A Mistress for Major Bartlett Read online

  She rested her head in her hands for a moment or two. There must be a way to allay her sister’s concerns without telling an outright lie.

  I am in Brussels, she wrote, with a defiant tilt to her chin. She didn’t want to keep her totally in the dark, the way her husband was so determined to keep her in the dark. It simply wasn’t right!

  But neither could she tell the whole truth.

  I think I went a little mad when Blanchards told me Gideon was dead. Of course, I know, really, that Blanchards wouldn’t lie to me about something like that, but then, he might have been mistaken, mightn’t he? The report might have been sent in error, or something. Anyway, I felt that I couldn’t believe it, the way you both did, without proof. I ended up going as far as the battlefield to search for answers and stumbled across Justin instead. He is gravely ill and needs constant care.

  That would give a good enough reason for her continued absence from Antwerp, without alerting Gussie to what was really going on. Justin needed constant care right enough, but it was Mary who was giving it. They’d managed to get Justin back to his lodgings, Mary had explained via a curt note, where she would now be staying so that she could nurse him without interruption from Sarah or anyone else.

  Even if Blanchards suspected she was being economical with the truth, he wouldn’t voice his suspicions. His first priority was to Gussie and his heir. His letter had revealed that he had already hidden the news of her absence from Antwerp. He would carry on doing what he could to shield Gussie from worry.

  Which was just as well, because if anyone found out that she was living with a man to whom she was not related, with no proper chaperon in place, there would be an almighty scandal. Which would reach as far as London, never mind Antwerp.

  Oh, dear. She really should have thought things through. She pressed her hand to her forehead as she went over everything she’d done since Blanchards had told them Gideon was dead.

  Dead.

  A shudder went through her. How could anyone think things through when they were given news like that? Of course she hadn’t thought things through. She’d just reacted.

  But at least she’d done what she could, since then, to mitigate some of the damage her behaviour might have caused. She’d gone to ground, as it were.

  That doctor was the only person who might possibly start spreading gossip. She frowned. But he could only do so if he knew who she was. She thought back over his visit, wondering if he’d ever once called her by name. No, he hadn’t. And with the amount of injured men he’d have to attend, given what she’d seen of the battlefield, he wouldn’t have time to concern himself over something as minor as her reputation even if he did know who she was.

  She hoped.

  So all she had to do was warn Madame le Brun that she wasn’t receiving visitors, if anybody by some remote chance did happen to discover she was back in Brussels, and her secret would be safe.

  ‘Angel? Are you there?’

  At the sound of his hoarse voice, Sarah leapt to her feet and went back to the bedside. She’d let him call her that while in the grip of fever, because there hadn’t seemed any point in correcting him. But now it dawned on her that even he didn’t know who she really was, either.

  He’d forgotten he’d ever seen her. Because she’d made no lasting impression on him.

  How depressing.

  ‘I’m here. I was only writing some letters. ‘

  He reached out and grabbed her hand as though his life depended on it.

  ‘Couldn’t see you. Thought you’d gone. Or that I imagined you perhaps.’

  ‘No. You didn’t imagine me. And I won’t go anywhere. Not until you are well enough to do without me.’

  ‘Then I hope I never get well,’ he said vehemently. Because when he was well, her family would take great care to keep her well away from a man like him.

  How did he know that?

  Because an image swam into his mind, of a girl on horseback, blushing because he’d winked at her. And snatches of her companion’s conversation drifting to his ears. For once I agree with Justin...

  Hell’s teeth, no wonder he’d had the feeling he knew this woman, even though he was sure he’d never spoken to her before. She was Colonel Randall’s precious, virginal little sister. Lady Sarah Latymor.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that!’

  Bless her, but Lady Sarah looked as though she really cared. Actually, he rather thought she did care, for some obscure reason. Else why would she be here, nursing him, when in the normal course of things, men like her brothers protected women like her from men like him?

  With good reason.

  ‘Why not? If it is true?’

  ‘Because,’ she said sternly, ‘I want you to get well.’

  Of course she did. As soon as he was well enough, she could walk out of his life again. For good. For some reason the prospect of never seeing her again was so distasteful he couldn’t help grimacing.

  ‘Oh. Do you have a pain? Do you want some more of this medicine the doctor left?’

  He started to shake his head, only to wince. ‘I hurt everywhere, but my head worst of all. It feels as if somebody’s tried to slice the top off it.’

  ‘They pretty much did. Let me fetch you that laudanum.’

  ‘No. Not yet. It makes me sleepy. And I want...’ He squeezed her fingers, absurdly grateful to discover that she hadn’t pulled her hand away from his.

  ‘Talk to me? Just for a while.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said, squeezing his hand back. And then cleared her throat. ‘This may seem a funny question for me to ask. But, do you know your name?’

  Only too well. And yet... ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The surgeon seemed to think you may have trouble remembering things.’

  Perhaps there was a God, after all. He hated feeling this weak, but he’d never got anywhere near Lady Sarah when he’d been fit and active. Now here he was, holding hands with her, in a bedroom of all places.

