The Sergeant's Lady (18 page)

“In this case? Yes. I’ve seen how you look at her, remember. You were alone with her for what, four nights?”

“We were trying to get back to the army as fast as we could,” he said. “For the first day or two we didn’t even have enough to eat.” All of which was true. “Nothing happened,” he said, as he thought of Anna in his arms, of the feel of her lovely full breasts in his hands, of her on top of him, riding him, her tongue tracing the paths of his scars. He shifted in hopes of concealing his body’s reaction to his memories.

“Leave him alone, Dan,” Juana said. Will stared at her, surprised to have a defender. “Even if something did happen, you cannot expect him to speak of it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But nothing happened.”

Dan’s expression remained dubious. “If you say so, Will.”

***

Moving at the slow pace dictated by the creaking oxcarts, it took them three full days to make it back to the village of San Miguel. The morning after their return, Captain Matheson pulled Will aside.

“We’ve found Mrs. Arrington’s trunk among the baggage,” Captain Matheson said. “I thought you might like to be the one who returns it, so you can see how she fares.”

He knew it would be wiser to avoid Anna, but refusing such a natural and kindly meant offer would look odd. “I would. Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve made inquiries. She’s staying in that house on the hill in the olive grove.” He pointed out a substantial stone cottage. “Take two men with you to carry the trunk. No need to rush. This looks set to be a quiet day.”

And so half an hour later he was climbing the hill, followed by Robertson and Flaherty, who grumbled good-naturedly over the weight of the trunk and the steepness of the path.

Maybe she would be out paying calls. That would be safest. He could leave the trunk at the house along with a message conveying his good wishes. Then when the wounded convoy left again under a new escort in a few days, she would go with it, and that would be that. He wouldn’t forget her—never that—but he could go back to living the life he was meant for. In time he hoped she wouldn’t overwhelm his every dream and almost his every idle thought.

He heard light, quick footsteps coming up the path behind them.

“Sergeant Atkins?”

It was
her
, her voice just as curious and friendly as it should be for what their association ought to be. He halted and turned toward her. Flaherty and Robertson followed his lead, setting the trunk down and wiping their sweaty brows.

She was not fifteen feet away and getting closer by the second. Mrs. Gordon was with her, but Will had eyes only for Anna. She wore mourning black, though the broad-brimmed straw hat perched jauntily upon her head—the hat Teresa Vásquez had given her—struck an incongruous note. Except for her flushed cheeks she was pale, but she looked perfectly lovely, her eyes bright, a smile playing about her lips.

He tipped his cap. “Good morning, Mrs. Arrington, Mrs. Gordon. We found your trunk among the baggage from the convoy, ma’am.”

“Thank you for returning it so promptly.”

They spoke the proper commonplaces in the proper tone. Will only hoped Mrs. Gordon and the lads weren’t paying attention to how they looked at each other. Anna’s face shone with nervous joy, and he was sure his expression betrayed the same eager longing.

“I can’t vouch for the contents, ma’am,” he said. “I hope the Frogs didn’t disturb them too much.”

“At least I’ll have a trunk,” she said cheerfully. “Why don’t you come with us? We’ll show you where to go.”

They resumed their climb up the hill. Robertson and Flaherty remained silent, and Mrs. Gordon made only occasional remarks. He and Anna kept up a conversation, though he thought—hoped—nothing in it sounded out of the ordinary. She inquired after Dan, Juana and the baby, and asked how those she knew among the wounded were doing. She asked how he had liked Dulcinea, and they talked of the differences between Spanish and English horses.

“I’ve been practicing with my pistol,” she said as they emerged from the olive grove into the farmhouse’s garden.

“I thought so.” To her lifted eyebrows, he replied, “You smell of gunpowder.”

She smiled ruefully. “I suppose I must. Helen says I’m becoming a tolerable shot.”

“You’re very good for a beginner,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Anna, my dear, I’m going to go see how the children are faring while you show these men where to put your trunk, but I’ll speak to Felipa and ask that she prepare refreshments for them in the kitchen.”

Will thanked her, and Robertson and Flaherty echoed him. But it rankled a little to be so efficiently put back in his place.

Anna led them into the house. “It’s this way,” she said, opening a door on the left. “No stairs.”

She led them through a formal parlor into a smaller room fitted up as a bedchamber. Crossing to the single large window, she opened its shutters to let in the morning sunshine. “You can set it there,” she said, indicating a space alongside the bed.

