Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (26 page)

“It’s all right, Daisy. There’s naught to be afraid of.” A floorboard squeaked behind her and she gave a small scream.

Robert grinned as he took in the scene. The kitten was hidden behind her back, he assumed for its own protection, and she wielded her candlestick like a weapon, held over her head, ready to throw or strike. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing down here at this hour, Hope?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I told you before I’m often up at night.

He walked over to her and gently pried the candlestick from her hands, replacing it with a glass of brandy. “So am I,” he said with a weary sigh. “There are few who brave this part of the house in daylight, let alone at night.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Now you sound like Rose.”

“Indeed.” He guided her to an armchair, released Daisy from her grip and sat her down. “Why not read a book, nice and safe in your room?” He settled himself in the chair beside hers and rested his feet on an expensive-looking marquetry table.

“Sometimes, I imagine I hear things in my room. Like…a woman crying, or somebody screaming, or footsteps and such. It—it is such an old house. There are many odd noises.”

“Ah. Have you been speaking with the servants while I was away?”

“Why?”

“Because they will fill your head with nonsense. Banshees and faeries and ghosts and such.”

The brandy warmed her a little and his presence warmed her more. “They say—”

“The house is haunted. Yes. It’s not. What you hear are only night birds, calling to their mates. There are many in these parts. Tawny owls can sound like mournful calling and a barn owl’s cry sounds very much like a scream. Mockingbirds can mimic many sounds—squeaky gates, barking dogs, even people sobbing. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Just because you’re not afraid doesn’t mean there’s nothing to fear. Mrs. Overton told me about the Maid of Clifton who married a richer man when her betrothed was gone. She said he was driven wild with grief and drowned himself in the river. This river. Near here.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the story. Except it happened a good ten miles from here.”

“Did it really?” Her eyes shone with excitement.

“Yes. But that’s not all. When Margaret Clifton heard of the fate of her lover, seized by guilt she joined him in his watery grave.” He spoke in a eerie whisper.

“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Robert?”

The kitten had climbed up his legs and settled on his chest and he scratched its head absently. “No. No, I don’t.”

There was a sadness to his voice and she wanted to ask him more.

“If anything haunts you here, Hope, it’s of your own making.”

“And what is it that haunts you, Captain?”

He groaned and poured another drink. “Something worse than ghosts or demons.”

“What can be worse than that?” Her apprehension showed in her voice.

“Memories,” he answered after a long pause. “Memories haunt me, Hope.”

“Ah, yes.” She nodded. “I have those, too.” She wished she could reach out to touch him without it being misconstrued.

His eyes were far away, but he gifted her with a tired smile.

“I was afraid, today.…”

He looked at her carefully. “Afraid that he had summoned you home? I was, too.”

“I’ve never had a real home, Robert. Not one that was mine. Pall Mall was lent me. The closest thing I have to home is here.”

He took her hand in his. His eyes were warm and his voice compelling. “You
do
have a home. You’re sitting in it. Cressly has come to life since you’ve been here. She was alone and empty and you’ve infused her with your soul. Whatever might happen, she will always await you. You’ll always be a part of her and you’ll always be welcome here.”

She was furiously blinking back tears, but one escaped and rolled down her cheek. He brushed it gently with his thumb.

“If he summons me to London, will you come with me? To stand as my husband and bring me back home?”

“As husband and champion both. I will not let you go so easily, Hope, or leave you to stand alone. He took her hand in both of his and bent his head to kiss it. Cool fingers caressed the sensitive underside of her wrist as warm lips brushed her knuckles.

She shivered and laid a palm against his cheek. Her lips hovered a breath away from his as she closed her eyes, remembering the first time that she saw him.
I imagined him a knight of old stepped right out of one of my childhood dreams
. Such thoughts were dangerous. She was a courtesan and he was a soldier of fortune, and life had taught her years ago that dreams did not come true. Still...she leaned closer and kissed him. It was a tender kiss. One promising loyalty and trust, like a lady might give her champion—and it shook her to her core.