  The thing was, if he admitted he knew who he was, then he’d also have to admit that he knew she shouldn’t be in this bedroom.

  Not that she was doing anything wrong. No—it was one thing her flouting convention to nurse a wounded man. Quite another for that wounded man to permit her to do it, if he knew that just being seen talking with him, in a public street, would have been enough to stain her lily-white reputation. He’d be up on a charge. Cashiered out of the regiment. Or maybe just shot. Because Colonel Randall had made it plain that none of his officers was fit to kiss the hem of her gown.

  He wasn’t. But before she returned to the safety of her oh-so-respectable family, he promised himself, he’d do more than kiss the hem of her gown. He’d taste those fastidious lips of hers.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he purred, ‘I would prefer to forget some things.’

  ‘Does that mean you don’t know who you are?’ She looked appalled.

  His conscience, an attribute he’d never thought he possessed, gave him an uncomfortable nudge in the ribs. It wasn’t fair to repay Lady Sarah’s kindness by putting on an act that worried her.

  Though it wasn’t as if he’d set his sights on seducing her. He never bothered seducing women, even the ones that very plainly weren’t virgins. He just bedded them if they were willing, walked away from them if they were not.

  She most definitely would not be willing. But he couldn’t walk away from her. He couldn’t walk anywhere. In fact, even if he’d woken up to find himself in the bed of a rapacious widow, he wouldn’t be able to rise to the occasion.

  Lady Sarah was safer than she knew.

  He gave her a rueful sort of smile, hoping it made him look confused, as well as utterly innocent.

  ‘For today, do I have to be anyone in particular? Couldn’t you just call me...’ His smile turned a touch mischievo
us. ‘Just call me Sir.’

  Just as he’d hoped, Sarah’s concerned expression relaxed into something approaching amusement.

  ‘Well, at least you remember you are an officer in the army.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘And I suspect I enjoy giving orders.’

  She pulled a face. ‘So I suppose you’d like me to jump to attention and salute you, too, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, with complete honesty. The last thing he wanted was to have any woman behave in such a subservient manner. He liked his women to be with him because it was what they wanted. He liked them enthusiastic, and inventive, and...

  His mouth went dry. Good lord, but it was dangerous, picturing this girl being enthusiastic and inventive.

  ‘What I’d really like,’ he said, lowering his eyelids into a practised smoulder, since, he reasoned, there wasn’t any harm in testing the waters, ‘is for you to kiss me. As my nurse, don’t you think it is your duty to kiss me better?’

  Her face flushed as her lips pursed up in disapproval.

  ‘That does not form part of my duties.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’d like to do it for pleasure, then?’

  To his surprise, she didn’t automatically say no. She looked at him thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side.

  His heart hammered in his chest, making his blood pound through his veins, just because she was thinking about kissing him. If she actually bent forward, and pressed her lips to his, the wounds in his head would probably burst, killing him on the spot.

  But what a way to go.

  ‘Kill me...’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, kiss me, Angel. And let me die a happy man.’

  For a moment she looked as though she was still toying with the idea. She actually swayed forward in her seat. But then she shook her head and sat back.

  ‘No. It won’t do. You don’t know who you are, nor who I am. You are confused and weak, and don’t know what you are saying.’

  Damn. He should have told her there was nothing wrong with his memory, in spite of what the doctor had said.

  She snatched her hand away, then, as though she’d just become aware he was still holding it.

  ‘Besides, you don’t really mean it, do you? I’m not the kind of girl men want to kiss.’

  ‘What? Why would you say that?’ He wouldn’t have been surprised if prim Lady Sarah had slapped his face for impertinence. But never would he have dreamed she’d think he was offering her false coin.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? Or did the blow to your head knock all the sense out of it along with your memory?’

  ‘Possibly,’ he acknowledged slowly. One moment he’d decided he wasn’t going to do any more than flirt with her, just a little, the next he was imagining her climbing on top of him and taking all sorts of liberties while he was helpless to resist. And then asking if she wouldn’t mind kissing him, just to get things started. That wasn’t the way to deal with a society princess. No wonder she looked so offended.

  ‘But I do want to kiss you,’ he admitted. Then, deciding to turn the conversation away from his murky motives, added, ‘And to be honest, I don’t understand why you think other men don’t.’

  ‘Well, just look at my face. The nose. It looks aristocratic and manly on my brothers. But on a female, well...’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I don’t want men to kiss me.’ She shuddered in what looked like genuine revulsion.

  Which made him feel a little better. At least it wasn’t him, specifically, she didn’t want to kiss.

  She’d always had a sort of cool air about her, now he came to think of it. She hadn’t appeared to favour any of the men who’d clustered round her.

  Had a sort of untouchable quality to her that had made some of them, men like her twin brother’s commanding officer, look upon her as a challenge to their masculinity.

  At that moment, an immense black dog shambled up to the bed, got his front paws on to the mattress and gave his face a hearty, thorough licking.

  ‘Good grief, it’s Dog,’ he exclaimed, temporarily forgetting he was supposed to have lost his memory. ‘Where did you come from?’ He ruffled the dog’s velvety ears.