“This is a good billet,” Will said as the lads maneuvered the trunk to the spot she had indicated.

“Yes, aren’t we lucky? I don’t even have to share this room.” Their eyes met, and she continued to toy with the shutters, drawing them almost closed but leaving them unlatched with an air of studied carelessness.

His heart pounded, but he made no sign. He could easily slip away unnoticed in the night and come here. He shouldn’t. It would only prolong the agony of their inevitable parting. But his glance flicked to the narrow bed, and he thought of the two of them together under that simple white coverlet.

Anna followed his gaze. Their eyes met again, and he was transfixed by her parted lips. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.

Their silent interplay passed in a few seconds. Flaherty and Robertson broke the spell as they set the trunk down with a thump.

“Gently, lads,” Will chided.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “There’s nothing fragile in there.” She stepped away from the window and dismissed them all with a brisk nod. “The kitchen is on the other side of the house, at the back. Felipa’s pastries are delicious.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, echoed by the lads. They showed themselves out, and he dared not look back.

That night Will’s gift for sleep deserted him. Sometime after midnight, when everyone around him snored, he slipped out of his bedroll and crept through the still night up the hill through the olive grove. No one challenged him, for the sentries were all posted much further out, and his path took him far from the village’s taverns.

He hesitated for an instant on the edge of the grove, but the cottage was silent. No dog barked, and no lights burned at the windows. Slowly he walked around the back of the house, past the kitchen, past the door leading out to the barn and outbuildings.

There was her window, its shutters unmistakably ajar. He drew them all the way open and hoisted himself onto the windowsill. “Anna?” he whispered.

The instant his feet touched the floor she was in his arms, pulling his head down to hers and covering his mouth with kisses. “I’d almost given up,” she whispered, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “I thought you didn’t mean to come.”

He caressed her back, the fine lawn of her nightdress catching on his callused fingertips. “I couldn’t stay away.” His hands settled at her hips. How had he thought one night could be enough, that he could ignore her presence so nearby?

Kissing her all the while, he spun her about until her back was to the wall. Someday he hoped to have the chance to prove to her that he knew how to love a woman patiently, but for now he couldn’t. With one hand he caressed her breasts through the thin fabric, hearing her gasp with pleasure and feeling her nipples harden under his palm, while with the other he undid his trouser buttons.

He seized fistfuls of white lawn and pulled her nightdress up. She clutched frantically at his shoulders, and her whispered cries drove him on.

He lifted her by the hips. Though he was sure she’d never been in this position before, she had the instinct for it, wrapping her legs around him and gripping his shoulder with one hand for balance.

The other hand she laid against his cheek. Through the window, a beam of moonlight lit their faces. She was so beautiful, with her black hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face aglow with passion. He kept his eyes open and fixed on hers as he entered her.

Maybe he couldn’t help rushing, but she was ready, hot and slick and welcoming. Her eyes widened, and she brushed her lips against his. “Will.”

“Anna. My lady.”

He thrust and she matched his rhythm, rocking against him. Resting their foreheads against each other, they mingled their heated breaths. Only at the very end did Anna fling her head back as she came with a choked cry. A few strokes more and he reached his own climax, spending himself deep within her as she clung to him, her face pressed against his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes again. “You’re
sorry
? Will, you must stop apologizing at these moments. You make me quite anxious.”

He set her gently back on her feet. “But I always mean to take my time and make it perfect for you.”

She shook her head. “Every night I’ve thought of you, and tonight I’ve lain awake for hours listening for you. I was in just as much of a hurry as you were.” She reached for his hand. “Come to bed.”

He complied. “Next time, I promise you we’ll make it there first.”

She slid under the coverlet and beckoned to him. “Next time?”

“Let me take my shoes off,” he said and did so, shedding his jacket and trousers for good measure, before joining her.

There was barely room for two on the narrow bed, and he sighed with bliss as he wrapped his arms about her and she nestled against him. “Next time,” he said. “I’ve heard we’re to stay here for at least another fortnight. If you’re here—and you want me here—I can’t resist you, Anna.”

She caressed his face. “Nor I, you.”

“The convoy leaves again in two days, though,” he said. “I thought you’d probably go with it.” And his rational mind, what was left of it, knew she should. But he hoped against hope that she would not.

“Two days? Much too soon. There will be other chances.” She snuggled yet closer. “As long as our regiments camp together, I stay.”

