by Jane Lark
But if it was real?
If it was real then last night he had forgotten to wear a sheath. She might be with child. It had taken his brother only twice to achieve that with his wife. Or… he might be infected. She’d said that Hillier brought other women here. If Hillier or the other women carried a disease… But God, he could not think of that—of Charlie like that.
He tossed the end of the cigar into a flower border in the garden, then called Ash back to him and walked inside. He shut the door, then returned to her room and to her bed. And God, let every self-righteous person in this world point their fingers at him and call him a villain, or debauched, he did not care. Let the rest of the world care, not him, nor Charlie. He woke her up and appreciated everything about her body again and he did not use a sheath. Fool, or not a fool, let him be damned, but it had felt so good and it was too late to avoid infection now. But to try to prevent a child he did withdraw before his moment of victory.
They spent the day together, never entirely dressing, and continually returning to her bed. Although they ate at times, ringing down to the kitchens and telling the Colonel’s servants that they were coming down so that the servants would stay out of their way. It was an idealistic life, the sort of life he’d never thought he wished to indulge in and yet it had a draw. It stirred emotion in his chest in the same way that a spoon spun the tea in a cup when sugar was dissolved.
They spent the night, a second night, in her bed together and while they slept he held her. It felt better than he could have ever imagined to hold a naked woman—Charlie, not any woman.
But then the sun rose and it was time for him to get out of her bed and stop pretending that he was another man in another life.
He dressed as she watched him. With Ash sitting near him. The dog’s head turned from Charlie to Harry as they talked.
When he was dressed he bent down and looked at himself in the mirror on the dressing table. His fingers combed back his hair. He looked tidy enough but he’d have to shave at the barracks. He straightened and looked back at Charlie. ‘Well then, it is time I headed off.’
She smiled and threw aside the sheet, getting up. ‘I’ll walk down with you.’
He nodded. Why was there a queasy feeling in his stomach?
There was a cloth garment on a chair near her bed. She picked that up, pulled it on to her arms and then over her head. The garment was the nightdress she must normally wear. It sheathed her body with one swift waterfall of movement.
Humour gathered at the back of his throat. This woman had so many characters and yet none of them seemed quite like a whore’s. They walked downstairs together, with her clothed in only her nightdress.
As they reached the hall, his palm cradled her head and he leant and kissed her. Her fingers stroked through his hair as his free hand ran across her back. He did not want to leave her.
When he broke the kiss, her fingers fell on to his cheek. There were emotions expressed in her eyes. This was so much more than any connection he’d ever had with a whore. The emotions he saw in her eyes were those he’d seen in the eyes of his brothers, his sisters and his cousins when they’d found a wife or a husband.
He turned away.
He was a soldier. He did not have space for those emotions in his life and she belonged to another man.
He belonged to another life.
‘Will you come back when your duty hours are over?’
‘If I can.’
She nodded, her eyes speaking of happiness.
He smiled, then turned and opened the door and left her, his heart thumping in a heavy rhythm. He looked back once and caught her gaze just before she shut the door.
Ash walked close to his heel as they headed back to the inn, where Obsidian had awaited them for hours.
He breathed hard, trying to take control of the answering emotions and desires inside him. It would be foolish—entirely foolish, to think of her like that.
But still, in the hours he was on duty, he pushed aside the military papers he was working on and pulled over a blank sheet of paper, then wrote to his brother.
Dear John,
I have never begged for my allowance early before, as you are aware, and I find it both humiliating and uncomfortable to do so, and yet, I have discovered a reason that justifies putting myself in this place. I am not asking for the money for myself, but because I wish to support a woman. I have spent my last quarter’s allowance and I want to secure this woman now. I do not want to wait. It would…
It would mean that she would have to share a bed with Hillier again if he could not support her and he did not want that to happen. He wanted Charlie to be his. But for her to be his he would need to pay for somewhere for her to live and for her food and her clothing and… he needed his next quarter’s allowance.
…mean she suffered unduly. Please would you send my money early, then I promise I shall manage it accordingly from here on. I will not ask again.
Your brother,
Harry.
He sealed the letter, addressed it to his ducal brother, and then included it in the pouch of dispatches going to London.
Later in the afternoon, once his duty was complete, he returned to Charlie, but he did not tell her he’d made the request. Instead of telling her, he suggested they took Ash out for a walk along the beach. They did so and took turns to throw the stick for Ash for nearly two hours, before finding an inn where they could eat dinner.
Let this dream or hallucination, or whatever this madness was, continue. He did not want anything to break what this had become.
They spent the late hours of the evening at the house sitting on the sofa in her little parlour, playing chess, conversing and smoking one of Hillier’s cigars, handing it back and forth, and drinking more of his whiskey.
When Charlie was in this careless, spirited mood it reminded him of the off-duty hours he spent with his men and the hours he’d spent with his cousins in his youth. He was entirely comfortable in her presence. They laughed and talked continuously. It was not simply their relationship in a bed that made him wish to keep her for himself, it was this too.
He did not deny another opportunity to share her bed, though, that did play a large part in his desire to keep her. They joined again and then he slept beside her with his arm wrapped around her.
