The Officer and the Proper Lady (5 page)

‘No,' she said, her hands fumbling blindly with the bodice of her gown. ‘No. You would have stopped if I had asked you, wouldn't you?'

‘Yes.'
Please God that is true.
He rested his head on his knees for a moment, fighting the dread that he might not have listened. ‘I'm sorry, I warned you what I am, but I should not expect you to under stand.'

Julia was silent. He made himself look at her and found she had fastened her gown and was standing up, brushing at her skirts, her hair still tumbled around her shoulders. Just the sight of it sent a spear of lust through his groin. Hal got to his feet and went to pick up her bonnet, holding it while she twisted her hair up, fixing it with the pins that remained, then trapping it under the hat.

‘No, I do not under stand,' she murmured at last. ‘I do not under stand what I felt just now, why I…when I know I should not.'

He had no answers for her, no excuses. ‘If you take that path there, you will find you come out very close to the tents.' Hal pointed back to the way he had entered the clearing, just wanting her gone, safe, away from him.

He made himself stand still while she smiled a little un certainly and walked away, vanishing in seconds into the green foliage. Then he went to sit on the tree trunk, clasped his hands, leaned his forearms on his thighs and stared at the crushed grass. He must stay away from her. There were a number of perfectly pleasant men—worthy men, he had no
doubt—who were taking a respectable interest in her. She would marry one of them. And then she would be safe from men like Fellowes. Men like himself.

There was a small scrap of blonde lace lying by his boot. Hal bent and picked it up, smoothing it between his fingers for a long time—until he thought he could master his expression—then he slid it into the breast of his jacket and walked out of the clearing.

 

‘Have you ever been kissed, Felicity?' Julia asked without preamble as they sat side by side on a rug, under their parasols, waiting for Mr Smyth and Mr Fordyce to fetch them ices. Half an hour in the ladies' retiring tent, and she was tidy and composed enough to make the grass stains on her skirts plausibly the result of a trip.

‘Kissed?' Felicity simpered, blushed, then asked, ‘Properly kissed?'

Julia nodded.

‘Yes, once.'

‘What was it like?'

‘Oh, wonderful…' She smirked, glanced sideways at Julia, then admitted, ‘No, actually it was horrid.'

‘Horrid?' No, Hal's kiss had not been that. It had been wonderful, terrifying, puzzling. ‘It was
wet
. He wanted me to open my mouth and—' Felicity lowered her voice even further ‘—he tried to put his tongue into it.'

‘What did you do?' Julia fought the blush rising to her cheeks at the memory of that shocking intimacy.

‘I kicked him,' Felicity said, smug. ‘And told him he was a beast. And so he slunk off.'

‘Well done,' Julia said weakly. Her nerves were tingling, her pulse still erratic; a strange, un familiar restlessness was making it very difficult to sit demurely on the rug as a lady
should; and her conscience was struggling to make itself heard against those novel physical messages.

‘Why do you ask? Has someone tried to kiss you?'

‘Well, er, yes,' Julia confessed. Was that all it had been: a kiss? It had seemed more somehow.

‘Mr Fordyce?' Felicity hazarded. ‘I think he is very nice. So is Mr Smyth, but he's a clergyman, so I don't expect it was him.'

‘No, neither of them. Ssh, here they come.'

Julia ate her ice and talked and strolled around and was introduced to people, drank lemonade and joined in the applause at an impromptu cricket match. The sun began to dip in the sky, and the restless, nameless yearning became stronger, harder to ignore, no easier to control and her eyes searched fruitlessly amongst the crowd, seeking Hal's face.

Whatever these feelings were, they had everything to do with a lean, hard body against hers making her feel, at one and the same time, both recklessly abandoned and utterly insecure.
I must not see him again. I must not.

When stumps were pulled and the company began to wander towards the tents for tea, Lady Geraldine said, ‘There is talk of a torch-lit carriage drive through the forest after dark. Do you think your mamas would object if we kept you out so late?'