He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “I can only imagine what tales your brave young messenger will take back with him to London.”

“He
was
rather brave,” she mused, lacing her fingers through his hair. “You are very large and ferocious looking, particularly when you glower. How was
your
business in London?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You are nearly as skilled at ambush as Sergeant Oakes. I have an enemy I must deal with. He attacks from hiding after many years. Unfortunately, the trip proved unfruitful. The matter remains unsettled.”

“I see.” She blinked several times, somewhat taken aback. “Are you or Cressly in any immediate danger?”

“No. I’ve an unlikely ally in London who watches my back. I had a missive from him this afternoon. He can be trusted to warn me if there’s any danger. I won’t let anything harm you, Hope. Between Oakes and I we’ve raised a small army.”

“The grooms and burly footmen.”

“Yes. And there are men watching the roads. If it worries you though...you can always visit London.”

“Am I not safer with my champion at my side?”

Robert grinned. “I can protect you from evil-doers, my love. But not from yourself. Was it wise to walk the river bank after a knock to the head and a healthy dose of laudanum?”

“I was much improved Robert. And I desperately needed fresh air. I admit it made things very fuzzy at first. Did you really tell me a tale of Robin Hood?”

“I did. I felt obliged after bashing you in the face.”

“You make too much of that. It was an accident and both of us at fault. Still...I am pleased to know you’ve come around to a more sympathetic point of view of him.”

“I haven’t,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “One should never argue with someone whose head might be addled. I was simply humoring you. Speaking of which, you should really be warm in your bed.”

“Would you escort me back and see me settled? My room makes me rather nervous this night.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, a mischievous smile on her face, but the tension in her voice was real.

He helped her up and handed her Daisy, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. She was trembling and he gave her a quick hug before starting down the hall. “I assure you, wife, these days there is nothing that walks Cressly more dangerous than me.”

Hope was surprised when they reached her room. The atmosphere felt peaceful, brighter. The tension and heaviness were gone. It was very late and when he bundled her into her bed he flopped down beside her.

“Captain Robert Nichols, at your service, madam. Household patrol and spectral night watchman. I guarantee you a peaceful sleep.” He reached for a coverlet and tucked it around her shoulders, noting as he did the glass swan on her bedside table. His lips quirked in a smile.

“Did I ever thank you, Robert, for this lovely room? I meant to.”

“You mean the one that is crowded with ghosts?” He wrapped her in a warm embrace and she settled close against him. “Sleep now. After a knock on the head you need it. You’re safe here with me.”

She was too tired to argue. Feeling safe and protected she drifted toward sleep.

“My but you’re a naughty wench, Hope Nichols,” he whispered a moment later. His voice sounded positively sinful and highly amused.

“Mmm?” Try as she might, fatigue had claimed her and she could rouse herself no further.

“I’ve only just noticed the mirror above your bed. Where else have you hidden them? Must I look in the salon, the library…above the billiard table?”

With a wicked smile, she fell asleep.

Robert Nichols would once have sworn he had no strong emotions—that war, vengeance and disillusion had turned passion into duty and starved whatever else was left. But Hope stirred something in him. Of that there was no doubt. Whatever her past, there was something sweet and genuine about her. Her passion for life lit a spark in everything surrounding her, including him.

Caroline would have liked her.
He
liked her. He liked her very much and he was tired of being alone. He had taken to talking with her about his sister, for God’s sake, if only a little. It was something he had never done with anyone else. Yet she mustn’t know the truth about him—what he had and had not done.
How many men have you killed?
She would surely leave in horror if she knew.

When he’d been away fighting he sometimes dreamed of going home. Most men did. Someplace real or imagined. For him it was Cressly, but every time he’d visited it was filled with painful memories and nothing but an empty pile of brick and stone.

Hope made it a home. Last night he had told her so. Last night she had asked him to stand with her should she be called away. Now he had something worth keeping, something that mattered...and something to lose.

