A Mistress for Major Bartlett Page 12

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, with a quick frown. ‘Has something happened?’

  Nothing she could confess. Only stupid things that had gone on inside her own head, which she hung in shame.

  And caught sight of the hat she was clutching in nervous fingers.

  ‘I don’t like this hat,’ she said inanely, ‘anywhere near as much as the one I lost that day I went searching the battlefield.’ It was either that, or blurt out her confused, contradictory reactions to seeing him properly clothed, instead of all naked and tempting. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter. The riding habit it matched had to be burned, anyway.’

  ‘Never mind your hat. Or your gown. I know that isn’t what is upsetting you.’

  ‘No. You are right.’ She went to the window and stood looking out for a moment or two, gathering the strength to turn round and face him again. The new Tom. Or was it the true Tom? She blinked away her confusion. Whichever it was, it was no longer her Tom, that was what was upsetting her.

  ‘It is the terrible waste of it all,’ she said, instead. ‘So many men, young men at that, with nobody to care what becomes of them, from the looks of it. Oh, the citizens are doing what they can. Taking them food and drink. And some of the hotels are putting straw down for them to make them more comfortable. But I just...’ She wound the stings of her hat round and round her fingers. ‘I wish I could do something.’

  ‘You are doing something. You are nursing me. You saved me, Lady Sarah.’

  ‘Yes. Thank goodness your men brought you here. I’ve heard some officers, ones who went back to their own billets, died while waiting to get medical attention. So I know I saved you. But you are just one. And there are so many more of them out there.’ She waved her hand towards the window. Her hat caught at the potted geranium, spraying the sill with blood-red petals. ‘And I feel so helpless. I dare say,’ she muttered darkly, ‘Mary has turned her school into a regular hospital by now.’

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘Mary Endacott. The woman...’ She’d been about to say, the woman who was going to marry Justin. But who knew how that was going to end?

  ‘The woman who helped me make my way to the battlefield, to search for my brother. The one who is nursing him, now. She’s so capable, so organised. I’m sure she won’t be stretched to her limits nursing just one man.’

  ‘Lady Sarah, don’t disparage yourself this way. What you have done for me is nothing short of miraculous. I never thought—’

  ‘No. And nor would anyone else think me able to cope with anything so real as stitching up wounds or nursing a sick man through a fever. A social butterfly, that’s all I am.’

  ‘No, Lady Sarah. You are so much more than that.’

  ‘What?’ She flung her poor abused riding hat across the room in vexation. ‘What more to me is there than fashionable clothes and insipid conversation?’

  ‘Loyalty,’ he replied without a second’s hesitation. ‘To your brother. Not many society women would stir themselves out of their safe drawing rooms to go hunting for an injured brother. Nor take pity on anyone else, if she didn’t find who she was looking for. Nor put themselves through such an ordeal. Most society women would have turned me over to the care of servants, rather than contaminate their fair little hands with my blood, my sweat.’

  ‘No, I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘Oh, but it is. This Mary person may be more used to dealing with practical matters, if she’s a schoolmistress. But don’t compare your greatness of heart to her ability to cope with things as a matter of course.’

  Heavens, no wonder she wanted her first kiss to come from his lips. He might not mean the half of what he said, kissing her might mean nothing to him, but oh, how she wanted to believe he admired her. He kept on making her feel as if there was something about her, apart from her title and wealth. As if he’d seen something in her that nobody else ever had.

  She smiled at him sadly.

  ‘You are so sweet, Tom, to say things like that. But—’

  ‘I’m only saying it because I believe it. Lady Sarah, you may have led a sheltered life up till now, but these few days have shown what you really are, deep inside. And what you are is brave and compassionate, and kind. You haven’t run from your fears, or hidden behind propriety. You just rolled your sleeves up and did what had to be done.’

  Perhaps that was what she should do now. Roll up her sleeves, take his face between her hands and show him what she needed.

  Her heart banging against her ribs, she went to the bed and sat down. Reached out her hand.

  But what if he didn’t really mean all those things he said? What if he didn’t find her attractive?

  Instead of leaning forward and kissing him, she just took the hand he held out to her and pressed it to her cheek.

  ‘Oh, Tom.’ No wonder he was so successful with women. He knew exactly what to say to make them feel good about themselves. To make their hearts melt with tenderness towards him. To want to press kisses all over his dear, battered face.

  This was what made rakes so dangerous. This was exactly why she avoided them.

  Fortunately, Madame le Brun came in just then, with another tray of soup and freshly baked bread, before she could summon up the courage to really make a fool of herself.

  And after they’d eaten, she took care to keep the atmosphere light.

  * * *

  But as night drew on and the time for going to bed loomed ever closer, Sarah became more and more aware that tonight it was all going to be very different. The impropriety of sharing a room with Tom when he’d been crazed with fever hadn’t bothered her very much at all. Besides, she’d remained fully dressed, since there hadn’t been the time, or the opportunity, to change into her nightwear.

