Cherishing the Captain (Men at Arms Book 2)

by Elise Marion

  Shaking her head in disbelief, she edged closer, staring at him as if she wanted to make good on her promise to protect him.

  Protect him from the emptiness of going to war knowing no one would await him or mourn his loss. Protect him from feeling like some disposable mechanism working as part of the great automaton of Britain’s army.

  “I suppose it is normal for a man my age to think he has all the time in the world for such things,” he mused aloud. “A wife and children … a family. A home, a place to put down roots and grow old. I am nearing my thirtieth year but sometimes feel like a child, as if there is still so much of the world for me to see and discover, so much for me to learn. A man in my position is liable to go about thinking he has forever, when the reality is far different.”

  Her gaze lowered and her cheeks blossomed with pink spots as she toyed with one of his gold buttons, voice trembling when she spoke.

  “What if ye only had one night?”

  He went stone still, his throat growing tight as he digested her words. Surely she couldn’t mean what he thought. It was his own mind, depraved as it was, conjuring up thoughts of her lying on a bed stripped of all clothing, warm and waiting and willing.

  “Sylvia,” he choked out, his hand coming over hers to press it flat to his chest. He felt his own heartbeat, thumping wild and hard. “You cannot know what thoughts such words can stoke in a man like me.”

  “And what kind of man are ye?”

  “The kind who’s enjoyed the company of many women, but never more than once and never with any promise of tomorrow.”

  “We speak of tonight just now, aye?”

  “No,” he urged, kissing her knuckles. “We’re talking about far more than that, I think. For all your boldness, I sense you don’t have much experience with such things. You are … innocent.”

  “If ye want an experienced woman, just say so,” she snapped.

  “If this was a simple matter of want, I’d have you naked in my room right now.”

  She made a small, startled noise in the back of her throat. He smiled and ran his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture.

  “But this isn’t about if I want you, but whether it would be right for me to take advantage.”

  Sylvia’s chin raised in a stubborn tilt, and she eyed him with fierce rebellion turning her eyes silver. “I’m not a child. I wouldnae offer if I didnae know what I was getting myself into.”

  “I know. But, you deserve more than one night, and we both know it’s all I could give you for now. A woman like you … you deserve more than a few stolen hours. You deserve forever. A lifetime.”

  He lowered his lips to her brow and lingered there, inhaling her scent. There was nothing flowery or sweet about it, and Gideon loved it all the more for that reason. She smelled of laundry starch and soap, with the soft overlying tang of sweat and a hint of musk.

  “Ye say things like that and it’s going to happen, ye know. I’m going to fall in love wi’ ye, Gideon Whitlock.”

  A snort of laughter huffed through his nose, and he took hold of her arms, his thumbs stroking the bare skin below her short sleeves.

  “You keep standing here in my arms smelling so sweet, and I’m going to forget my honor.”

  Sneaking a sly glance up at him, she smirked. “Mayhap that was my intention all along.”

  “Minx,” he teased. “Would you settle for a kiss? I will admit it’s all I’ve been able to think about since I first laid eyes on you.”

  Her eyes glittered as she swayed against him, hands coming up to clutch at his back. “Aye, I think I could be content with that.”

  Tightening his hold on her arms, Gideon pulled her flush against him as he lowered his head. His every sense seemed attuned to the moment, his nostrils pulling in her scent with every breath, his ears latched on to the hitch in her breath, his sight sharpening to focus on her to the exclusion of his surroundings. His skin prickled with awareness when his lips lightly brushed hers, testing, gently asking for more rather than taking. She whimpered impatiently, coming up on tiptoe to capture his mouth and deepen the kiss.

  He surged against her with a groan, his control unraveling at a frightening speed. He gripped her waist, his body arching and hips surging to press closer to her, as if some part of him was desperate to become one with her. As much as he wanted to believe it was merely the organ between his legs, Gideon knew there was more to this; some part of him that had lain dormant for all his life, but now made itself known as he drank from her lips.

