The Officer and the Proper Lady

Julia’s stomach ached with embarrassment. He thought she was trying to imply he was courting her. ‘No, I think he was only…’

‘If he thinks that, then you are in danger,’ Hal said bluntly, and she realized his anxiety was for that, not that she might assume anything about his intentions. ‘He bears a deep and savage grudge against my family and two others. He was responsible for driving my sister from Society, he kid napped my brother’s wife and tried to ruin her sister. The infantry officer you saw me with in the hall—Rick Bredon?’ She nodded. ‘Hebden is his step-sister’s half-brother and is causing her new husband sleep less nights, believe me.’

‘You think that if he mistakenly believes I am…important to you in some way, he might attack me too? Although why should he think that, beyond some foolish gossip?’

‘Smyth thought it,’ Hal pointed out. ‘And if Hebden is watching now, he knows we are alone in circumstances that would ruin you if they became public. Damn it, if I had had any notion that he knew of a link between us, I would never have got into this con founded carriage with you. The man is obsessed.’

Julia almost asked what the Carlows had done to attract such virulent hatred, then good manners caught up with her. If Hal wanted her to know, he would tell her. ‘And you are important to me,’ he added, cutting back to her last comment.

‘Then let us hope your Mr Hebden considers friends unimportant in his campaign of vengeance.’

‘Is that what we are, Julia?’ Hal took her hand again, apparently interested only in tracing the fine lines of sewing that shaped the back of her glove. The movement of his finger made her want to shiver.

‘I hope so,’ she said brightly. Then the recollection of the talk in the grand salon came back to her and a shudder ran through her. ‘Hal, is it true? Is Bonaparte at the frontier?’

‘Yes.’ The eagerness in the single word told her all she needed to know: Hal Carlow was itching to get into battle.

‘How soon will it be?’

‘Before the battle? I do not know. Not very long: days not weeks, but it depends which way Bonaparte moves once he crosses the Sambre. Do you and your mother want to leave for Antwerp now?’

‘If we go, it would be because we believe Wellington—all of you—will lose,’ she said slowly. ‘Are you telling me that is what to expect?’

‘No. But you can have no concept of what a city close to a great battle would be like. I have seen it, in the Peninsula.’

‘I do not want to run away,’ she said, realizing as she spoke how passionately she felt it, although not why. ‘I would feel a coward. You—the Army—will not run.’

‘No,’ he said again, and his hands on hers were stilled. ‘We will not run. But this is Bonaparte, one of the greatest generals in history.’

‘We have Wellington,’ she pro tested, shaken by his words.

‘Who has never met Bonaparte in the field. I want you to leave, Julia. I want you to go to the baron as soon as it is certain the French have crossed in to Belgium. Promise me that.’

‘I promise I will not do anything to put Mama and Phillip in danger,’ she said, not understanding why she was equivocating, but knowing that she needed to.

‘Good,’ he said as though she had taken a great weight off his mind. ‘And now, you must go home.’

Julia watched as he lowered the window and leaned out to call up to the driver, unashamedly admiring the flexibility with which he moved and the line of his lean body. Here she was, in a closed carriage, at night, with a notorious rake, and he did not so much as flirt with her. He had held her hands as though she was one of his sisters, that was all.

If I was bolder, knew what I was doing, I could en courage him to kiss me, she thought, biting her lip as he sat down again. With passion. But what if he does not want to again? I would sink with shame. He doesn’t want a good girl. He wants someone with experience.

And then it was too late. The carriage drew up, Hal opened the door and jumped out to hand her down, and she thought, I should sink for shame just thinking about it.

‘Good night, Major. And thank you for seeing me home.’

‘Good night, Miss Tresilian,’ he said with equal formality, raising her hand to his lips.

Through the silk, she could feel the heat of his breath, the firm pressure of his lips, and her breath caught in her throat as he released her and turned back to the waiting carriage.

‘Will you be at the duchess’s ball tomorrow night?’ he asked, one foot on the step.

‘Yes—if the enemy is not at the gates,’ she managed in an attempt at lightness.

‘I will see you then, I hope. And if not, remember what you promised me.’ And he was gone.

Julia climbed the stairs to their apartment, her brain spinning. If Napoleon advanced, then Mama and Phillip must go to Antwerp with the baron, but she would not. There was nothing she could do, but she would not leave Brussels while Hal was fighting, in danger. To do so would feel like running away, deserting him. How she would manage to stay, she had no idea. But, she resolved as she reached the door, she was not going to tell Mama about Mr Smyth either, not until at least the day after tomorrow, after the ball, after they knew when the battle would be.

‘Let me out here,’ Hal called up to the driver as the carriage rattled past the duke’s house opposite the Parc. He was too restless to sit in a stuffy carriage, too energised by the intimacy with Julia,