  But tonight he was in his right mind. And even though she’d had Gaston install a screen between his bed and the pallet she was going to use, it still felt positively scandalous to come into his room in her nightgown, rather than her day clothes. Especially when she’d been thinking about kissing him, on and off, all afternoon.

  Not that he’d shown any inclination to attempt anything improper, she sighed, flicking her braided hair over her shoulder. For all his talk about her being loyal and brave, and compassionate, he hadn’t said anything about her being desirable.

  Not that she wanted him to, she huffed as she lay down on the pallet and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Not now her fit of jealousy, or whatever it was, when she’d thought about him kissing someone else, had worn off. She didn’t want that kind of attention from such a notorious rake. It would be terribly wearing, having to fend him off all the time.

  And she would fend him off. Of course she would.

  She turned on her side and thumped the pillow into shape. She mustn’t forget that if he did attempt to seduce her, it would only be because it was his nature to try to bed the nearest available woman. She had too much pride to join the long line of women who’d fallen prostrate at his feet.

  Even if he asked her to.

  Which he hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

  She turned over again, vainly trying to find a comfortable position. Which was impossible when she was so very aware of him lying there, not four feet away, clad only in a nightshirt, so far as she could tell.

  But her eyelids soon grew too heavy to hold open. She hadn’t slept in more than brief snatches for days. Had worked harder, and been through more than she ever had in her whole life.

  And, according to Tom, had learned what she was really made of. She’d always known she didn’t have what it took to be a brilliant social hostess like Gussie, she might not have any interest in all the worthy causes that so fired up her other sister Harriet, she might not be practical and clever like Mary, but for the first time in her life, none of that seemed to matter.

  Loyal and brave, he’d said. Co
mpassionate and kind.

  Those things were all much better than being clever, or accomplished, weren’t they? At least, the way he’d said it sounded as though he thought so.

  Which made her almost believe it, too.

  * * *

  How he wished he hadn’t said he didn’t need anything for the pain. It was all very well hating the way it clouded his mind. And he certainly didn’t want to end up craving it, the way he’d seen so many men fall victim to laudanum once it got its hooks into them.

  But nor did he relish lying here, wide-awake, feeling like one enormous bruise. Everything ached. Everything.

  He slid one hand under the sheet, seeking to ease the place he ached most of all. The one ache he could do something about, for himself.

  He must be on the mend, if that could be giving him so much trouble.

  It had started to sit up and take notice the moment Lady Sarah had left the room to go and prepare for bed. There was a little room, a room that had been her maid’s when she’d stayed here before, she’d told him, which she was now using as a dressing room. Which was right next door. Her washstand must be on the other side of the wall from the head of his bed, because he’d distinctly heard the sound of water being poured into a basin. And splashing. His imagination had supplied the rest. He’d imagined buttons unpopping. Clothing slithering to the floor. Porcelain-white skin, all wet and soapy. Water running down her body just where he wanted to run his hands. Then, of course, she’d rub herself dry with a towel. Her face first, and then her arms, her legs, her breasts...

  His breath quickened. He whipped his hand away, clenching it into a fist. What was he doing? He couldn’t sully her with his lustful imaginings, when she was lying there, unaware. It felt so wrong.

  He stifled a groan as the ropes of her pallet creaked. She was turning over. Trying in vain to get comfortable, because he’d taken possession of her bed. And now she was throwing the blankets off. Because she was too hot. Well, it was a hot and sultry night.

  He was certainly sweating. Was she?

  His mouth watered at the thought of swiping his tongue over her neck, down, over her breasts, tasting the salt of her. The woman taste of her. He wanted to lick her all over, until she moaned with pleasure.

  Right on cue, she did moan. Shifted on her bed, just as though she was responding to his unclean thoughts.

  He pressed the heels of his hands over his ears. Reached over his head for his pillow. Pulled it over his face.

  But it couldn’t block out the sound of Sarah’s sudden, strangled scream.

  Tom flung the pillow aside. Of course she wasn’t lying there dreaming of an earthy encounter with him. He sat up as she moaned again. No—by the sound of it, she was having a nightmare.

  A pretty nasty one, if he was any judge. She was whimpering now. And from the way the screen suddenly rattled, she’d flung out her hand to ward off...something.

  He got out of bed, planted his feet on the floor and waited a second or two for the room to stop spinning. Then tottered the few feet to the end of the screen, rounded it and stood looking down at her. His breath caught. God, but she was lovely, lying in the abandoned sprawl of sleep. She’d kicked off all her blankets, and rucked her nightgown up to her knees. A gentleman wouldn’t let his eyes linger, but he couldn’t help savouring the sight of her beautiful, shapely legs.

  ‘Lady Sarah,’ he murmured gently, dropping to his knees at her side. ‘Wake up.’

  She whimpered again. In the feeble light that made it to this darkened corner of the room from his bedside candle, he could see silvery trails of tears streaking her cheeks, which brought him to his senses. No longer did he want to run his hands over those invitingly bared legs. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and comfort her.

  ‘Lady Sarah,’ he said again, a little louder. ‘You are having a nightmare.’

