Shattered Rainbows (15 page)

"I was delayed, but I would never miss such a splendid occasion." As-the music began, he said, "May I have this dance with you, Anne, and the one after with you, Catherine?"

Both women agreed, and Anne gave him her hand. There was strain in her eyes as he led her onto the floor, but years as an army wife had taught her control.

As they took their places for a reel, he said, "You look very fine in that gown, Anne. This isn't too tiring?"  She smiled and shook her auburn curls. "I shall bubble with energy for another six or eight weeks, until I become the size and shape of a carriage."

They kept up an easy stream of talk as the pattern of the dance drew them
together and apart. Yet as soon as he returned Anne to Charles, she forgot
everything but her husband. Gazes locked, they moved together onto the floor.
Michael uttered a silent prayer that Charles would survive the coming campaign;
a love as strong and true as theirs deserved to last.

He turned to. Catherine and gave, her a formal bow. "I believe this is my dance, my lady?"

She smiled and swept a graceful curtsy. "It is, my lord."

He did not realize that he had claimed a waltz until the first bars of music
were played. He had deliberately avoided the intimacy of waltzing at previous functions, but tonight it seemed right, for this would likely be their last dance. She came into his arms as if they, had waltzed a thousand times before. Together they flowed into the music, her eyes drifting half shut. She followed his lead as lightly as the angel he had thought her, yet he was intensely aware that she was a woman, a creature of the earth, not the heavens.

Dark tendrils of hair clung damply to her temples as they circled the floor without speaking. The pulse in her slim throat was beating rapidly from exertion. He wanted to press his lips to it. The delicate curve of ear showing below her upswept hair was an invitation to dalliance, and the tantalizing swells of her breasts would haunt his dreams for as long as he lived.

More than anything on earth, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and take her to the fairyland beyond the rainbow where they could be alone, and there would be no tormenting issues of war and honor. Instead, he had a bare handful of moments that were spilling away like cascading grains of sand.

Too soon, the music came to an end. As he let her go, her long lashes swept upward. Her expression was stark. "Is it time for you to go?" she said huskily.

"I'm afraid so." He looked away, fearing that his yearning must be showing. Across the room, Wellington caught his eye and gave a faint nod. Michael continued, "The duke wants to speak with me. By the time you return home, I will probably be gone."

She caught her breath. "Please—be careful."

"Don't worry—I'm cautious to a fault."

She tried to smile. "Who knows? This may all be a false alarm and everyone will be back in our billet by next week."

"Perhaps." He hesitated before adding, "But if my luck runs out, I have a favor to ask. In the top drawer of the dresser in my room, I've left letters to several of my closest friends. If I don't make it through the campaign, please post them for me."

She bit her lip. Tears were sparkling in her aqua eyes, making them seem even larger. "If… if the worst happens, do you want me to write to your family?"

"They will learn all they need to know from the casualty lists." He lifted her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. "Good-bye, Catherine. God bless and keep you and your family."

"
Vaya con Dios
." Her fingers tightened convulsively. Then she released his hand a fraction of an inch at a time.

Wrenching his gaze from hers, he turned and crossed the ballroom. It was warming to know that she cared for him. The pleasure of that was not diminished by the knowledge that she also cared for Charles and Kenneth and other men. It was her capacity for caring that made her so special.

Wellington had abandoned his sofa to talk to his officers one at a time. To Michael, he said tersely, "Napoleon has humbugged me, by God. The French have captured Charleroi."

Jarred out of his reverie, Michael exclaimed, "Damnation! Charleroi isn't much more than thirty miles away."

"It could have been worse," the duke said with a wintry smile. "The road from Charleroi to Brussels was virtually undefended. If it hadn't been for damned good luck and a first-rate show put on by Prince Bernhard and his troops at Quatre-Bras, Marshal Ney could have marched straight into the city."

As Michael swore under his breath, Wellington said, "Tell me, Kenyon, will those green troops of yours stand?"

A fortnight before, Michael would not have known how to answer. Now he could say, "They may not be the fastest shots or the best at maneuvering, but put them in a line or square with veterans nearby and they will stand."

"I hope to God you're right. We're going to need every soldier we've got." The duke rapped out several orders, then turned his gimlet gaze on the crowd to collect another officer.

Before Michael left, his gaze sought out Catherine one last time. It was easy
to find her with the ranks of guests thinning so rapidly. She was on the far
side of the room with her husband, who was speaking excitedly. The Mowbrys joined them and both couples turned to leave.

His breath coming with great effort, Michael went out into the warm night. She was not for him, he reminded himself bleakly.
She would never be for him
.

Michael glanced across his horse's back. "Bradley, did you pack my greatcoat? It was in the back hallway."

The batman flushed. "No, sir. I'll go get it."

