Her Gallant Captain at Waterloo

by Diane Gaston

  He released her fingers.

  Suddenly all her father’s cruelty, all the pain of her rejection, meant nothing. This was Helene, his constant friend, the woman he loved, and he must part from her.

  Helene slowly raised her head and her eyes glistened with tears. ‘I wish...’ She did not finish.

  ‘What do you wish?’ Rhys murmured.

  She took a breath. ‘I wish I had not listened to my father. I wish we would have eloped to Gretna Green. I wish we’d had our wedding night.’

  It was as if the walls he’d erected inside him had cracked open and tumbled into rubble. They’d missed their chance to be together and he felt the depths of pain at their loss.

  She took another breath, blinking away her tears and firmly setting her chin. ‘So. Goodbye, Rhys.’

  He could not stop looking directly into her eyes. He’d been stabbed a few times with a Frenchman’s sword, but this pain was so much worse. ‘I don’t—’ he began to say.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. ‘I don’t want you to leave!’

  He pressed her to him. She lifted her face and stood on tiptoe, reaching for him.

  Rhys groaned and lowered his lips to hers.

  She tasted warm and familiar and he was intensely aroused. It also felt as if he were home again where he belonged. With Helene.

  They stood in the doorway. ‘Come in with me, Rhys,’ she rasped.

  Her room was in near darkness. The only light came from glowing coals in the fireplace. He crossed the threshold with her and kicked the door closed, continuing to taste her lips, inhale her scent, feel her soft curves against his body. She let her lace shawl slip to the floor. His shako tumbled off his head. She pulled the earrings from her ears and unfastened the necklace, dropping them both on a nearby table. They still kissed.

  Rhys wished for nothing between them. No uniform. No ball gown. He wanted to feel her skin against his. He wanted to plunge himself inside her—

  He froze and carefully eased out of her embrace. She stared at him, eyes wild and confused.

  ‘You matter to me, Helene.’ His voice was even, more composed than the sensations and emotions raging through his body. ‘I will not dishonour you.’

  Her expression settled into a solemn resolve. ‘What do I care for dishonour? We might never see each other again. Do you think I wish to repeat the same mistake I made years ago? Send you off, because someone, somewhere might disapprove of our being together?’

  ‘You do not understand,’ he said earnestly. ‘There might be a baby come of this.’

  She still met his gaze. ‘And would that not be the most blissful result? A baby. Your baby. A piece of you I could hold and love for ever.’

  He hesitated. ‘I cannot promise you I will return.’ Because he could die.

  Her eyes turned bleak. ‘All the more reason.’

  Lord knew he wanted her, had desired her since he’d been that foolish young man who thought all they needed to be together was this powerful love. But he also knew if he got her with child, her world could be cruel to her. And the baby.

  He steeled himself. ‘I cannot do this.’

  She lowered her lashes. ‘Very well. I understand your refusal. I suppose I deserve it.’

  He closed the distance between them again and engulfed her in his arms. ‘Do not say so. I do not refuse you. I need you, Helene. I will always care about you.’ He rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘I will not see you hurt, not even by me. I love you, Helene. I always have.’

  ‘Oh, Rhys.’ She melted in his arms and their lips devoured each other once more. When he freed her lips, she murmured, ‘And I have always loved you. Always.’

  He kissed her eyes, her ears, her neck. His fingers searched for the buttons on her dress.

  She pulled away. ‘I ask only one thing of you.’

  He was at a loss. ‘What?’

  A mischievous smile widened on her face. ‘Be very careful with this dress. I must return it to Louise in one piece.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Let me light a lamp so I might see to work the buttons.’

  He found a taper on the mantel and lit a lamp. She turned her back to him. While he unbuttoned her dress, she took the chain and ribbon from her hair. Her luxurious mahogany curls tumbled to her shoulders. He helped her lift the dress over her head. She draped it over a chair.

  ‘Now your coat,’ she said, adding a laugh.

  He kicked off his shoes while she worked the buttons of his red coat. She swept her hands over his chest to pull his coat off. She turned around so that he could untie and loosen her stays.

  She looked over her shoulder at him ‘Do you remember how we used to strip down to our underclothes to swim in the pond?’

  He remembered. ‘It is good we were never caught. I would have been forbidden to play with you.’ They’d stopped when they were both old enough to think about the other without clothes.

  She stepped out of her stays, slipped off her shoes, and took off her petticoat.

  ‘Sit,’ he said. ‘I’ll remove your stockings.’

  She sat and extended one leg. Rhys slid his hands up her leg until reaching her garter. He untied it and let his fingers slip under her stocking to the smooth, warm skin of her leg. She leaned back and sighed and quickly extended her other leg to remove the other stocking.

  Now she was dressed in nothing but her shift. He lifted her off the chair and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

  Rhys stepped back, his senses on fire. ‘Let me look at you.’

  Her eyes smouldered as she gathered the fabric of her shift in her hands and pulled it over her head.

  Rhys took a sharp intake of breath. He let his eyes feast on her, hesitant to touch her as if she were some piece of exquisite porcelain that could shatter if he dared. She, though, was made of much sterner stuff. She did not shrink from his blatant gaze.