  He reached down and shook her shoulder gently. Her eyes flew open wide.

  ‘Tom!’ Before he had a chance to explain that he had a perfectly innocent explanation for kneeling over her as she slept, she’d flung her arms round his neck and buried her face against him.

  ‘Oh, Tom, it was horrible. Horrible!’

  ‘It’s over now. It was just a nightmare.’ He put his arms round her. Inhaled the fragrance of sleepy woman. The scent that was normally a prelude to becoming intimate.

  He gritted his teeth. That wasn’t what Sarah needed from him tonight. She wasn’t an experienced woman looking for a good time, but a vulnerable young lady who’d only stumbled into his life by accident. And what she needed after a nightmare was to feel safe, secure.

  Actually, tonight she probably would be perfectly safe from him, even if his conscience wasn’t shouting at him like a regimental sergeant-major. He simply wasn’t fit enough to do her any real mischief.

  ‘No.’ She shuddered. ‘It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was Gideon...and...’

  She went still. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

  ‘You were crying out. So...’

  ‘I woke you? Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Lord, Sarah, you’ve lost enough sleep sitting up with me through my nightmares this past couple of days.’

  ‘That’s not the same. You were wounded.’

  ‘And you weren’t?’

  ‘I meant physically.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’

  ‘I wasn’t hacked at by French cavalry, then buried for hours under a pile of rubble,’ she replied tartly. ‘Come on, Tom, let’s get you back to bed.’

  He leaned back on his heels. ‘You don’t think I can make it there on my own?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? This is the first time you’ve been out of bed. And I don’t want all my hard work undone by having you go off into a swoon, or something. Then we’d have to wake up Gaston to carry you back, because I certainly don’t have the strength.’

  He could hear the concern in her voice though she was covering it up by saying she was only being practical.

  She’d just suffered a horrific nightmare, yet she was trying to put his needs first.

  Although—he glanced at her as she got her shoulder under his and helped him to his feet—perhaps doing something for him was helping her to push the nightmare aside. After all, that’s what she’d been doing with him for the past few days. Nursing him had been salving her own hurt at not being able to do anything for either of her brothers.

  So he let her lead him back to bed, where he meekly lay down while she tucked a sheet round his chest. The exertion of walking to her bed and back had dealt a deathblow to his arousal, thank goodness, or he wouldn’t have been able to look her in the face.

  ‘There. Comfortable?’

  Not entirely.

  He nodded.

  ‘Good. Well, I should go back to bed, now.’ She glanced over at the screen and gave an almost imperceptible shudder.

  ‘Don’t want to shut your eyes again, just yet?’ He reached for her hand, and she took it. Clung to it. Shook her head. Then sat down in the chair beside his bed, her back ramrod straight, her eyes huge in her chalk-white face.

  ‘And the last thing you want is to talk about it, I dare say,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I don’t think I could talk about the ones I’ve had, the last few nights. They were so hellish. Bits of things that had really happened, all mixed up with horrors I didn’t know I was capable of imagining.’

  ‘Yes—’ she gasped ‘—it was just like that. The bodies.’ She gripped his hand so tightly that it was only then he became aware that formerly it had been just about the only part of him that hadn’t hurt. ‘Bodies everywhere. All hacked to bits. Or lying in the street, begging me for water when I didn’t have any to give them. B-but they all of them had Gideon’s face.’
Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper, her mouth quivering with repressed pain and tears.

  Propriety be damned. She needed more than just a hand to hold. Uttering an oath, he tugged her down on to his chest and wrapped his arms round her. Rocked her.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ he grated. ‘He didn’t go through any of that.’

  ‘How do you know? How can you know what he went through?’

  ‘Well, I don’t, that’s true. But...’ He shifted uncomfortably. He’d thought he’d never speak of the things that had leapt up and leered at him through his fevered dreams. But Sarah needed to hear that what she was experiencing happened to other people, too.

  ‘One of the nightmares I had, over and over again, was about a woman. A pregnant woman we discovered after we’d driven the French out of a Portuguese village. It was about the worst thing I’d ever seen. But she’s been dead for years now. So why did she leap out at me again last night? Right in the middle of all the things I was reliving from the battle that had just happened? It is as if the worst things, the things you won’t allow yourself to think about while you’re awake, jump out to taunt you when you’re powerless to stop them.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘I had been thinking about Gideon. That he might have lain there, alone and broken, like all the others I saw. And then, when I went to sleep, what I’d really seen got all jumbled up with the things I’d been fearing.’

  She was shaking. Trembling all over, as though gripped by a fever.

  His heart went out to her. He’d already established that she wasn’t in any real danger from him tonight. Even if his conscience couldn’t keep his lustful nature in check, in his weakened state, she’d have no trouble tipping him out of bed if he forgot himself. Besides, he wanted to comfort her, not seduce her. To repay her for all she’d done for him. Couldn’t he, just once, give a woman something apart from an orgasm?

  ‘Stay here with me for the rest of the night,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Let me keep your nightmares at bay, the way you kept mine from me.’