‘Why no, I do not think Mama would mind; she said that as I was with you, Lady Geraldine, she was not at all concerned what time I was home.' Felicity nodded energetic agreement.

‘Well then, we will all take part. And, Julia, if one of your beaux should ask, you may ride with him in his carriage—provided that it stays close to ours at all times.'

Both Mr Smyth and Mr Fordyce had their sporting carriages with them, it was just a question which of them asked her first. A drive through the forest would be exciting
and romantic in the most innocent and respectable of ways, she was sure. Only it was not one of her respectable potential suitors she wanted to be with. In the darkness the only man she yearned to be beside was Hal Carlow, her pulse beating wildly, her breath catching in her throat, as they galloped through the night, his hands strong on the reins.

A Gothic romance in fact, she scolded herself. She was obviously reading too many of them, if she found the idea of being alone with
him,
racketing through the darkness at a potentially lethal pace, romantic. In reality, it would be thoroughly alarming, just as that kiss had been.

That bracing thought sup ported her through tea and the flattering experience of having not just Mr Fordyce but Mr Smyth and Colonel Williams solicit her company for the torch light drive. Mr Fordyce was first, so good manners dictated that she accept his offer, although if she had a free choice she could not have said which gentleman she preferred. They all seemed pleas ant, intelligent, worthy—and rather dull. Just what she should be hoping for in a potential husband in fact. Excitement in a husband would be very wearing.

As the sun dropped below the trees a cool breeze set in. Julia wrapped her cloak snugly around herself while the men set about organising the carriages into a line. Someone had anticipated the drive and had brought a wagon filled with torches to light at the brazier, and the horsemen were drafted into acting as outriders to carry the burning brands.

At last, all was ready and the cavalcade set off at a decorous trot. Julia wondered if someone staid had been put at the front, then decided not as the trot became a canter. From in front and behind there were whoops of delight, but Mr Fordyce kept his pair well in hand.

On either side, riders holding up the torches were cantering on the wide grassy verges. ‘It is like a scene from fairyland,'
Julia gasped, entranced by the wild shadows thrown on the trees, the thunder of hooves, the echoes of laughter.

‘That's a fine animal,' Charles Fordyce observed, glancing to his right.

Julia leaned back so she could look around him and gasped. It was, indeed, magnificent. A huge grey, so pale as to be almost white in the torch light, its mane and tail dark charcoal. Its rider, quite still in the saddle, was watching her, his face garishly high lighted by the flaming brand he held.
Hal.
Everything that she had been trying to forget about the day came flooding back, and she gave thanks for the darkness hiding her face.

‘A Light Dragoon.' Fordyce gave his own team more rein. The grey lengthened its stride to stay along side.

‘It is Major Carlow,' Julia said without thinking, and the pair pecked as though the reins had been jerked, just as her heart beat seemed to jolt in her chest.

‘Carlow? You know him?' Fordyce's normally pleas ant voice was cool.

Hal's wretched reputation, he did warn me about that too…
‘He rescued me from a man who accosted me in the Parc,' she said. ‘And he introduced me to Lady Geraldine at once; that is how I met her.' She managed what she hoped was a light laugh. ‘I under stand he is the most terrible rake, but on that occasion, I would have welcomed the assistance of Bonaparte himself.'

‘Who would have been rather less detrimental to your reputation, I imagine,' Charles said, sounding intolerably stuffy.

‘I am sure that would be the case, if I had continued round the Parc in Major Carlow's company,' she said stiffly. ‘As it was, he took pains to limit any damage that might arise from sanctimonious persons getting the wrong idea.'
Oh dear, now that sounds as though I have accused him of being a prig. And if only he knew it, he is right: Hal is dangerous.

Mr Fordyce obviously thought so too. ‘An unmarried lady cannot be too careful,' he snapped. ‘One can only speculate upon why he has chosen to ride beside
this
carriage.' He turned more obviously and stared at Hal. ‘I've a mind to call the fellow out—'

‘No! My goodness, please do not do any such thing!' Julia grasped his forearm. ‘He is said to be lethal.'