  Instead she lifted her chin. ‘Your turn, Rhys.’

  A smile tickled his lips. She used those very words when they were children taking turns daring each other to climb a tree higher or jump from rock to rock across a flowing stream.

  He unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and pushed them down to his feet to kick them away. With a half-smile he lifted his foot on to the bed where she sat so naked and beautiful. She returned his smile and removed his stockings as he had hers. Her hands ran up his leg and each hair seemed to sing with the pleasure of it. By the time his legs were bare, he was nearly mad with need for her. He flung off his shirt and undid the buttons of his drawers, impatient to be rid of every stitch of clothing.

  Naked at last, Rhys moved towards her, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. ‘Let me look, Rhys,’ she said.

  He felt her eyes on him as if she’d caressed him with her fingers.

  ‘You—you are...’ She hesitated. ‘Rhys, you are so very handsome.’

  * * *

  Helene’s views of naked men had come primarily from statues in gardens or London mansions. Rhys far outshone them. She knew enough about mating to expect his arousal, but she’d no idea that she could view it with such pleasure and anticipation.

  He lifted her arm away and climbed on to the bed, laying her back against the pillows, kissing her again and tangling his limbs with hers. He ran his hand down the length of her neck to her breast and she writhed with the pleasure of it.

  She was with Rhys at last with no barriers of clothes or harsh words between them. She ached with happiness and refused to think of anything but this moment with him.

  His hand slid down to her abdomen and he pressed his fingers into her flesh. ‘This may hurt you,’ he warned.

  She became impatient, but she did not know precisely for what. ‘I do not care. I want this.’

  ‘I will try to ready you.’ He
slipped his fingers lower to that most female part of her, the part that ached for him.

  She arched her back under his touch and gasped when his fingers found entrance. He was so very gentle with her, but the sensations he created simply made her feel urgent, as though she would explode if—if—something. She did not know what. Something to come.

  ‘Please, Rhys,’ she begged. ‘No more waiting.’

  He rose above her and she opened her legs to him. He pushed into her a little at a time, as if she would break, but she knew her body was meant to welcome him. She lifted her hips, urging him on.

  He gave one hard thrust and she cried out more at the pleasure of it than the pain.

  He froze. ‘Have I hurt you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. No. Do not stop.’

  Any reserve he might have been holding seemed released and he moved within her at a rhythmic pace which her body met with great gratitude. Sensation grew inside her, like a fireball growing hotter and hotter as his thrusts came quicker and deeper. She grasped his back, pressing her nails into his skin as the sensation built. Suddenly sheer pleasure burst inside her. She cried out with the joy of it.

  A second later he also cried out, pressing hard inside her, all his muscles taut, and grasping her firmly until he groaned and collapsed on top of her.

  He slid to her side, but still held her.

  They lay like that until Helene felt her body return to some semblance of normal. She rose a little to kiss him, her breasts pressing against his chest.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked her.

  She smiled at him. ‘Not hurt. Intensely happy.’

  Although the sounds of horses’ hooves, men shouting, wagons rumbling and a bugle sounding, reached her ears from the street below. Her happiness would be fleeting. He must leave to go to war.

  And he might never return.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rhys made love to her twice more, dozing with her in his arms between times. When light began to seep through the windows and the sounds of the street outside grew louder, he forced himself to face his duty. He must dress for battle, retrieve his horse, and make speed to meet his regiment who might even now be gathering in the Parc de Bruxelles.

  He gazed down at Helene, thinking she might be asleep, but her eyes were open and she returned his gaze.

  ‘I must leave.’ He sat up and rubbed his face. ‘I need to change clothes. Gather my things.’

  But instead of climbing out of bed, he moved atop her, leaning down for a long, yearning kiss. Reverently he caressed her soft skin and entered her once more, moving slowly, wishing to stop the clock ticking, trying to sear the moment into memory. He stroked her inside until his body overcame him and moved with her for that urgent release they shared together.

  After, he held her, reluctant to let go.

  ‘Rhys,’ she whispered. ‘You cannot stay.’

  She pushed him away and he rose from the bed. There were no words he could manage to speak. Sounds from the streets reached them, the sounds of many voices, shouts, and rumblings. They’d been constant through the night and Rhys could no longer ignore them.

  He looked out the window at columns of soldiers in the street marching to the Parc. ‘I need to join my regiment.’

  Helene, wrapped in bed linen, climbed off the bed and stood beside him to look down on the street packed with men.

  ‘I must hurry.’ He turned away from the window and began to dress.

  While he put on his shirt and drawers, Helene quickly washed herself from the basin on the dresser. She donned her shift and wriggled into her corset. He buttoned his trousers and slipped on his shoes, stuffing his stockings in a pocket.

  She presented her back to him. ‘Help me dress. I want to stay with you.’

  He helped her tie her stays and the laces of a dress she pulled from a drawer, the same dress she’d worn to dinner with Grant—had that only been the evening before? It felt as if his very world had changed since then.