  Her hands smoothed up his arms and neck, and then her fingers were threading through his hair. The movement caused her breasts to drag along the expanse of his chest, stoking another guttural sound from deep within him.

  He sucked and nibbled at her lips, kissing her with all the need and passion roiling through him and none of the tentative care he ought to show with a woman so young; one he knew had never been kissed so thoroughly. She didn’t seem to mind, opening her mouth to the demanding sweep of his tongue and moaning when he thrust into her mouth. She followed his lead without hesitation, pushing her tongue against his and creating the desired friction, flooding his palate with the taste of her—whiskey and pastry, sugary sweet and addicting.

  Then they were moving, Gideon’s long legs propelling Sylvia until her back came against the lamppost. The hands at her waist moved upward, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She mewled and squirmed, her fingers caressing the back of his neck and sending tremors down his spine with every touch.

  Tension wound like a spring in his belly, and it translated to the rest of him, tightening and ending in an excruciating erection that nearly drove him to his knees. No whore or skilled courtesan had ever made him feel such sharp, potent desire.

  He tore his lips from hers, and held Sylvia away from him while panting for breath. Her bosom heaved at his fingertips with her every inhalation, her lips reddened and her eyes shimmering with an unfocused quality. She looked as dazed as he felt, as if she could hardly believe what had just happened between them.

  Gideon’s hands shook as he removed them from her person, and it was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done. Already, he itched to touch her again, kiss her until he was drowning in her sweetness. But, that would be dangerous, and he suspected Sylvia knew that as well as he did.

  Because, if he kissed her again he wouldn’t be able to stop. Kissing would lead to the rest of it, to the thing she’d offered him out of sympathy and a desire to send him off to war with the memory of something good and beautiful.

  As badly as he wanted it, he could not lose sight of one very important fact—he could have her tonight, there was no question. However, once would never be enough.

  Within the hour, Gideon was quite certain she was the one who had made him fall head over heels in love. They remained outside the tavern, reluctant to go back inside and have their privacy interrupted. It became clear to him within minutes that something special was happening between them. It was new, fragile, and terrifying, but it was real, and Gideon was reluctant to have it interrupted by anyone. Maxwell had busied himself with his own affairs, and likely wouldn’t come looking for him until morning. And as the moon hung high overhead and time passed them by, he found himself wishing the night wouldn’t end.

  Sylvia Blaine was a wonder—a strong, sweet country girl whose father was a farmhand. After the loss of her mother, she had helped run a household where she was the only female. Despite several young men of Duddingston being sweet on her, she hadn’t accepted a single marriage proposal. Apparently, there had been five.

  “I suppose I’ve just been waiting, ye ken?” she said as they strolled hand in hand. “I’ve met men who are handsome or charming, and the other lasses seem to adore them, but I … I want something more, and I willnae settle until I find it.”

  Gideon glanced over at her, marveling at the way the moonlight glinted off her hair. “Something more?”

  She grinned, and his belly quivered. “S
omething like love … but more powerful. Something all-consuming and soul-stirring. Something I cannae live without. Oh, I must sound absolutely insane to ye.”

  Gideon stared at her, open-mouthed and at a loss for words. Insane? No, she sounded like his every dream come true … because he hadn’t realized it until just now, but what she’d just described was what he wanted, too. He’d spent years of his life avoiding attachment, telling himself it was because he wasn’t ready. He was too young to tie himself to one woman for the rest of his life. He had all the time in the world, he’d thought.

  But, tonight he’d realized how wrong he was. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been ready, but that he hadn’t yet found the right woman. It occurred to him that she was going to think he was the mad one if he spoke what was on his mind just then—if he told her that he’d found ‘something more’. He was looking ‘something more’ in the eye, and had been struck with the most overwhelming sense of urgency. The rest of his life now seemed like a pitifully short time, and the reality of spending his days alone held no appeal.

  “No,” he choked out, his throat suddenly tight. “What you said makes complete sense.”