‘—but I will not, lest your name were to be linked to the affair,' Charles said, as if she had not spoken. ‘You will not, naturally, have anything more to do with him.'

‘What?' Julia gasped. ‘I have no intention of doing so, but you have no business telling me with whom I may, or may not, associate, Mr Fordyce!'

‘I most certainly have, unless you have been playing fast and loose with me, Miss Tresilian.' It was not easy, quarrelling in a moving carriage behind a team cantering through near darkness, but Charles Fordyce was obviously set on it.

‘You, sir, have been leaping to quite un war ranted conclusions,' Julia snapped.

The big grey suddenly surged ahead of them, crossed between their team and the rear of the Masters' carriage in front and was brought round to canter close beside Julia.

‘What the devil!' Fordyce exclaimed.

‘Miss Tresilian, do you need assistance? You sounded distressed.'

Julia glared up at Hal, suddenly completely out of charity with the entire male sex. ‘I am perfectly fine, thank you, Major Carlow. Will you please
go away?
'
I would be as calm as a millpond, if it were not for you,
she wanted to throw at him, confused at her own anger.

‘Ma'am.' He spurred the horse ahead without looking back, leaving Julia fulminating beside an equally furious driver.

‘He has the nerve to ask if you are all right when you are
driving with
me?'
Charles Fordyce demanded. ‘That hell-born blood thinks you need protection from
me?
'

‘Mr Fordyce!' Julia grabbed the side rail as the carriage lurched. ‘Will you kindly look to your horses and stop lecturing me and ranting about Major Carlow?'

‘Certainly, ma'am,' he said between gritted teeth. ‘I apologise for boring you.'

‘Not at all,' she replied, equally stiffly as they drove on in seething silence.

Well, at least I know he has an unpleasant jealous streak. Better to know now than after I have agreed to marry him,
Julia thought, wondering how she was going to explain the disappearance of one of her handful of suitors to her mother and Lady Geraldine.

H
al woke with a thundering hangover. He lay flat on his back trying to work out why, when he could recall no party. He was still in shirt and trousers and was wearing one boot; his mouth felt as though a flock of pigeons had been roosting in it over night and his head was split ting.

When he sat up with a groan, keeping his stomach in its right place with some difficulty, he saw the bottles on the floor and realized why. There had been no party. He had been drinking brandy—his foot knocked against a black bottle that rolled away and crashed into the others with nerve-jangling effect—and claret, all by himself.

‘What the hell?' he enquired of the empty room as he squinted at the clock. Ten. He wasn't on duty until the afternoon, thank God.

Julia. He had kissed her. Oh God, he had more than kissed her. He had almost debauched her, right there in that glade.

Hal got to his feet and lurched for the bell pull. Trying to think was damnably painful, and he didn't seem to be doing very well.
Keep going,
he told himself.
It will make sense eventually
.
But why? What came over me?
There was only
one answer to that: lust. Then he had seen Julia in the carriage with that smug secretary of Ellsworth's so he had ridden along side, just to keep an eye on her. And she had been upset, he could hear it in her tone as she talked to the man, even if he could not hear her words. So he had asked her if she was all right, because no-one was going to distress Julia while he could help it—except, obviously himself—and something had gone wrong…

And then he'd been angry and… He couldn't recall anything else. But whatever had happened, it had not involved either Julia or any other sort of satisfaction, otherwise he would not be ankle-deep in bottles.

‘M'sieu?'
The waiter flung the door back with his usual enthusiasm.

‘Silence!'
Hal started to shout, then dropped his voice to a hiss. ‘Coffee. Strong, black. Lots of it. Toast. Dry. And is Captain Grey in his room?' The man nodded nervously. ‘Then ask him if he will come here, will you?
Quietly.
'

‘Headache?' Grey asked with a cheerful lack of sympathy five minutes later, picking his way through discarded bottles and clothing.

