A Rose for Major Flint (Brides of Waterloo) Read online

  ‘And treat her right, Flint, or I’ll have you gelded.’

  ‘Just what I told my Spanish stallion yesterday, my lord.’

  The older man threw back his head and laughed, a sharp bark of reluctant humour, and Flint laughed with him. His was a diplomatic laugh, the acknowledgement of mutual amusement that he might offer a senior officer who had cracked a joke during a briefing. He was not fooled for one moment by the viscount’s laughter. Beneath that moment of mirth was a proud man who was hating this accommodation he was having to make for his daughter’s sake. That makes two of us.

  *

  Lady Thetford’s boudoir was above the drawing room. With the windows open in the June heat the sound of male voices from below reached the two women sitting silent amidst the feminine comfort of pale blue upholstery, vases of roses and soft carpets. The deep voices had not risen in anger yet, no doors had slammed. Adam was presumably gritting his teeth and accepting the blame, just as he had said he would. He must be hating this, his pride would be shredded.

  The disloyal, nagging suspicion about her dowry surfaced and was firmly pushed aside. He could not have known. She felt guilty about having those thoughts about Adam.

  ‘If you twist that ribbon any harder it will be in shreds,’ her mother said, her own sodden handkerchief a knot between her fingers. ‘And look at the state of your hands. Your maid must find a pair of chicken-skin gloves for you to wear at night.’

  Rose looked down at her tense fingers. The thin red marks where the briar had scratched her were fading, but she had broken several nails and the skin had caught the sun on that long ride back from the battlefield. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said. She had been proud of her soft white hands. How foolish that seemed now, set against all the other things to worry about.

  ‘What is taking so long?’ her mother demanded. ‘Oh, that it should come to this, to you having to marry a man like that.’

  ‘You mean a courageous officer who has risen on merit? A man who saved my life? A gentleman who was a guest at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball?’

  ‘A baseborn man. A hardened soldier.’

  ‘That hardened soldier saved me from rape and probably death, Mama. He killed four men for me.’ Her mother went white and closed her eyes as though in pain.

  Laughter floated up from the room below. Adam’s rarely heard laugh sounded genuine. What was amusing him? What could possibly be amusing about this situation? Rose stood and went to lean over the windowsill.

  ‘Catherine! Stop that this moment—what if someone sees you?’

  After a second Rose recalled who Catherine was and moved away from the casement.

  ‘The major seems pleased enough with the prospect of marrying you,’ Lady Thetford said, her lips pursed. ‘He must think his ship has come in and no mistake.’

  Adam was no fool. No saint either. He was a practical, pragmatic man who could not be expected to ignore the benefits of marrying a well-dowered viscount’s daughter. After all, none of the gentlemen who had courted her disregarded her dowry or her breeding. Why should he? But he would no more let that weigh in his decision to marry her than he would betray his country to the enemy and she was ashamed that she had doubted him for a second.

  ‘I have to accept him first.’ She tugged at the sash cord and watched the window slide down with a soft thud. She did not want to hear any more evidence of Adam’s good humour.

  A tap on the door broke into the awkward silence. ‘Yes, Heale?’ Her mother was the picture of composure, her back ramrod straight, the twisted handkerchief out of sight.

  ‘Major Flint would be obliged if Miss Tatton would join him in the drawing room, my lady.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her mother waited until the butler had withdrawn before she let her shoulders slump again. ‘I imagine any attempt at chaperonage is pointless, you had better go and see what he has to say for himself.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ Best to be obedient in everything that she could. But how was she ever to satisfy her conscience, her desires and her duty when they were all pulling in different directions?

  *

  Adam was alone in the drawing room when she went in. He stood in front of the empty hearth, hands clasped behind his back, head lowered as if in thought. It was exactly the position the other men who had offered for her hand had taken, she realised with an unsettling return of unwanted memories. Perhaps there was a rule book for a gentleman about to make an offer.