  She gave him another one of those vibrant smiles and then came up on tiptoe to kiss him. What she’d meant to be a short, sweet peck became deeper when Gideon wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her closer, deepening the kiss.

  The same unmistakable reaction sparked between them, deep and visceral. Gideon tore his mouth from hers, pressing his lips to her forehead as he took deep, slow breaths. He was fast losing his hold on rationale, forgetting why he couldn’t help himself to her warm and pliant body. But then, it wasn’t only her body he wanted. He’d come to crave her smiles and her laughter, to anticipate the husky stroke of her voice down his spine and the weight of her hand in his. It was utterly ridiculous to think himself in love after only a few hours. A dance. A conversation. A handful of kisses.

  But, there you had it. Sylvia Blaine was an angel—some otherworldly creature sent to fulfill his every dream.

  And he was utterly bewitched.

  He did his best to talk himself out of doing something foolish for the rest of the night. Gideon returned inside the inn long enough to procure more whisky for them, which they shared by speaking of inconsequential things. Then, with the music from within filtering through the open windows, he took her into his arms for another dance—this one slow and solemn as they stared at one another in the light of the last hours of night before dawn.

  As he wrapped both arms around her and stilled her motions during the final refrains of the song, Gideon looked into her eyes, forgetting his vow to be practical.

  “Marry me.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “Oh, Captain Whitlock, ye do make me laugh.”

  Gideon wanted to be insulted, but was aware of how ridiculous he sounded. He was going to have to convince her he meant it.

  “I wasn’t jesting, Sylvia. I know we only just met and I am set to leave soon, but I … when you said you were waiting for something more, I realized I was waiting, too. I didn’t realize it until I found you, but I cannot ignore this feeling. You feel it, too, don’t you? Something has happened here tonight. Something that doesn’t happen every day, and most people never experience.”

  The humor bled away from her face, and in its place came a wistful, dreamlike expression. “O’course I feel it. I’d be lying if I pretended otherwise. Ye have me utterly besotted, Gideon.”

  “And you have enthralled me. I … I daresay that in the space of a night, I’ve fallen in love with a lovely, outspoken Scottish girl in a yellow dress. You asked me who I might fight to return home to. I have no one, but I don’t want it to be that way. I think, I would like it very much if you could be the one fight for.”

  Her lower lip trembled as she clung to him, a soft sigh emitting from her. “Och, I knew it. I kenned when I saw ye that ye’d steal my heart and ye’ve done it. Damn you, Gideon, I never stood a chance.”

  With a smile, he took hold of her hand and kissed her palm. “Say you’ll wait for me. All I want is a promise. It will hold me until I can return and wed you before the entire world. Or … as much of the world as we can fit into a church.”

  Cupping his face, she stared into his eyes for a while before replying. Gideon held his breath, certain she was going to tell him he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had frightened her. He’d played his hand too soon. He ought to have asked permission to write her while he was gone instead. When he returned to England, he could meet her father and ask permission to court her, then eventually propose marriage. It was the sensible thing to do.

  However, Sylvia didn’t strike him as a sensible woman. She proved that with her response.

  “Nay, Gideon. I willnae wait another moment to call ye mine. Aye, I’ll marry ye … but I’ll do it tonight or not at all.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “Tonight? But—”

  “In Scotland, we dinnae wait for licenses or banns. All we need is a blacksmith and two witnesses, and we are man and wife. I cannae send ye off to war not knowing whether ye’ll come home to me, Gideon. If the worst should happen, I’d always regret missing this chance.”

  “I want to do things properly for you. I want to meet your father and earn his respect, show him I am serious in my desire to wed you.”

  “I love my da, but he cannae make this decision for me. My hand in marriage, my heart, my soul, my body … they are all mine to give, and I’m choosing to give them to ye, Gideon. Now, tonight. Make me yer wife, and we’ll spend what time there is left together. And if that is all we can have, so be it. I’ll never regret my choice.”