‘You might say that.' Hal sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the room to stop moving.

‘I thought you had the hardest head of any man I know,' Grey observed with a grin. ‘How gratifying to find you are human after all.'

‘I do have the hardest head. And just now, the most painful. Will, did I challenge anyone last night?'

‘What? To a duel? No.'

‘Thank God for small mercies.' So, he had ridden away, not challenged Fordyce for whatever quarrel he and Julia had been having. Such restraint surprised him.

It was not until he had drunk three cups of coffee, forced down two rolls and stuck his head into cold water that he
remembered that Julia had told him to go away in a voice icy with anger, and he had gone, because, much though he wanted to quarrel with her companion, he wanted her to forgive him. And she was angry with him, not just with Fordyce.

‘There's post.' Will Grey strolled back in and poured himself some coffee from the second pot that Hal was working his way through. He tossed the heap onto the table, ignored Hal's wince, and sorted through it.

‘Who's that?' Hal pulled the top one in his pile towards him. ‘Don't recognize the writing.'

‘Open it,' Grey suggested as he broke the seal on one of his, scattering wax shards all over the table. A waft of heavy perfume filled the air, revolting Hal's stomach. ‘Ah, the divine Susannah.'

Hal opened it and glanced at the signature.
Your obedient servant, Mil den hall,
the strong black signature said. What the devil was Monty, Viscount Mil den hall, doing writing to him? He'd been at Monty's wedding to Midge Hebden, back in February, but they were hardly regular correspondents, despite having both served together before Monty left the Army.

Despite his aching head, he grinned at the memory of the most chaotic wedding he had ever attended. The groom had dragged his bride up the aisle of St George's, Hanover Square, and demanded that the vicar marry them, the vicar had protested that the bride was obviously unwilling, her relatives were swooning from mortification or glowering like thunder clouds, depending on their sex, and the bride was arguing with almost everyone. At this point Hal had been forced to stuff his handkerchief into his mouth and duck under cover of the pew in order to stifle his laughter.

Monty, a man of quiet determination, had not been an effective officer for nothing. He overcame both bride and cleric, and the couple were duly wed. It was not until Hal and
his brother Marcus were back at the wedding break fast that Rick Bredon, Midge's step-brother, drew them to one side to explain the chaos.

Hal's reminiscent grin faded. Midge had been stopped on the steps of the church by a man claiming to be her half-brother, Stephen Hebden. Midge, affectionate and impulsive as ever, had wanted him to come into the church, only for him to be violently rejected by her uncle until Monty, marching out to find his bride, had stopped the argument. By which time the man had gone.

Rick, whose father had tried to find Midge's half-brother for years and believed him dead, was adamant that the man was an impostor, but Hal had known better. Stephen Hebden, also known as Stephano Beshaley, was the illegitimate son of Midge's father and his Gypsy lover and a sworn enemy of the Carlow family, and of the family of Marcus Carlow's wife, Nell Wardale.

The reason for his hatred was a mystery that they were only slowly unravelling. All they really knew was that it reached back twenty years to the days when Hal's father, the Earl of Narborough; Nell's father, William Wardale, the Earl of Leybourne and Midge and Stephan's father, Kit Hebden, Baron Framling ham, had worked together to unmask a French spy at the heart of government.

Hebden, the code breaker, had been murdered, apparently by Wardale, who went to the gallows for the crime while his best friend George Carlow, Lord Narborough, stood by, convinced of his culpability. His father, Hal knew, had never recovered from his sense of guilt over that. With their title and their lands attaindered, the Wardale family had slipped into poverty and lost contact with each other. Midge's mother had remarried.

And then, for some reason no-one could fathom, the old scandal had resurfaced last year in a series of attacks on the
three families that all seemed to centre on Stephen Hebden. Hal felt the cold anger sweep over him again as he recalled the night mare.