  ‘Miss Tatton.’ He lifted his head as she closed the door and there was no light in the blue eyes, no smile on the firm lips.

  ‘Major Flint.’ She dropped a nicely calculated curtsy. Two could play at this game of masks.

  ‘I have your father’s consent to ask if you will do me the honour of giving me your hand in marriage.’ It appeared that all men used the same textbook for the words as well. Falling to one knee and kissing her hand appeared to be optional, however.

  ‘Thank you, Major. While I am most appreciative of your flattering offer, I regret I must decline. We would not suit, I fear.’ And that was the answer she always gave.

  The textbook response to her refusal would be a manly statement of regret and the hope that further consideration might change her mind. This she would counter by a kind, but firm, negative. The gentleman would bow and leave with further well-bred statements along the lines of his desire to always be a friend and of service to her.

  It appeared that Adam had tossed the textbook aside after the first two pages. ‘I fear that is not an acceptable reply, Miss Tatton. Your father and I are in full agreement that you must marry me.’

  ‘And I, Major Flint, being of age, cannot be bound by whatever cosy agreements you and my father have come to about the disposition of my person.’

  At which point the textbook was not so much tossed aside as hurled through the window. ‘So that is what this is about?’ Adam demanded. ‘You have taken against being told what to do? You’ll ignore what is right, what is honourable, simply because you’ve some damned romantic notion in your head about true love.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I apologise for my language.’

  ‘You sneer at my damned romantic notions, but you do want my damned person?’ Rose enquired and tasted blood as her teeth closed over her lower lip.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Oh, yes, I want your body and you have shown every indication of wanting mine,’ Adam said drily. His gaze caressed her mouth, then hardened. ‘What have you done? There is blood on your lip.’

  The square of white linen he offered her was pristine. Maggie’s laundry, Rose thought with a stab of homesickness for the simple uncomplicated warmth of that house. She took it from his outstretched hand, expecting him to move in closely and dab at the sore lip himself. But he was angry, she guessed. Angry and keeping his distance from her, the cause of the thoroughly unpleasant day he must be experiencing.

  They stared at each other while she pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, smelling the clean tang of starch and soap. ‘One of us is going to have to say something,’ Adam remarked after the silence had hung heavy between them for a while.

  ‘I have said it. No.’

  ‘It is not an acceptable response. Not for your parents, not for my honour. Certainly not for your welfare or for that of the child you may be carrying.’ His accent was indistinguishable from the well-born gentlemen he had learned to imitate, without a trace of the faint country burr she had grown to love. That was the voice he used to speak to his men, his horse, his dog and, when he had believed her to be his social equal, the voice he had used to her.

  Whatever the choices Adam would willingly have made about his future, now it seemed he had accepted there was only one. He was going to mould himself into an English gentleman for her whether she wanted that or not.

  ‘Your father tells me you have always held out for a love match. I am sorry for that, sorry for sneering at the notion just now. But if you do not marry me, I doubt you will be able to hide from another man that you are no longer a
virgin.’

  Rose sat down blindly on the nearest chair, jarring her spine when it proved to be an upright one and not the armchair she was expecting.

  A love match? I could love you, Adam Flint. Perhaps I already do. But I have entrapped you when your only fault was to save a woman from an awful fate and then to fail to recognise that she was not what all the evidence proclaimed her to be. And now, even if I ever do find the right man for me, I have to hope he will be uncommonly forgiving.

  ‘Rose, don’t cry. It is not going to help.’

  ‘I am not.’ Then she realised she had pressed the handkerchief to her eyes to shut the world out, not to absorb any tears from her dry eyes. He must think she was trying to gain his sympathy, to soften him, as if that was possible. ‘Yes, I want a love match.’ She clasped her hands around the handkerchief in her lap. She did not want Adam to believe she would try to manipulate him by weeping.

  He sat down on the matching chair facing hers, his forearms on his knees, head bent as if in thought. Or perhaps just to avoid looking at her and letting her see exasperation with her stubbornness on his face. ‘You had held out through several Seasons against proposals of marriage. Why, then, did you elope with Haslam only to decide within hours that you did not love him?’

