort, or the men housed in the encampment in the valley below have ever trespassed at my door before.”
“I’ll knock their heads together first thing in the morning.” He thumped one fisted hand into the open palm of his other. “You’re the professor’s daughter, not one of the blasted camp wenches.”
“Major, no. You’re not to go into battle for me. I’ll ask Father to have a word with them. If you speak for me it’ll raise eyebrows, and likely not in a good way.” She laid a staying hand on his arm, his bicep ridged and hard underneath her fingers. So deliciously hard. She smoothed up and down over the ridge and butterflies stirred in her belly and whooshed all about.
“Miss Chalmers?” He growled low under his breath.
More butterflies. They swarmed now in number, making her lose a breath. Looking into his eyes, she struggled to regain the right momentum in her breathing again. This affliction wasn’t acceptable. It was bad enough his closeness usually caused her heart to skip a dratted beat. Now butterflies?
“Please, you can’t touch me like that.” Gently laying his hand over hers, he eased her fingers from his bicep and with a gruff snort, stepped away.
“I, ah, you’re right. My apologies.” Quick breaths in and out. Slower. She needed to breathe slower. Once she’d gotten her breathing back under control, she motioned to her door. “You should leave. I bid you a good night.”
“I can’t leave, not yet.” He lifted his hands. “Surely you know why?”
“Not particularly.”
“Until I’m assured those idiots don’t return, I must remain right here. I won’t allow your safety to be compromised.” He moved away, pacing her chamber from wall to wall, until her four-poster bed caught his attention. Halting next to her bed, he eyed the cream bedcovers. The pattern on the covers had always reminded her of spring, when dainty little flowers dotted the meadow. He ran a hand over the covers then touched the wine-colored bedcurtains. He jerked back, as if he’d burnt his hand on them. Swiping his fingers through his blond hair, he tossed his locks into a disheveled mess.
“You appear very tense, sir.”
“I shouldn’t be in your room.” He stuck a finger under his royal blue neckcloth and tugged. “Don’t you think it’s a little too warm in here? Can we douse the fire?”
“No.” Dousing her fire would plunge her room into darkness. She didn’t wish to be stuck in a dark room with him. “Why don’t you remove your dolman,” she offered instead.
“I’d rather not.”
“I don’t want you fainting on my floor.”
“Men don’t faint.”
“What do men do when they get too hot?”
“They get unsteady legs. That’s all.”
“Oh, I do apologize. Then I don’t wish for you to get unsteady legs. Come now. I’ll aid you in removing your dolman since you seem so opposed to doing it yourself.” Brushing her hands vigorously together, she stepped up to him, the fire at her back as she looked him in the eye. He appeared skeptical, but without another moment’s hesitation, she began unfastening the buttons of his heavily embroidered regimental jacket. One button. Two. Three. The distinct silver braids crossing the front of his dolman ran in long lines with loops at the sides. With him dressed in his uniform, she had to take rather slow breaths since there was nothing more invigorating than seeing him clothed in such fine garb.
“Please.” His throat worked hard as he swallowed. “Stop.”
“I’m almost there.” She slid the last button free, then moved in behind him and eased his jacket from his shoulders. She folded it so it wouldn’t crease, his fresh pine and spruce scent sweeping around her. Now, where could she put his jacket? Placing it on her bed seemed too personal, and there wasn’t another spare surface. The corner chair held a box of her father’s engineering journals. Her writing desk was cluttered with some of Una’s herbs which she’d borrowed. Perhaps her nightstand would do. It held a volume she was currently reading, but no matter. She set his dolman on top of the red leather-bound book.
“You smell nice,” he suddenly muttered, the fire’s glow flaring over his high cheeks and chiseled jaw.
“So do you.”
“You don�
��t need to return the compliment.”
“You’re right. You stink.”
He chuckled then slowly circled her, his gaze moving to her mouth. “Seven years of service I’ve given for my country as a hussar and in all that time I’ve never met anyone like you. Those men were right. You do have the lips of a siren, all full and plump, which make a man think sinful things. Which is why you shouldn’t have removed my dolman. I’m thinking the worst thoughts right now.”
“Do you think I’d make a fine tumble too?” She likely shouldn’t have said that or halted his circling by stepping directly in his path. At times her spontaneity got her into trouble. Pressing one hand against his shirtfront, she caught the fierce thumping of his heartbeat as it ricocheted against her palm. With the pulsing heat of her fire and his invigorating closeness, she felt a little faint herself. Unfortunately she also felt emboldened. “Would I be better than the wenches?”
“I’ve never bedded one of the wenches so I couldn’t rightfully say.”
“I thought all men took a tumble or two with one of the wenches.”
“Not this man.” He leaned in, his gaze so intent. “How about we take this conversation back a few steps. We need to cease talking about your lips and wenches, and instead just try to be friends.”
“You told me men don’t keep ladies as friends.”
“You told me that you do.” He groaned, dunked his nose in her hair and muttered, “I would like it immensely if you called me Harry.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m standing in your bedchamber with the door bolted, so yes, please call me Harry.”
“You have a very valid point, Harry.” She acknowledged his first name with a smile. “Please call me Julia.”
“Julia.” He suddenly slid his hands around her waist and leaned her back, until she had to grasp his arms or else topple over. With his lips a mere whisper from hers, he murmured, “That is the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard. Say yes.”
The Wartime Bride_Regency Romance Page 2