But the more they had discovered, the more people who were drawn into the mess, the less they under stood, even with the assistance of old family friend Robert Veryan, Lord Ked din ton. Although Veryan was high in government circles, even he could not explain it.

When Hal was last home on leave, Marcus had said that he suspected someone else must be involved, that it could not just be Stephano Beshaley, ruthlessly fulfilling his mother's dying curse on the three families.

Hal shook his head, winced and focused on the letter.

Damn it, this was what he feared. Had another of Beshaley's calling cards—silken ropes that recalled the execution of a peer—been found? If it had, danger at worst, scandal and ruined reputations at best, were to be expected.

‘Hell and damnation.' Hal tossed the letter onto the table and tried to think. He had two conflicting duties, but the priority was clear. He must not follow his immediate instinct and go home: Napoleon could make his move at any moment, this was no time to take leave. All he could do was to write to warn Marcus.

‘Problems?' Grey raised a languid eyebrow. ‘I'll swap you for my mail; it is all bills—and Susannah wanting a new gown. Could I have spent so much at my snyder when I was last in town? Hard to believe.'

‘You don't want this,' Hal said casually. ‘Legal problems with some tiresome old family legacy. And yes, I can believe your tailor's bill is astronomical.' He stood up, letter in hand. ‘I'd better write to my brother, I suppose.'

‘I'll leave you to it.' Grey ambled out, coffee cup in hand. ‘See you at luncheon?'

Hal shuddered at the thought of food, although he knew he was going to have to eat. ‘Yes.' As the door shut, he flipped open his writing desk and un screwed the top of the ink pot. Best to send Monty's letter as an enclosure, save rewriting the lot.

Not his greatest literary work, but the best he could do with this headache. Hal folded Mildenhall's letter inside his own, sealed it in four places and wrote the country address on it, adding
To be for warded,
just in case Marcus had taken
it into his head to travel. He doubted it. His sister-in-law was increasing again and Marcus, deeply protective, was certain to have her tucked away in deepest Hertfordshire.

Monty about to be a father, Marcus with a little son already and another child on the way. People no sooner got married than they were fathering brats, he thought irritably, despite the fact he was fond of young William George Carlow. He was half way to the bell pull to have the letter taken down, when a mental picture of Julia with one hand resting protectively on the swell of her belly hit him like a blow.

He made a sharp gesture of shocked repudiation. First he had almost ravished her, now his imagination had made the wild leap to her carrying his child. Which she might well be, if some shreds of self-control hadn't saved them both yesterday. He tried to recall what had stopped him, but he couldn't, it was all too confused. But one thing was clear: this could go no further. There was no way he could allow himself to see her again.

 

Julia tried hard to look regretful while Mama and Lady Geraldine regarded her with expressions of deep disappointment over their tea cups. She was not used to disappointing anyone and it was an unpleasant novelty. ‘You
quarrelled
with Mr Fordyce?' Mrs Tresilian said in tones of disbelief. ‘But you never quarrel with anyone, Julia. You would never do anything so un lady like, surely?'

‘He was priggish and jealous beyond bearing,' she said, setting her cup down with a rattle. So much for making a clean breast of it—
of some of it
, she corrected herself—you got lectured. Being a fast and disobedient young lady was beginning to have its attractions. ‘I was sharp with him.'

‘Jealous of whom?' Lady Geraldine enquired. ‘Mr Smyth or the colonel?'

‘Major Carlow,' Julia said, hurling oil on flames.

‘Hal Carlow!'

‘But you said he was a rake, Julia,' Mrs Tresilian said into the silence that followed Lady Geraldine's exclamation. ‘What could you possibly have done with him to make Mr Fordyce jealous?'

‘Nothing,' she denied vehemently, managing to blush rosily at the same time. She had done nothing that Charles Fordyce knew about, that was true. But she had done more than enough with Hal Carlow to send her mother into fits of the vapours.