Even as he searched the grounds looking for her the thought pleased and terrified him. He found her on the riverbank just before sunset as the countryside smoldered green and gold. A fishing rod lay abandoned on the ground beside her, next to a small basket of fishing corks and clever feather flies. Unaware of his presence, she slowly twirled a daisy in her hand, carefully plucking petals one by one and muttering to herself in French,
“Il m’aime un peu, il m’aime beaucoup, il m’aime pas du tout.”

She’d tied her hair back off her face with a ribbon that threatened to become undone. A lustrous curl had escaped its bonds to brush her cheek and throat. If he hadn’t known anything of her background he might have thought her a disheveled angel. Perhaps she was.

Riveted he approached her, hunger sparking in his eyes.

“Il m’aime—”

“Good evening, Hope.”

“Merde!”
In her surprise she kicked the pole and had to scramble down the bank to stop it from sliding into the river. He reached for the back of her dress just as she lunged for the rod, and hauled her back upright with her prize clutched in her hand.

“Good lord, Captain. You nearly stopped my heart!”

“And I just saved you from a soaking. Who were you dreaming of as you tore that poor defenseless flower apart?”

She was certain he could see her blush, for she could feel it burning her face. “It’s just a silly children’s game.” But there was nothing childish about the thrill of pleasure she felt when he offered her his arm. There was nothing childish about the thrill that ran through her whenever he smiled, or the way her skin pricked and her heart hammered when she felt his touch.

“Will you walk with me, wife? Your rod and basket will be safe stowed under the tree.”

She answered by sliding her arm through his and they ambled along the bank together. It was nearing midsummer and the nights were warm. Dusk descended in layers of lavender, cobalt and midnight blue streaked with brilliant dabs of orange. A low-lying mist blanketed the river and valley, and treetops floated above it, resembling islands in a lake.

As they turned back after walking a mile or two, the first stars made their appearance, blinking on one after the other, as if lit by some unseen hand.

“It’s so beautiful here, Robert.”

“Do you ever miss London?”

“No. At first I was too angry. Then I was too busy. And then…”

“And then?”

“I found I was enjoying myself. With Rose and Daisy and Oakes. Sometimes even you.” She gave him a quick glance.

He pulled her to a stop under the yew. “And now?” His voice was rough, warm, and it sent chills up her spine.

“Now I find myself longing for something. But I’m not sure what it is.” The sky was glowing now. Behind them was the dull rumble of the river, between them their own heat and the steady rhythm of heart and lung. “Last night you said you’d be my champion, and when I first laid eyes on you, you reminded me of some knight of old. You still do. But I can only guess what you thought or think of me.”

He took a step closer, leaning in to her. “Can you? I remember it clearly. I always will. Those mischievous eyes, that tumbling hair tangled through with vines and flowers.” He spoke in a seductive whisper and his lips almost brushed her cheek. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, making her shiver, his touch feather-light as he caught the errant lock of hair between his fingers.

“I thought you were some magical creature full of grace and light and tremendous power.” He felt her tremble as he drew her wayward tendril along her collarbone and up the underside of her jaw. “For a moment I was paralyzed and forgot how to breathe. A sharp pain pierced my heart and I grew dizzy. Everything receded. Nothing existed but you.”

He drew the unruly curl to his lips and kissed it, before tucking it gently behind her ear. “Elf-shot I was. I knew right away what you were.”

Her smile was brilliant, her eyes outshone the stars. “You said that was because of my mirrors.”

His full-throated laugh carried downstream on the breeze.

“What are you doing here, Robert?”

“Chasing you. Following you. Wooing you, I think.”

“You think? Oh, look! Look all around us. It’s beautiful!” Her voice was hushed and filled with awe.

Her lips were beautiful....Her eyes were beautiful...but he tore his gaze away. Though the moon was but a sliver, the woods were alive with fireflies creating flickering patterns of glowing light. Some danced through the air emitting multiple flashes, some answered with a stately response from the bushes, and others seemed to line the path, glowing on the ground.