A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

He couldn’t sully her. Not in his imagination and not in reality, either. He might have crossed many lines during the course of his career, but debauching respectable females hadn’t been one of them.

‘Go to sleep,’ he bit out. ‘Lie still and go to sleep.’

‘But what about you?’

Yes, what about him? His aim had been to get a kiss from her, nothing more. But now he had kissed her, it wasn’t enough. And if she didn’t lie still and stop wriggling in that inviting way, he might forget what he owed her and attempt to go further.

‘I will lie here and hold you. It is my turn. Whenever the bad things try to come back, you will feel my arms round you and know it’s not real.’

‘But...’

‘Hush. I will keep you safe. I won’t...’ He shifted slightly, so that she wouldn’t be able to feel his newly awakened arousal pressing into her hip. ‘I would never harm you, Sarah. I couldn’t.’ His whole being revolted at the thought of any harm coming to her, from any source. ‘I’d rather die.’

She went very still. And very quiet. For a moment he wondered if she knew the effect she’d had on him and was trying to decide whether it was more dangerous to stay in the bed with a randy soldier, or go back to her own bed and risk the nightmares returning.

Eventually, she gave a little sigh and snuggled back down. It seemed, for whatever reason, she’d decided to stay right where she was.

She trusted him.

His eyes stung. When was the last time anyone had trusted him? With so much as sixpence, let alone their very virtue?

Never. Nobody had ever had such faith in him. They’d all expected him to break his word. To behave badly. To let them down and cause mayhem.

His grip on her tightened as he swore to himself that he’d never do any of those things. He’d never break his word to her. Never let her down or cause her a moment’s grief.

No matter what it cost him.

Chapter Nine

Lady Sarah woke with a smile on her face. Tom had been right. Whenever the dreams had threatened to turn troubling, she’d somehow sensed his arms round her. Known she wasn’t alone, the way she’d been when she’d really gone to the battlefield. And though there were times when her dreams grew distressing, they never descended to the depths of horror she’d suffered before.

But even better had been his physical reaction. He’d stood to attention for her. She snuggled into his side, basking in the knowledge that he could feel desire for her, after all. She’d never been pretty, but these last few days, without a maid to help her, she hadn’t even looked presentable. Her choice of outfits was limited to those few gowns sent to her by Odette, from that last order before they’d fled for Antwerp. Her hair was a complete mess. And her complexion must be blotchy, too, since she’d been crying on and off practically the whole time. She always looked particularly unappealing when she wept, which was one of the reasons she didn’t do it often. Her nose, always her worst feature, glowed deep crimson, making it even more obvious and unattractive than ever. And her eyes, which actually were the one feature that wasn’t half-bad, got bloodshot, her eyelashes all clumpy, ef

fectively destroying their appeal.

And yet he’d been aroused. Better than that, she hadn’t had to risk her pride by trying to get him to kiss her. He’d done it without the slightest provocation. Well, not deliberate provocation, anyway. She hadn’t been thinking about getting him to kiss her when she’d climbed into bed with him. Not at all.

She sighed happily. He’d promised she need not fear, that he would rather die than harm her. By which, she knew, he meant he wouldn’t act on the desire that his masculine body had made all too obvious.

Which, now she came to think of it, was a very unrakish thing to do. Rakes didn’t care about anyone but themselves. She should know. Her father really had been a rake. Whenever he’d wanted a woman he’d just taken her—whether she was willing or not.

How could people accuse Tom of being a rake? Tom was...Tom was...just a man, an unmarried man, who enjoyed life to the full. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything so very different from what her brothers and other officers did. Only, by the sound of it, more regularly and with a greater variety of women than them.

‘You are awake, aren’t you?’

She wriggled round at the sound of his low, gruff voice, to look up into Tom’s face, and couldn’t help sighing. Overnight his beard had started growing in, which made him look much more like her very own Tom again. The rather desperate, powder-blackened warrior who’d fallen into her lap on the battlefield. Though that wasn’t what made her sigh. Not entirely, anyway. It was the look in his sea-green eyes. Such a look. Even a sensible, practical woman would want to drown in it.

And she’d never been, either.

She sighed again. ‘Thank you for last night.’

‘Hmmph.’ He shifted as though he was in pain. ‘Lady Sarah, I am glad I could be of service, but right now...’

‘Yes? What is it?’ She sat up, searching his face intently. He looked as though he was in great discomfort. ‘Are you in pain?’

He grimaced. ‘I need...I need...’ He closed his eyes, clenching his fists on top of the sheet that covered him. ‘Could you send for Gaston, do you think? And then give me a few moments’ privacy?’

He probably needed to use the chamber pot.