A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

‘Me?’ She gave a convulsive shiver. ‘Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf. It was horrible. Horrible. That was the first time I’ve ever stood up to someone like that. Face-to-face. I didn’t know I could. And now I just feel sick.’

‘It is always like that after a battle, for everyone. It’s odd. You can do incredible, awful things while the battle rages, without turning a hair, but then after, well, tremble like aspens.’

‘I wish I hadn’t had to. That was the first time I’ve ever spoken to Major Flint and it was as though he was my enemy. And he’s my—’ she gave a little hiccup of a sob ‘—he’s my b-brother. And he’s taken Ben. I thought we were a team,’ she said, gazing at the door through which they’d just gone. ‘I don’t care if he is Major F-Flint’s d-dog...I...’

She bowed her head and gave in.

Normally, the sight of a woman in tears would have made him run a mile. But not when that woman was Lady Sarah. He knew there was nothing he could do to assuage the grief Major Flint had just inflicted, one way and another. But he could at least hold her while she wept.

The way she’d held him during his darkest hours.

Chapter Seven

Tom struggled to a sitting position, then scooted up until he could kneel behind her and put his arms round her. Though he’d half-feared she might flinch away, she actually turned and buried her face in his chest.

Though he was naked, battered and bruised and practically a stranger to her.

Pretty soon he was shaking with the effort of staying upright and keeping his arms round her, and half-bearing her weight. Heavens, but he was weak. His head was starting to spin by the time her sobs subsided.

‘I’m so sorry—’ she sniffed ‘—I’m not usually such a watering pot. And all over a man taking back his own dog, of all things.’

‘It wasn’t just that though, was it?’ he said grimly. ‘You’d only just heard your twin brother was cut to pieces by cavalry sabres.’

She flinched. Pulled out of his arms. Scrubbed at her eyes with a corner of the sheet.

He’d offended her. As well as blowing any chance he could carry on feigning ignorance of his identity and his past. Exhausted and depressed, he gave up the struggle to stay upright and lay back down against the pillows.

‘Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Here I am weeping all over you when I’m supposed to be the one looking after you.’ She leapt to her feet, tidying the sheet over him and generally fussing round the bed.

‘No. I’m sorry. I thought I could be of help. I know I can’t take the place Ben had in your affections, but I thought I could at least hold you. But I can’t even do that.’ He tried to lift his arm from the bed. ‘I’m useless. Trembling like a whipped pup.’

‘Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re useless,’ she flung at him angrily.

‘Is that what they did to you? Is that why you fought Flint over me?’ That made sense. In himself, he was nothing to her. But he had just worked out that her family had no idea what she was capable of. So perhaps he’d become a sort of symbol of her prowess.

She had the grace to look abashed.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I’ve always known I’m not worth fighting for, myself.’

‘Please, don’t be disappointed in me. I didn’t know you when I found you on the battlefield. And I was... Oh, you can’t think what a difference it made when your men put their faith in me. When they believed I was capable of nursing you. When nobody has ever thought I’m capable of anything.’

‘Yes. I think I can.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Nobody’s ever thought I was worth a damn. And in my case, they were right.’

‘Oh, no. I’m sure that’s not true. You’re an officer in the army. Artillery, no less. Which shows you have intelligence. And to rise to the rank of major, you must be, um...’

He gave a snort. ‘All it shows is that I’ve survived.’

‘Oh, no! Far more than that. One thing I do know about the artillery is that you cannot buy promotion, or use influence to gain it. You must have earned every single promotion you’ve ever had.’

‘Be that as it may, if Major Flint had found you nursing someone like Bennington Ffog...’ His lip curled as he named the man who’d been her most prominent admirer. The fop who’d been in charge of her twin’s regiment. And the man after whom his own men had named the Dog. Bennington Dog, they called him, shortening it to just Ben when the animal didn’t respond to the mouthful of English. Which made them swear the name was all the more appropriate. Not only did the hound have fur the exact shade of the Colonel’s luxuriant whiskers, the two of them had about the same level of intelligence. And having seen the man lolloping around after Lady Sarah with his tongue hanging out, the way Ben had done the day before, he couldn’t disagree with them.

Not only that, but they were both hunting mad. He’d had a notion that if he’d thrown a bone and shouted ‘fetch,’ the Colonel would have yelled ‘tally ho’ and gone off in hot pursuit.

‘Not even Flint would have suggested removing you from his bed and leaving him to rot. Or risk moving him, rather than have you tainted by the association. If Flint had found you in his arms, he’d have been talking about making it right by marrying him.’

‘Oh. Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Well, you should.’ He seethed. Nobody thought Bennington Ffog was unsuitable—though he had less brains than his horse—because he had money and breeding. Whereas even Flint didn’t want him anywhere near her. ‘Your brothers would prefer to see me dead than married to you.’