In the morning they ate bread, cheese and eggs in the kitchen for their breakfast and washed it down with coffee, before returning to the bed as he was not on duty again until the evening. Then they took Ash out and ate in an inn.
Afterward he walked her back to Hillier’s, then said goodbye on the steps in front of Hillier’s door.
As he walked back to collect Obsidian, Harry’s innards writhed. How long would it take John to reply? To act. All he had to do was send a note to Harry’s bank. And how long before Hillier came back?
He sighed.
Perhaps tomorrow he should speak with Charlie and ask her, tell her, what he hoped for? But then, if he did not receive the money from John, he would be raising Charlie’s expectations for something that might not be possible.
Not possible yet. Regardless of what John said now, when the next allowance was paid then he would rent a house and have her move to it, clothe and keep her.
But God, he could not stand the thought that he might not be able to do it immediately. His mind would be unable to bear it if Hillier returned and she was still in that house.
Chapter 6
Someone knocked on the office door with a firm military-style rap. ‘Come in,’ Harry called.
‘Captain Marlow. Sir.’
Harry looked up at the saluting Major, who faced him in the small room illuminated by a single gas light. ‘Yes, Major.’
‘There is a woman here to see you, sir.’
A woman… ‘Who?’ He looked at the clock. It was only a few minutes after three o’clock in the morning.
‘A Miss Cotton, sir.’
Charlie.
He stood up. ‘Where is she?’
‘In the officers’ mess, sir. She is very distressed and injured.’
Injured… What on earth? He was walking already. ‘Thank you, Major, you are dismissed.’ Harry walked past him.
The sound of the heels of his boots echoed along the wood-panelled hallways as he made his way to the mess room.
She was sitting alone in the large room that was cluttered with tables and chairs. Someone had lit a single light and the gas flame made its muffled, almost crackling, sound, but other than that the room, which was often busy and noisy, was shadowy and quiet. He shut the door. Charlie sniffed away tears.
What had made her cry? What had brought her here in the middle of the night?
‘Charlie…’ She was still dressed in her bonnet and cloak and her hands were clasped together in her lap.
She had been looking at her hands. She looked up, but did not rise. ‘Harry.’
‘What has happened?’ Within the shadow formed by the brim of her bonnet he could see one of her eyes looked… bruised, but it was not a dark bruise, it was a fresh crimson bruise. He walked across the room. ‘Charlie.’ Panic sliced him in half. ‘How were you injured?’
When he reached her he squatted down on his haunches and clasped her hands as they lay in her lap. They were trembling like leaves on a tree in a breeze.
‘E’s thrown me out. Mark ‘as.’ Her words expressed a coarse accent that was not her usual tone. ‘I ‘ave nothin’, Harry. I ‘ave nowhere to live. I ‘ave no clothes. I ‘ave no money. Nothin’. I ‘ave nowhere to go. No one to go to.’
But she’d come to him.
His grip firmed on her hands. ‘You have me. I will take care of you. Now tell me what happened, how were you hurt? Did Colonel Hillier hit you?’ The thought of it pierced him in the stomach as if a sword tip had pressed into his flesh.
‘No. Yes, ‘e slapped me, that was all.’
Slapped her. For God’s sake.
‘He did not intend it. I fell against the doorframe. But ‘e had told me I must leave. ‘E said I had to go because I let you stay, and ‘e did not like it. ‘E made me leave with nothin’. ‘E said I couldn’t go to my room. I couldn’t fetch anythin’.’
‘But you came to me,’ he repeated. ‘You did the right thing. You have something. You have me.’ He squeezed her shaking fingers and refused to admit how much the sight of her distress and her injured eye disturbed him. The bright-red stain below her copper eyebrow was spreading like a spilt glass of red wine.
‘Oh, Harry, ‘ave I been silly? I am so afraid.’
‘Come along.’ He stood and pulled her on to her feet. ‘You will sleep in my bed while I complete my duty. I cannot leave my post. But once I am done then we will resolve this. Do not worry.’
He held her hand tightly as he walked her through the barracks, aware that this was entirely wrong, but where else was she to go? He could not leave his post.
When they reached his room, he took off her cloak and bonnet for her. Then he made her sit, unlaced her short boots and took them off, before making her lie down. She trembled, even as she lay on the bed.
‘Ash.’ The dog had been sitting and watching them ever since Harry had brought Charlie into the room, disturbing Ash’s sleep. He tapped the bed in front of where Charlie lay. Ash jumped up and lay beside her. ‘There, Ash will keep you company until I return.’
She did not look at him. She was suffering with shock; he could see the signs in her eyes, he had seen many men with staring eyes like that in the hospital tents during the war. It expressed how wounded she must feel on the inside, just as the bruise said how wounded she had truly been.
He leant and kissed her cheek. It tasted of salt from the remains of her tears. ‘Try and sleep.’
He left her. But God, his heart remained in his room when he walked back to the office to complete his duty, and his hands trembled with shock too.
One hand lifted and ran over his hair.
Her eye… If she had been slapped, she had been slapped very hard.