  ‘Ben, get down,’ said Lady Sarah sharply. ‘Tom isn’t well enough for that sort of play.’

  So she knew his name was Tom. And she was calling the dog Ben, too, the way some of the men had started to do, the last few days.

  ‘Well, at least someone wants to kiss me.’ He laughed, as Dog’s whole body wriggled in joyous greeting.

  She pulled the dog off him. But he couldn’t help noticing that for all her sharp manner, she’d glanced at his mouth—albeit briefly—with a sort of fascination. As though she wouldn’t mind finding out what a kiss would be like.

  Which was a start.

  But if he was ever going to get that kiss, he’d have to find out why she’d shuddered with revulsion at the mere prospect. Which meant getting her to talk to him. Trust him.

  But what did a man like him have in common with a girl like her? What could they talk about?

  Well, there was always the dog.

  ‘How on earth did you come to have Dog?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, taking the hound’s head between her hands and gazing into his eyes with a familiarity that caused Tom a pang of something that felt a lot like envy. ‘We sort of rescued each other, on the road to the Forest of Soignes. He was tied to one of the baggage wagons, which got overturned when a band of cowardly Hussars came pell-mell along the road from the battlefield. And he was so scared. I couldn’t leave him trapped like that, could I?’

  Tom looked at her with new respect. He could just imagine how the dog would react, tethered and scared. It would have been all snapping teeth and frantic attempts to get free. He didn’t think he knew any men who would have gone near Ben in that condition.

  Not that he could say anything. He wasn’t supposed to know who he was, let alone recall all the instances when he’d witnessed this dog in action.

  Though, come to think of it, he’d already given himself away by admitting he recognised Dog. Not that Lady Sarah had taken any notice of his slip.

  ‘And then,’ she said, ruffling the dog’s ears, ‘he returned the favour by chasing off a nasty deserter who’d been trying to steal Castor—that’s my horse—while I’d crawled under the wagon and wasn’t paying attention. But you saw him off, didn’t you?’ she said, petting the dog’s flanks. ‘Yes, you did. You are a good boy.’

  The thought of Lady Sarah facing such peril, with only the flea-bitten hound to look after her, made his blood run cold.

  She’d crawled under a wagon to help just about the most intimidating dog he’d ever come across, then had to face a deserter attempting to steal her horse? And she was speaking of it just as though she was relating an outing to the shops. What would it take to ruffle her aristocratic sang-froid?

  His imagination promptly supplied a whole slew of highly improper activities where she’d end up distinctly ruffled.

  The dog’s tongue lolled out in ecstasy as she patted and stroked him. He shut his own mouth firmly to make sure he wasn’t doing anything similar.

  ‘And we’ve been inseparable ever since. Haven’t we, Ben?’

  ‘Ever since?’ He looked at the window and the sunlight streaming through it. And recalled the endless hours of confusion and fever. ‘How long have I been here? What day is it, now?’

  ‘It’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Tuesday?’ She’d been nursing him for the best part of two days. Not that long for him to lie semi-conscious, after what his body had been through. Thirst and loss of blood would have weakened him to the point where he didn’t know who he was, or where he was, even without the blow to the head. So he had some excuse for being right where he was.

  But what was her excuse? What was she doing in Br
ussels at all? The civilians had all fled last Friday, from what he’d heard.

  And why had nobody come looking for her?

  He turned away from the window to look at her. And noted a slight flush staining her cheeks.

  The hussy! She knew full well she shouldn’t be here with him. Not now he was awake. Yet she wasn’t making any attempt to leave.

  It wasn’t because she’d developed a tendre for him, that was for sure. She shuddered at the mere idea of kissing.

  So what was she doing with him?

  If only he could simply ask her. But if he did that, they’d be dealing with truths he wasn’t yet ready to face.

  He lowered his eyelids and studied her awkward posture, the very self-conscious way she was petting the dog now, as an excuse to avoid looking back at him, he’d guess.

  ‘You know,’ he said with mock severity, ‘since we have established that I am simply an officer in the army, with no past and no name, and therefore nothing I can tell you, it is up to you to sustain the conversation.’

  Her eyes flew to his, a little spark of outrage flashing at his temerity in touching on her social obligations. Because she was the kind of girl who normally stuck rigidly to all the rules of etiquette.

  Still, now he had her looking at him again. He’d made her forget her awkwardness at being here.

  ‘And I do like the sound of your voice,’ he admitted with complete sincerity. Even the hint of exasperation in it, when he’d been half out of his mind with fever, had been strangely comforting. Had sort of grounded him.

  ‘Besides, I am too weak to strain myself with talk. I shall just lie here and listen to you while you entertain me.’

  ‘You...you are a complete hand!’

  He nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I rather suspect I am. But what are you, apart from my guardian angel? Do you have a name? No—’ He pulled himself up. If she told him her real name, then he’d be obliged to acknowledge her relationship to his commanding officer. That was, if he owned up to not suffering from memory loss. Which he wasn’t ready to do, not yet, even if he didn’t want her to believe in it. Hell, but this was getting complicated enough to give him a headache, if he hadn’t already got one.