He shifted to kiss her. “Are you sure? I know you long for your home, and—this is heaven, to be with you like this, but it only prolongs the end.”

“Absolutely sure. I’d rather prolong it as long as I can. And besides—” her whisper took on a light, teasing tone, “—I want to know what it’s like when you don’t feel the need to apologize for being too hasty.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best to oblige my lady.”

“I shall look forward to it with great anticipation,” she said with dignity, “though, really, I like it this way. Wild during, gentle after. It’s…delightful.” She closed her eyes and kissed the tip of the scar at his collarbone, her tongue flicking his skin. “I think I
am
something of a wanton.”

She didn’t sound too concerned about it, but he drew back and searched her face anyway. “Don’t call yourself that,” he said.

“Says the man who just, ah, took me against that wall,” she pointed out.

“Anna. I don’t care what Sebastian said. Enjoying the pleasures of the flesh does not make you a wanton or a whore or anything else he called you. Not unless you plan to start sharing those pleasures with all and sundry.”

“Good God, no. No one but you, Will. I promise.”

His heart lurched, and he covered her face with kisses. But he made himself draw away and shake his head. “Don’t promise that,” he said. “Remember how you told me you wanted me to go home after the war and have a family?”

“Of course.”

“I want you to be happy, too. I don’t want to think of you alone. Find some gentleman who’s worthy of you and marry him—maybe a Highland laird, so you can stay near your castle.”

“Impossible. He’d want a woman who could give him children.”

“Not necessarily. Not if he doesn’t have a title to pass down, or if he already has children. You’re a widow—marry a widower.”

“Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“I just realized—with Robin a widower and now Sebastian gone, Aunt Lilias will try to match us again.”

“He’s your eldest cousin, right? Your aunt wants you for the next countess?”

“They always hoped I’d marry one of their boys.” Idly she traced the collar of his shirt with a fingertip. “They wouldn’t be human if they didn’t want to keep a hundred thousand pounds in the family.”

He blinked. “One hundred thousand?”

She shrugged against him. “You knew I was an heiress.”

“But…I’d thought that meant maybe twenty or thirty thousand.” He edged away as much as he could without falling from the bed.

Fierce hands clutched him, pulling him back to her. “Will. Does it
matter
how much money I have?”

“No.” Of course not. She would be just as far above him with the relatively modest fortune he had imagined. “But it’s a shocking number.”

“I suppose. But I don’t want to talk about money or who I might marry someday. Not when I have you with me now.” She kissed him and twined her body about his.

He kissed her back. “I must leave before daylight.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t be here every night. Sometimes I have sentry duty, and if I look like I never sleep, someone will suspect. Dan and Juana are much too observant.”

“So are Alec and Helen. Just come whenever you can. I’ll leave the shutters unlatched.”

“I will.” He kissed her again and rolled her onto her back, leaning over her.

“You’re not going yet?”

He grinned. “I’ve at least another hour.” He reached for the hem of her nightdress. “And I’ve been missing your skin against mine.”

She first arched her hips then sat up so he could ease the garment over her head and cast it to the floor. “So have I.” She helped him tug his shirt off.

They embraced, and he reveled in the feel of her. “I think I’ll show you what it’s like when it’s slow,” he said meditatively.

“Will you?” she asked, in a tone that meant
Can you?

“Oh, yes,” he said, answering both questions. “I’m not fully recovered from last time yet.”

“Truly?” She smiled mischievously and parted her thighs, deepening their embrace. “I’m quite recovered.”

He tugged at a lock of her hair, not hard enough to hurt, and she responded with an equally mild shove. “Men are lesser creatures,” he said. “It takes us longer to regain our vigor.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her.

“I’d never accuse you of being lesser.”

“I’ll try to justify your confidence in me,” he replied and bent to his work.

When they lay breathless and sated in each other’s arms, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “So. Does my lady have a preference?”

She ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “No,” she said gravely. “With you, it’s all wonderful.”

“Oh, Anna.” He buried his face against her neck. “I should go, if I’m to be back in my bedroll before dawn.”

“Come whenever you can.”

“Believe me, I will.” He dressed in the darkness, kissed her once more and slipped out into the waning night.

***

Anna overslept. By the time she appeared yawning in the dining parlor, the Romero ladies had finished their breakfasts and left, and Alec and Helen’s plates were almost empty.