Damn. His instinct was to go to Hillier’s, kick the damned door down, drag the man out and show him what it felt like to be hit. But that could not be done, Harry would be locked up for it and then who would take care of Charlie?
He sighed out a breath as he reached the office.
In the Crimea, night hours had been for planning, maps had been spread out and leant over and strategies drawn up. Here… Night hours were long tests of endurance. Nothing very much happened, and he could not walk about the men all night to check they were at their posts. There were records to be kept, but his mind would not focus on them. His mind was on the woman who lay in his bed.
He got up and walked outside to speak with the men on guard. At least that would distract his mind for a few minutes. He was teased when he got out there, in a light-hearted way. He was their officer, but even so… Many questions were asked about the mysterious, tearful woman.
Gareth appeared at the door to the office just before six, just before Harry’s duty came to a close and Gareth was to take over. ‘I have been hearing tales about the night.’ He walked over and stood before the desk that Harry sat behind. ‘A woman…’
Harry shook his head. ‘Do not ask me. I have heard it all tonight.’
His friend smiled. ‘So the desire to ride out alone, frequently, I take it was not to ride a horse.’
‘Gareth.’ Harry warned in a voice that was a reprimand.
Gareth smiled, unrepentant. ‘I believe she is currently in your room.’
‘She is, but she will be gone within the hour.’
‘Good, because I do not want this falling on my head in my hours of duty. She cannot remain here on my watch.’
Harry made a face at him as he stood up. He knew he was in trouble. He did not need to be reminded of it. ‘I told you, I will resolve it now.’ And delay facing the storm that would thunder through the barracks when the Lieutenant Colonel woke.
‘Good luck,’ Gareth stated as Harry left.
Harry sighed out hard as he walked towards his room. Half of him had been in this room through every hour of his duty since she’d arrived, waiting for the moment he could go back. After he’d spoken to the men he’d planned his strategy of attack, or perhaps defence. He was going to take her to an inn for now.
He knocked on the door. There was no response. Concern twisted through his stomach as he opened the door.
She was asleep, still fully clothed. Lord the emotion in his stomach rolled up to his chest. Her hair was awry, twisted bits had escaped pins, making her hair scruffy, but it was her eye that tainted her beauty, not that. The vivid red bruising had flooded her whole eye socket and spread across her cheek. It was an internal wound, not simply a bruise, and it had been bleeding throughout the night.
He squatted down and his hand rested on Ash’s head as the dog looked up at him with sad, questioning eyes, asking him why this woman who had come into both their lives was lying on Harry’s bed. Harry’s hand lifted and instead settled on Charlie’s head.
Her eyes opened, though she did not move. She was still in shock, her eyes spoke of doubt and fear. ‘Harry…’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Bilious.’
‘I need you to come with me. I’m sorry, but I cannot let you stay here.’
‘Is it the morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where can I go?’ She started, leaning up on her elbow.
‘To an inn.’
She sat up fully, turning to sit at the edge of the bed. ‘I have no money. I cannot.’
‘I will pay.’
~
‘You should not have to.’ This was not what she had wanted.
The pain inside her was a tight ball of agony. What had she done? She had been so stupid. But she had wanted something for herself. A moment. For seven years she had lived as Mark wished and done everything as he wished. She had deserved something for herself and she had not intended for it become what it had, and yet sh
e had not regretted that it had reached that point. She had enjoyed every hour she’d spent with Harry and especially the hours they’d spent in her parlour and her room. He had made those places special to her.
Tears rolled on to her cheeks.
‘Come along, Charlie. I need to take you out of here. You should not be in my room.’
He clasped her hands and pulled her to her feet as she choked on tears. Then his arms were about her and he held her tightly for a moment. But then he let her go. ‘Let us put on your boots and then we must go. Ash, you can come too.’
She sat again as he slid her boots on to her feet and laced them. Then he put her bonnet on for her and tied the bow, and when she stood once more he set her cloak about her shoulders and tied that for her too.
As they walked out she glanced all about the wooden-panelling which lined the corridors, she had not even noticed it the night before. But confusion, fear and terror of what would happen next had flooded her then. The fear still had a tight grip about her throat; it had not let go.
She had walked to the barracks in a daze; her head spinning and it still hurt. She could barely remember the walk from Brighton in the dark any more than she remembered these corridors.
But she remembered Mark returning late, in the middle of the night, in a rage. He’d called for her, shouting up from the hall and then ordered her into his drawing room. She had not wanted to go down, but she had gone to fulfil her duty. Then he’d yelled and slapped her and she’d fallen and hit her head and he had told her to leave. Just to leave. He had not even let her return to her room. Once the maid had brought down her bonnet and cloak, Mark had clasped her arm, led her to the door and thrown her out.
And now Harry held her arm as he walked her through the halls—but his grip was gentle.
When they walked out of the barracks’ gate, the uniformed men saluted Harry. He saluted them in return. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying again, she was so uncertain of everything. She could not look ahead. There was no knowledge of where she would be in an hour, what she would eat, when she could change her clothes—she had no clothes beyond those she was wearing.