A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

But in the end, she simply shot him a brief smile, before darting out of the door.

* * *

It took next to no time to walk to the Chapel Royal. Sarah could scarcely believe that Gideon could have been so close to her and she’d not felt anything.

But he wasn’t really here, was he? Not in that coffin. That was only his earthly remains. His soul was... Her breath stuck in her throat.

Somewhere else. Of course. That was why she could sense nothing of him here.

Only, when she reached further, with all her being, only a massive great nothing echoed back.

Nothing.

Her heart started beating so wildly she found it hard to breathe. She had to get outside. Out of this cold, empty chapel and into the sunshine.

She stumbled into the nearest shop and tried to concentrate on kitting herself out in black.

But it was all a blur. All that seemed real was her deep inner cry of No. No, Gideon couldn’t be gone. No, she didn’t want to be alone. So alone.

She’d been filling her days with activity, with purpose, all to silence that No.

She’d ridden to Brussels, spent the night curled up in a stable with Castor and Ben, braved Mary’s hostility, even gone on to the very battlefield where she feared he had fallen and finally grabbed at the chance to save one poor wretch from the grinding jaws of death, in a vain attempt to silence that deep, instinctive denial.

But none of it had worked.

Except it wasn’t exactly the same kind of No, any more. It wasn’t a refusal to accept the truth.

It was a No of anger. Of protest.

All of a sudden she came to herself to find she was standing outside the door to her lodgings in the Rue de Regence. She had no idea how she’d come here, when her plan had been to visit Justin.

But it was a foolish plan, she decided, going inside. She wasn’t strong enough to face Justin. And she would have to be very strong indeed to stand up to him, particularly when he was so ill and she so filled with remorse for being a cause of it.

Right now, she just needed...she needed...

She ran up the stairs to their room. Tom. She needed Tom.

He was sitting on top of the bed, clad in breeches as well as a clean linen shirt and waistcoat. He took one look at her, and held out his arms.

She flew to him. Buried her face in his shoulder, and just sobbed. With grief. With some gratitude, too, because she hadn’t had to say a word. One look at her face and Tom knew what she needed most.

‘He wasn’t th-there,’ she hiccupped, when she eventually grew calm enough to be able to form words. ‘Nothing of him at all. I couldn’t...couldn’t feel him any more. He’s gone, Tom. Really gone.’

‘Shhh.’ He rubbed his hands up and down her back soothingly. ‘From this world, perhaps, but he will always live in your heart.’

‘Memories,’ she said scornfully. ‘I don’t want them! I want him! I want my brother back. I need him. He was the only one who understood me. The only one who gave a damn...’

He tensed. ‘That’s not true any longer. I—’ he took a deep breath ‘—I give a great deal more than a damn for you. In fact, I— Well, I’ve never said this to any woman before—never thought I would, either—but I think—well, I don’t know any other way to describe what I feel for you. So it must be love.’

‘What?’

‘I think,’ said Tom gravely, ‘that I love you, Sarah.’

She felt her jaw gape open.

‘I suppose this wasn’t the best time to make a declaration of that sort, was it? For a seasoned rake, I seem to have lost my touch. To have put a look like that on your face.’ He ran one finger along her jaw, with a rueful smile. ‘But I couldn’t just sit here and listen to you say that nobody loves you any more, when it simply isn’t true.’

‘But you can’t!’