A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

‘I need you, Tom. I don’t want to wait until I have a nightmare to give me the excuse to seek the comfort of your arms. And, well, not to put too fine a point on it,’ she said, blushing, ‘I want to spend tonight in your bed.’

Could he really be that lucky? Was Sarah really asking him what he thought she was asking him?

Randall would kill him when he found out.

Not that that would stop him. If Sarah wanted him, then...then...his head began to spin.

‘There’s no point in pulling out that truckle bed,’ said Sarah, ‘and having it made up when I fully intend to sleep with you, Tom. The way I look at it, if everyone thinks I’m ruined, I may as well enjoy some of the benefits, mayn’t I?’ she said cheerfully as she whisked out of the room to go and prepare for bed.

Even though he’d had his bed moved away from the wall, so that he could no longer hear those preparations, he could still picture what was happening next door.

He should ring for Gaston. Wash. Shave. He ran a rather shaky hand over his jaw. Let it drop to his side. If only he was a little stronger. Better equipped to make her first time memorable. The way he felt right now, she would be lucky if he could last long enough to make it even mildly pleasurable.

But then she was coming back into the room, clad in a sensible nightgown with a demure wrap over the top, a blanket draped over one arm.

A blanket? Why the blanket? What did she mean to do with that?

He got his answer when she lay on the top of his bedclothes and draped the extra blanket over her legs, just as she had done when she’d sought his comfort from her nightmares last night.

‘There.’ She sighed, snuggling down trustingly into the crook of his arm. ‘That is comfortable, is it not?’

Not. He was painfully aroused. His heart was stuttering like a stammering schoolboy. And sweat was trickling down his spine.

He managed to form a noise that was a sort of pained grunt, that she might take for agreement.

‘We can hold each other all night—’ she sighed with a blissful purr that made her sound like a kitten ‘—and keep the nightmares at bay.’

He certainly wouldn’t be having any nightmares tonight. Because he wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep, with her breasts pressed against his ribs like that and the softness of her hair flowing over his throat.

‘I won’t let anything bad disturb you tonight,’ he grated, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. Most particularly not him. Dear God, how could he have imagined she’d been inviting him to deflower her? He should have known her request was a completely innocent one. For she was innocent. Pure.

And he couldn’t betray her by letting her get so much as a whiff of his own base desires. He would just hold her, since that was all she wanted of him. Watch over her while she slept.

Preserve the innocence she’d entrusted to him.

‘Tom?’

‘Mmm?’ He hoped to goodness she wasn’t going to expect him to carry on a lucid conversation. Not while nearly all the blood in his depleted system was raging south of his waistline.

‘I still feel dreadfully guilty, you know, about Justin. I did try to take measures to prevent creating a scandal, so that nobody who cares about me would get upset. I wrote to Gussie as soon as I got here, trying to explain as much as I dared...’

‘I saw you sitting at the desk, in a halo of light, writing something. You looked so fierce, and pure and bright, all at once. Just how I pictured a guardian angel should look.’

She looped one arm about his waist as she shifted into what was, for her, a more comfortable position. Lord, why had he been all noble last night and promised she need not fear him? Now he had to live up to her expectations.

He sucked in a deep, juddery breath. He’d been stupid enough to make her a promise and he couldn’t break his word. Not to her. That was all there was to it.

‘That only proves how very ill you were. Likening me to an angel, indeed.’ She gave a very un-angel-like snort and began toying with the buttons on his nightshirt, dr

iving him almost demented as he pictured those slender fingers sliding them undone, slipping inside, running over his chest.

Gliding lower...

‘I know that now,’ he said huskily. ‘You are very much a woman.’ A woman who was becoming increasingly more inquisitive and bold. If he wasn’t shackled by that stupid promise, he’d have been trying to see just how bold she could be. She’d already shocked him by kissing him that morning, in a defiant sort of way, as though seeing how far she could go.

He twined one of her golden locks round his finger. ‘But still, you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Colonel Randall.’

She stiffened. For a moment he thought he’d offended her. He braced himself for a haughty demand he stop playing with her hair.