  She put on her stockings and tied her hair back in a ribbon while he shrugged into his coat, not bothering to button it.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said, slipping on the dancing shoes she’d worn to the ball.

  ‘Come.’ He held her hand. They left her room and he led her down the hallway to where he shared the room with Grant.

  ‘You were this close to my room the whole time?’ she asked with a little laugh.

  ‘And I did not tell you,’ he admitted.

  He unlocked the door and they entered. The rooms were in some disarray. It was evident Grant had made quick work of changing out of his evening clothes and into his battle uniform. Rhys needed to do the same.

  Helene absently picked up clothes and straightened up the place while Rhys changed and prepared himself for the battle to come.

  He slung his pack over his shoulder and faced her. She stepped into his arms one more time. Rhys held her, relished the scent of her, the softness of her, the memory of lying with her.

  Again, it was she who moved away, her eyes shining with tears that she immediately blinked away. ‘I’ll walk downstairs with you.’

  After he locked the door behind her, he handed her his key. ‘Will you give this to the hall servant? Tell him to have our belongings packed up and stored. I’ll arrange payment when I can.’

  ‘I will.’ She put the key in her pocket.

  The hotel was not the bustle of frantic activity it had been only a few hours ago, but there were still people about, still couples saying goodbye. Helene walked with him all the way out the door of the hotel. The sky was even brighter than when he’d risen.

  ‘I will say goodbye here. I need to get my horse and ride to the Parc.’ Rhys must leave Helene again, to return to the army, with no certainty that he would ever see her again. ‘Find David. Leave Brussels today.’

  She faced him with such a brave look on her face that he took her in his arms again for one more kiss. He wrenched himself away.

  ‘Goodbye, Rhys!’ she called after him.

  He turned and strode back to her, holding her by her shoulders and looking into her eyes. ‘I never stopped loving you, Helene.’ He released her again and hurried away.

  He heard her voice call after him, ‘I never will stop, Rhys!’

  * * *

  Helene watched Rhys hurrying away from her, nearly running through the people on the pavement and the soldiers marching down the street. She watched until she could only see a hint of red and the top of his tall black hat. A moment later he was gone.

  She swallowed a sob.

  No, she would not cry. It would not help him. She could do nothing to help him.

  She walked towards the Parc and found a place to stand where she could survey the activity without being seen. The Parc was a sea of red-coated soldiers. She could make out the Highlanders, the same regiment of soldiers who’d danced at the ball, and another Scottish regiment dressed in kilts who were starting to fill the space between two other red-coated regiments. Was one of those Rhys’s regiment? She fixed her eyes on them and watched until they started to march away. She quickly ran to the streets to watch them pass. The Highland regiment marched to the sound of bagpipes and the ground shook with the footsteps of so many men. First she spied Grant on horseback, riding next to the red coats. Finally she saw Rhys on a bay mare with a flash of white on its forehead. She watched him until he and his men marched out of sight.

  All around her were men, horses and wagons heading to war. Some soldiers were still saying goodbye to tearful wives and children. One soldier embraced his wife again and again and took their baby in his arms, kissing the child one more time before handing the babe back to his wife, tears streaming down his cheeks. Helene’s throat constricted and tears stung her eyes at the sight. She watched a woman riding next to an officer—his wife perhaps? She’d never imagined a wife could accompany
her husband like that. How brave of her. Helene felt a pang of envy. If only she could have ridden next to Rhys!

  Helene could not bear these heart-wrenching sights any longer. She wiped her tears with her fingers and made her way back to the door of the hotel.

  Inside, the hall servant, who looked as if he’d not slept at all, was surrounded by guests, all demanding his assistance. No sense in talking with him now, especially since David was not here yet. It was too early. David had never risen this early and she doubted he would do so even today, after the late hours of the ball. He’d promised to meet her here, though. She must believe he would keep his word.

  It was just dawn. She climbed the stairs but instead of going to her room, she went to Rhys’s, letting herself in with his key. She would pack for Rhys and his friend. Who knew when the busy servants could do so?

  She gathered everything she supposed to belong to Rhys or Grant. She picked up the coat Rhys had worn to the ball and held it to her nose, inhaling the scent of him, embracing the coat as if she were embracing Rhys himself. Tears pricked her eyes again, but she was still determined not to weep. She folded his coat and his other clothes and packed them in his chest. She picked up a handkerchief that was packed in the chest and rubbed it against her cheek.

  She placed it in her pocket. A piece of him she would keep.

  What she guessed to be Grant’s belongings she packed in the other chest. After scouring the room to be certain she’d found everything, she closed the chests and left the room, locking it behind her. Downstairs the hall servant was still too busy, so she walked outside again. There were no more marching numbers of soldiers, only a few officers on horseback riding away. She walked to the Place Royale right next to the hotel and saw a few sentinels guarding military wagons. She was puzzled by a line of long tilted carts parked one after the other. Their drivers slept at their seats and the unharnessed horses grazed at some nearby grass.

  She asked one of the sentinels, ‘What are those wagons for?’

  ‘To carry the wounded, ma’am,’ the man replied.