  Gideon could hardly believe what was happening, how much he wanted to capitulate. He had been raised a gentleman, instilled with a sense of duty, honor, and respectability. But, what he wanted right now had nothing to do with any of them. Yet, it felt right. It felt like destiny and purpose.

  “All right,” he agreed with a little laugh. “Let’s do it tonight. Let’s get married.”

  Sylvia laughed along with him, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him all over his face. “Gideon, this is madness!”

  “It is. But my mind has never been more clear. This feels right to me.”

  “Aye … to me, too.”

  Taking her hand once more, he let her lead him off down the lane. They broke into a run once out of view of the Sheep’s Heid, in the direction of the nearest blacksmith’s shop.

  As dawn broke the following morning, Gideon lay in the bed of his inn room cradling his sleeping wife in his arms. After the swift ceremony, they’d returned here and spent what was left of the night consummating their union. Sylvia had been a shy bride, but one open to the ministrations of her husband. He’d never lain with an inexperienced woman before, but had found the first time with Sylvia to be the most fulfilling experience of his life.

  Just before she lay dozing in his arms, Gideon intertwined their fingers, toying with the silver ring he’d slid onto her left hand a few hours ago.

  “I love you, Mrs. Whitlock.”

  They were the truest words he’d ever spoken to anyone.

  “And I love ye back, mo chroi.”

  He furrowed his brow at the sound of the rough, lyrical Gaelic words she’d uttered. Gideon recognized the language, but had no idea what she’d just called him.

  “Mu … cree?” he echoed, his lips struggling to form the guttural language.

  She giggled and corrected his pronunciation until he got it right. Then, added, “It means, ‘my heart’.”

  Kissing her brow, he grinned. “I like that.”

  Snuggling closer to him, Sylvia sighed. “Come home to me, aye? I cannae wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  Holding her tight, Gideon closed his eyes and made yet another solemn vow—one he intended to keep.

  “Nothing but death would keep me from you, my love.”

  Chapter 3

  “If there is nothing else, I
believe we can adjourn for the afternoon. I thank you ladies for your time and dedication.”

  Sylvia joined the other nurses in applauding Dr. Wickham, a former army surgeon who had been contracted by the lieutenant and Mrs. Davies to work as the primary physician of the home. Two other doctors would work beneath him, along with the small army of nurses who sat around Sylvia dressed in their matching gray dresses, mobcaps, and white aprons. Dr. Scudder was an alienist specializing in the care of soldiers whose minds had buckled under the strain of war and injury. He and Dr. Wickham had gathered the nurses to go over the protocols that would go into place once their first residents arrived. Three were expected in a matter of a few days, with several more to follow.

  For months, the Davies’ had worked to raise funds and staff the home in preparation for the opening, and Sylvia felt proud to have played any sort of role. When her brother was sent home from the Crimea following the Battle of Inkerman—with a broken, infected hand and a raging fever—Sylvia had discovered her purpose.

  She’d spent the time since the departure of her brothers and husband worrying and seeking distractions, but there was no escaping the feeling of helplessness that plagued her. What was there for her to do while the people she loved were at war, other than pray and think of how life would be altered by their permanent loss?

  When word reached Duddingston that several men of the 93rd Sutherland Regiment of Foot had been sent to a facility for wounded soldiers in London, her father had immediately gone to investigate. Those days of waiting were hell, but Sylvia had busied herself caring for young Brochan and doing her best to reassure the lad that their brothers would be just fine. Her da returned weeks later with a battered and dying Conall. His hand had been crushed, trampled by the hooves of a cavalry horse, and he’d been grazed along his ribs by a rifle ball. Connall had been stitched up and the bones in his hand set, but infection and fever rendered him delirious and half-dead.

  Sylvia had seen the hopelessness in her father’s eyes and heard Brochan’s grieved sobs, and felt her bones turn to stone and her blood freeze over. No tears fell, no wails of despair passed through her lips. At the time she hadn’t understood the reaction, the cold determination driving her to begin ordering her da about as if she were the parent, directing Brochan to fetch clean water and run into town for a list of supplies she would need to treat her brother.