  ‘Why indeed? You think I haven’t asked myself that, over and over again? There are still things I cannot recall, things that do not make sense, but I know I have always felt like that about marriage and I have always felt repelled by the Marriage Mart.’

  Rose swallowed, wondering how much she could safely admit. What if he told her parents that there were still gaps in her memory and they sent for a doctor, someone as cold and unfeeling as Lieutenant Foster? But she could tell Adam. ‘When I try to think about Gerald, really force myself to think about what happened, I hear that scream in my head again.’

  ‘Then you must not force it.’ He sounded as clinical as Lieutenant Foster. She could feel his eyes on her, almost hear him thinking. ‘You do not want to tell your parents that things are not right with your memory yet, do you?’

  ‘No. And how can I make a decision about this?’ She swept her hand out in a gesture that encompassed him, the room, her every fear and frustration. ‘How do I know who I am, what I believe, while I still cannot remember everything?’

  ‘I believe you will recover all your memories,’ Adam said slowly. ‘Just that not all of them are accessible at the moment.’

  ‘Is that all it is?’ She wanted so much to believe him. ‘But I have changed, haven’t I? I am not the woman you rescued, Adam.’

  ‘She was there the whole time. I have seen what battle can do to the strongest, bravest man. I have seen soldiers stunned by the noise, the horror, the exhaustion until there was nothing but an empty shell. Not all of them came back, but you did. It would be a miracle if you were whole again in days, even weeks. Wounds take time to heal, Rose, whether they are of the body or the mind.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He might have spoken as he would to any traumatised fellow officer, but at least he was showing he understood. She wanted to climb into his embrace, be held by those strong arms, be looked after and comforted. She wanted, weakly, to let him carry all the burden of what she had done. She was stronger than that, surely? ‘You are very kind to me, you always have been. But I cannot marry you, trap you that way.’ She bit her lip. ‘Unless there is a child.’

  ‘When will you know whether or not you are with child?’

  That she knew with certainty now that her memory was coming back to her. ‘Four days.’

  ‘Whether you are with child or not, I am going to marry you, Rose. I am going to court you, very publically. If you are with child then we will marry as soon as may be. If you are not, we can afford a little more time. You agree?’

  ‘Yes…’ She would not do to a child of hers what had been done to Adam, saddling the poor babe with a lifetime of being thought second best because of his parentage. Adam would stop at nothing to prevent that, she was certain, and he was right. ‘I agree to that, but if I am not pregnant, then I do not expect you to abide by this. I wish you would listen to what my sense of honour dictates, as well as your own.’

  He smiled then. It was a trifle wry, but it was a smile. ‘You mean your sense of honour allows you to trifle with me, Miss Tatton? You seduced me and now you want to cast me aside?’

  ‘Oh, you—’ Reluctantly she laughed. And perhaps he was right, perhaps she had taken something from him at the same time as she surrendered her virginity that night.

  ‘How do you propose to go about courting me?’ There was no point in labouring this now, somehow she must try to discover what the right thing was for both of them.

  ‘I must be guided by you. I am out of practice—’ He checked himself. ‘I am not in the habit of wooing respectable young ladies.’

  But you have once? And it did not end well, quite obviously. ‘You could call tomorrow and take me walking in the Parc at the fashionable hour; that would be a good start. After that I will see if we receive any invitations. Mama will be doing her best as soon as she recovers a little, I have no doubt.’

  ‘Invitations?’ Adam sounded as though she expected him to attend a witches’ coven.

  ‘Of course. I doubt there will be balls or any large events. Too many people will be in mourning. But there will be dinner parties, suppers, small musical evenings, I am certain. Adam, do you realise you have gone positively pale?’ Perversely this sign of weakness in him strengthened her. She needed to stand on her own two feet again and the temptation to simply lean on Adam was strong. It would be easier if he needed to lean on her, just a little.