Michael bit off an oath. Though the boy wasn't as well organized as an officer's servant should be, he tried hard. "Be quick about it. We need to be off."

As Bradley left the stable, Colin Melbourne entered. Michael said, "Are you and Charles heading out to your regiment now?"

Melbourne nodded, his eyes shining. "You heard that Boney is at Charleroi? By God, we'll see some excitement now!"

"I don't doubt it." Michael was about to lead his horse out when he saw that Melbourne was saddling a nondescript cavalry hack rather than Caesar, his usual mount. Casually he said, "You're going to lead Caesar to keep him fresh?"

"No, I'm leaving him here. I'll ride Uno and keep Duo for reserve." Melbourne indicated a bay gelding as unimpressive as the one he was saddling.

Michael stared at him. "You're not riding your best horse into battle?"

"I don't want to risk him," Melbourne replied. "Besides the fact that I'm devilishly fond of the beast, if he were to be killed, the amount paid by the government compensation fund wouldn't begin to cover his value."

"For God's sake, man, it's folly to try to save a few pounds at the risk of your life!" Michael exclaimed. "In battle, a horse's stamina can be the difference between surviving and being speared like a rabbit."

"It may seem like only a few pounds to you," the other man said tartly. "Not all of us have your financial resources."

Michael bit back an oath. Melbourne was acting like an idiot and deserved whatever he would get. Yet for Catherine's sake, Michael must try to prevent the other man's folly. "If money is the issue, take Thor." He stroked the chestnut's sleek neck. "His stamina is outstanding, and I've given him cavalry training so he'll be able to do whatever is needed."

Melbourne's jaw dropped. "I can't possibly take your horse. You'll need him yourself." He gazed at Thor longingly. "If he were killed, I'd never be able to replace him."

"A horse isn't as critical in the infantry as the cavalry. My other mount will do well enough. I hope Thor comes through safely, but if not, I'll settle for whatever you receive in compensation." Michael unbuckled his saddle. "If all goes well, you can return him to me in Paris. If I don't come through, he's yours."

"You make it impossible to refuse." Melbourne smiled boyishly. "You're a good fellow, Kenyon."

As Michael transferred his gear to his second horse, Bryn, he wondered if Melbourne would be so cheerful if he knew how Michael felt about Catherine. Probably he wouldn't care, since his wife's fidelity was beyond question.

Michael collected his servants and rode into the night. For honor's sake, he had done what he could to help Catherine's husband survive. All else was in God's hands.

Catherine packed her husband's personal belongings while Colin readied his horses. All too soon, she, her husband, and the Mowbrys were in the stable yard. Two torches illuminated ten saddled horses, two servants for each of the officers, and Catherine's groom, Everett, who had come down to help.

Charles had just come from kissing his sleepy children good-bye and his expression was strained. Anne went straight into his arms. They held each other tightly, neither of them speaking. Catherine envied her friends their closeness even as she grieved for their distress. It would be worth the pain to have such love.

Turning to her husband, Catherine said, "Are you sure you don't want to see Amy?"

"No need to disturb her." Colin had the bright, impervious expression that meant he was thinking about the action that lay ahead. "It won't be long until you'll both be joining me."

She blinked back the tears that threatened, knowing that Colin would hate it if she became weepy. Yet it was impossible to live with a man for a dozen years and not care about him. In an ideal world, perhaps it would have been Michael she had met and married, leaving Colin free to chase foxes, women, and the French without the responsibilities of a family. But that hadn't happened. In the real world, she and Colin had wed, and in spite of being grievously mismatched, they each in their own way had honored their marriage. She whispered, "Take care, Colin."

He gave a jaunty smile. "Don't look so worried. You know I share Wellington's magical immunity to bullets." He chucked her under the chin as if she were Amy's age. Then he swung onto his horse. "I'll see you in Paris, sooner if it's safe."

Then he and Charles and their entourage clattered out into the cobbled street. Catherine gazed after her husband. Sadly, she recognized that if he had loved her even a little bit, she would have loved him in spite of his women. Oh, he was rather fond of her. He enjoyed his comfortable home and took great satisfaction in the fact that other men envied him his wife. But she would lay long odds that he cared more deeply for his horse.

His horse. She blinked, only now registering what she had seen. Turning to her groom, she asked, "Was Captain Melbourne riding Colonel Kenyon's horse?"

"Aye," Everett replied. "The captain didn't want to risk Caesar, so the colonel said he could take Thor instead."

Oh, Lord, how typical of Colin to assume that his luck would carry him safely through a battle even on a mediocre mount. And it was equally typical of Michael to look out for another person.

Numbly she turned to Anne and they went into the house, going straight to the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Anne poured each of them a measure of brandy. After downing half of her drink, she said vehemently, "Why the devil didn't some sensible person assassinate Bonaparte? One bullet would have saved the world so much grief."