A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

‘No?’ She pursed her lips and gave him a rather withering look. ‘No,’ she said again, this time with more than a hint of resolution. ‘I am not going to come to cuffs with you over this, not while you are so poorly.’

Then she startled him by giving him a rather mischievous smile.

‘And actually, it is rather amusing to hear you saying exactly what Mama is always telling me.’

‘No!’ He widened his eyes in horror that wasn’t altogether feigned. Well, what man wished to hear he’d started saying the same things as a matchmaking mama?

‘My sisters, too. Since they have married men they declare are perfect paragons, they have redoubled their efforts to find me a man just like their husbands.’

‘So, how have you foiled their plans?’

‘Oh, very easily,’ she said airily. ‘I have become adept at it, over the years. I never argue. Never throw tantrums. With the result that nobody ever knows exactly what I’m thinking. So they assume I cannot think for myself at all. I have meekly gone through several Seasons without ever bringing myself to accept any of the flattering offers made for my hand. So many, you know,’ she said, putting on a particularly vacuous expression, and fanning herself with her hand. ‘How is a girl to choose?’

Tom’s eyes lit with unholy amusement. ‘I’m beginning to suspect you are an unprincipled baggage.’

She lifted her chin haughtily. ‘How dare you speak thus to your queen, Sir Tom?’

‘I most humbly beg your pardon, your Majesty. I, um, forgot myself.’

She giggled.

And then, abruptly, sobered.

&nbs

p; ‘The dreadful thing is, I think you are right.’ She shifted in her chair and looked him straight in the eye as though imploring him to understand. ‘I had no scruples about encouraging Mama to send me to France, when she got the notion that she might stand a better chance of marrying me off if only she could introduce me to some new people. Because, you see, it was exactly where I wished to go. Because Gideon was stationed there. Gideon, my twin brother,’ she explained, just as if he really might not know.

‘It was not because everyone who was anyone was flocking to Paris, instead of London, for the Season,’ she added a touch tartly.

‘They actually thought I might be dazzled into marriage by some wealthy European princeling. As if becoming a princess would make marriage any more palatable!’ She shook her head with scorn. ‘But I shall never regret the trip to Paris, nor our subsequent removal to Brussels when Bonaparte went and invaded France, since it meant that I have managed to spend these last few months close to Gideon.’

A shadow passed across her features. But then she pinned a bright smile to her face. ‘So. Now you know why I wish to be called Elizabeth. Why I admire her so much.’

The smile didn’t reach her eyes. And he wished he could do something to help ease her sorrow. The sorrow neither of them could mention without destroying their truce.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it with complete gratitude, ‘you honour me with your confidence.’

Sarah could see exactly why Tom had gained such a reputation with the ladies. Even pale, covered in bruises and with his head bandaged, he was an utterly charming companion.

Of course, it was all nonsense, this declaring his devotion, as her courtier. A man like him was never going to be devoted to anyone for more than five minutes. But for the first time, she didn’t really care.

There was no harm in playing along, just for an hour or so, at being whoever they wanted to be. Not when they both knew it was a game.

She’d certainly never liked the person her family had obliged her to be. And she wasn’t looking forward to returning to the dull conformity of that life, either. Actually, it would all be far worse than it had been before she’d lost her head and run away. She would be in disgrace with them all. And there would be a shockingly empty, aching void in her life where Gideon had been.

So, on the whole, it was better to play the queen to Tom’s courtier. To bask in his practised flattery. To laugh at his witty repartee.

Far better than the alternative. Reality, with all its pain.

Chapter Six

When Madame le Brun came in with another meal of her good wholesome broth, and fresh bread, he managed a whole bowlful before growing drowsy.

Sarah took it as a personal victory. The sense of achievement was like sunshine bursting out from behind storm clouds. He’d been so close to death when his men had brought him here. And she’d been so timid. So clueless. As she took the empty bowl and set it on the tray for removal later, she realised that, even though she would never be a queen, she most definitely wasn’t the same person she’d been two days ago. Tom had changed her—or, rather, nursing him back to health had changed her. Had given her faith in herself. She wasn’t the useless, empty-headed female everyone had kept telling her she was. No—she’d decided that death wouldn’t have this man and she’d flung herself into the task of saving him.

Maybe that was what had made the difference—she’d never flung herself into anything before. For the most part she’d been content to just drift along, taking the path of least resistance.

She turned to him abruptly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, before she had a chance to change her mind.