  ‘I can dance,’ he said. ‘During the Peninsula campaign, Wellington would have probably shot as unfit for duty any officer who couldn’t cut a figure. But dinner parties? Suppers? And what the devil would I be expected to do at a musicale? No.’

  His alarm would have been amusing if there was not a quicksand waiting for just one wrong step and it would be Adam’s pride that would sink if she got this wrong. His expression forced the first laugh from her all day. ‘Adam, you go into battle on a regular basis. People try to kill you, brutally. You handle explosives and command men who need ferocious discipline, yet you are alarmed at the thought of a dinner party?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. ‘Look, I know perfectly well which knives and forks to use and I won’t drink the water out of the finger bowls or remark that the blackberry jam tastes of fish if caviar is served, but I have no experience whatsoever of parties where respectable young ladies are present, or ferocious chaperones or men who want to talk about anything other than war, tactics, hunting, hounds or sex.’

  ‘Adam!’ Rose clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. It was so good to laugh with him again.

  ‘You wanted the truth,’ he said darkly. ‘I have no small talk. I don’t know what is permissible to say or do with young ladies, let alone their mamas. As far as society women are concerned I am used to army wives and dashing matrons.’

  ‘Respectable young ladies are easy. The game they are expected to play is that they are ignorant and innocent. They have no opinions, at least none on serious matters and certainly none that might contradict what a gentleman says. Their role is to look pretty and make you feel rich, handsome, clever and dashing. Your role is to make them feel beautiful, charming, fragile and, in the most chaste way possible, desirable.’

  ‘How the devil do I desire a woman chastely?’

  ‘Desirable as a wife, the perfect mother of your children and an uplifting moral influence on your life.’

  ‘May I go and start a small war somewhere instead?’ Adam enquired. ‘It would be easier.’

  ‘No. Now concentrate. You do not touch them, except to take their hand. You do not stare down the front of their gowns and you never, for a moment, allow yourself to be alone with one of them. With me, as you will be courting me and I am going to encourage you, you may flirt. You do know how to flirt, don’t you?�
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  ‘With a respectable woman?’ When she rolled her eyes at him his mouth twitched into his rare half-smile. ‘Very well, I shall pretend I am on a spying mission behind enemy lines. At least no one will shoot me if I let my language slip.’

  ‘No, you will be withered by some terrifying dowager instead. It is Sunday tomorrow. Come with us to the Protestant service at the Chapel Royal. You may find the hymns in my hymnal for me and look solemn.’ Rose stood and went to put her arms around his shoulders, rested her cheek on the top of his head. In her embrace Adam went very still. ‘I need a hug.’

  ‘I may not touch young ladies except on the hand,’ he said as he turned his face into the swell of her bosom. ‘If we are to succeed in this without arousing suspicions, Miss Tatton, we cannot afford to slip.’

  ‘That is not my hand you are touching, Major.’ She slid down on to his knee and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I need a hug and a kiss, Adam. Just one for courage.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said and closed his arms tight around her. ‘In this position I can hug or I can kiss.’

  ‘Kiss.’ She twisted round, wondering when, if ever, she would have his mouth on hers again, his hands on her body, her hands in the springing texture of his hair.

  His lips were bold and sensual, the taste of him on her tongue was achingly familiar and yet she sensed a restraint, as though he was shielding his power from her. He knew they should not be doing this and he was holding back. But it was difficult, she could sense that in every taut line of his body, and she felt a guilty pleasure in that sensual knowledge.

  *

  Rose told herself that she was pleased to see Adam the next morning because the evening with her parents had been so difficult, but she could not deceive herself it was not more than that.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Tatton.’ He turned from handing his shako and gloves to Heale.

  ‘Good morning.’ She moderated her headlong rush down the hall to a ladylike glide. ‘Do come into the drawing room. Mama and Papa will be down directly.’ Heale opened the door for them and then, very properly, left it wide open.