She paused in the doorway, inhaling deeply. “Coffee!” she said blissfully.

“Good morning to you, too, Anna.” Alec rose and pulled out the chair on his left. “Yes, we just got some new supplies, so we made it full strength for a change.”

“How heavenly,” she said. They smiled at her, and Helen poured her a cup while Alec filled her plate with one of Felipa’s light rolls and a fried egg.

“You look radiant this morning,” Helen said.

Anna sipped her coffee and hoped her kinsmen would attribute her flushed face to its heady scent and pleasingly bitter taste. But really, why
should
they suspect? “I slept well.”

Helen continued to stare at her in bemusement. “I’ve never seen you look quite so well before. Not that you haven’t always been pretty, but now you’re aglow.”

“Thank you,” she said uncertainly, taking a bite of her egg. Did what she and Will had shared in the night leave such a mark?

Alec considered her, too. “I see what you mean. She looks like the Anna I knew at home again.”

“I do?” Anna asked. “How so?”

“Why, lass, you look like someone who finds her life a vastly pleasurable endeavor. I’m glad to see it—you always had such high spirits as a girl. I’d feared your marriage had doused them for good.”

“Alec!” Helen exclaimed.

Anna blinked at her cousin.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t talk of it,” he said, “but Arrington was wrong for you from the first, and we could see how miserable you were, no matter how you tried to hide it. It’s no wonder you’re looking happier already, and I don’t doubt your sleep is more restful without him to spoil it.”

Helen coughed. “I know, my love. But we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Alec’s eyes flashed, a sure harbinger of the Gordon temper. Anna silently awaited the tempest.

“If I cannot speak ill of him now, when shall I have the chance?” Alec boomed out, loud enough for the parade ground. “First we were obliged to keep quiet, lest we make Anna’s troubles worse, and now I cannot say what I think of him because he’s dead?”

“Quietly,” Helen murmured with a significant glance toward the door.

“We’re the only ones in this house who speak English.”

“Beatriz and María understand more than you think, and there’s Nell to consider. There’s been gossip enough already, and it’s finally all but ceased. Let’s not revive it.”

Alec took a deep breath. “Very well. I won’t shout. But Arrington had no business marrying Anna—should’ve wed one of those prim young misses he always danced attendance upon before.”

“None of them had such large fortunes or good connections,” Helen said, echoing Anna’s thoughts.

“There was more to it than that.” Alec gave her a measuring look. “He
did
have a taste for—I won’t insult you by saying ‘women like you,’ cousin, but outspoken women with, er, lush figures who loved to dance, sing and laugh a little too frequently.”

“Why is that an insult? It seems an exact description of me,” Anna said, glancing down at her unfashionably full bosom.

Alec wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Because that wasn’t his taste in…
ladies
.”

Anna had never seen Alec look so embarrassed. “You mean mistresses?” she asked bluntly. “Prostitutes?”

He nodded. “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak so plainly, but…women like that fascinated him. He couldn’t stay away from them, and yet he always spoke of them with contempt. There was one who especially fascinated him the year before you married who even looked a bit like you—a little taller, brown hair instead of black, but green eyes and much the same figure. When you were so miserable together, I couldn’t help recalling that.”

She pondered her cousin’s words, staring into her coffee as if it could provide answers. Had Sebastian been unwilling to believe her innocence because she resembled his idea of a…whore? Someone irresistible, yet contemptible? The thought sickened her, but it had a ring of truth. “Thank you, Alec. That…that explains a great deal.”

“Most men aren’t like him, lass.”

She shook her head. “I know. With cousins like you and a brother like James, how could I turn against the entire sex? But let’s not speak of this again. Only—do let me know if I seem happier than I ought.”

“Certainly, my dear,” Helen said. “But you needn’t worry overmuch. You’ve been solemn enough when we’ve paid calls. You might strive to temper your enthusiasm when your shots hit the target, but only soldiers see that.”

“I suppose you’ll be leaving us soon in any case,” Alec said. “That convoy goes out again in two days’ time, with an escort twice as large as before.”

Anna resumed her breakfast with studied casualness. “As to that,” she said with a blush she hoped they would interpret as embarrassment at her fear, “I
am
a trifle anxious about traveling again so soon. Perhaps I’ll wait for the next convoy.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you please,” Alec said. “But you do realize it could be some time before there’s another? I know you want to get to Dunmalcolm before winter.”