by Baird Wells
At least the room was warm. She'd kept the fire burning for days, not letting it go out, and she took some pleasure in its glow on Ty's behalf. Rubbing his hands together, he moved to stand in front of the firebox while she pried a giant red leather encyclopedia from the book shelf. Poking a hand into the space it left, her fingers reached the smooth glass decanter and pulled it out.
“Anxious housekeeper?” he asked, watching her take out a glass.
“No. I just prefer my gin without the taste of poison. Old habits.” She poured, redoubling the effort at a clearing of his throat each time she slowed.
He took the glass without a word. If she had to guess, he was bolstering his courage, and her heart tightened. There were so many things he might have to say. She dreaded and anticipated each in turn.
While she settled on her blue velveteen sofa, Ty perched on a leather wing back chair opposite her. She had expected him to slouch, settle in. Instead he hung on the edge, unmoving except for the occasional lift of an arm to raise the tumbler to his lips, or to rotate it between his palms. He drained it with impressive speed, then clanked it atop the white marble hearth and sat forward.
After long moments, he seemed to compress, a bellows releasing a mighty breath. His eyes raised, fastening on hers. “Olivia, I have to return to the army. Tomorrow.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, his news hitting like a physical blow. Of course he had to return; in the chaos of their mission, she hadn’t realized it would come so soon. “How long?”
Ty's words were long in coming, drawn up from some deep well. “Indefinitely. General Webb has been recalled to the division. Fighting is close and my regiment is still a mess owing to Commander Braddock.”
Her throat closed, eyes beading with unshed tears. Desperate, she said, “Just a little longer, Tyler. Even a few days. We're so close.” That was not the true reason she begged, and considering the way things had ended a few days before, he must suspect as much.
Ty looked as miserable as she felt. “The officers have thought me on leave all this time. Webb, too. I cannot postpone any longer.”
She stared at her hands, folded on her lap, no idea what else to say. Disappointment crushed down even idle conversation.
“Olivia.” He spoke her name with the weight of a touch. “There is something...” He slipped from the chair onto his knees, laying a warm, wide hand over hers. “I'm not certain I've earned the right to say to you what I am about to say. My bravery is nowhere equal to yours, in an age where a man is expected always to be the hero. I'm not ashamed of it, but, by God Olivia, I think you're worth more than my meager currency.” He paused and pressed his eyes shut for a breath, and Olivia trembled “I wish I could pledge that it was my design all along to stumble into you, but it’s impossible that a man could engineer any scheme resulting in the feelings I have for you. It must be the design of Fate or some other wonderful thing. My heart found you by accident and I realize now that, no matter what I was before you, I was less than whole.” He sighed and rested fingers over his heart. “You didn't pull me from my course, you are the compass which has set me on it.”
She dabbed a sleeve to each eye, afraid to trust what she was hearing. “Tyler.” His name shuddered from her lips in a nervous question, and he nodded.
“I want us to belong to each other, Olivia. Until we’re dust and bones.”
Her heart ached, pounding with a rhythm so quick she couldn’t distinguish one beat from the next. She opened her mouth, but everything fought to come out at once. The harder she worked at speaking, the more tears pricked her eyes. One of his fingers caught her under the chin and pressed her gaping mouth shut. “When?” she managed at last with less than a whisper, strangling his hand with both of her own.
“The first possible moment. When you come to Belgium. I would do it now, if it could be managed.” His eyes held hers, bright and eager.
It couldn’t be so easy, after all her aching for him. Her mind was stuck while her heart throbbed ahead. “Don't you need permission from your general?” she asked lamely.
“I don't bloody well need anyone's permission, Olivia. None besides yours. No one else can stop me. No one else will stop me.”
She enjoyed thrill at his forcefulness, the possibility growing on her by the second. “You could face court martial.” Recalling Ethan's warning, she squeezed his hand. “Whitehall would dismiss us both. It would have to be a secret.”
“I know. And I do not relish the idea, but I can tolerate it.” There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation.
So much of her life had been lived in some form of secret or another. She was hardly daunted by one more.
Ty must have mistaken her silence for hesitation. He claimed her hand and pressed it over his heart. “My sky was dark before you, mon etoile.” My star. “I can stand the weeks away from you until we’re married. I could bear worse. For you.”
Olivia could only nod, a tightness in her throat stemming words and tears. Before he'd appeared at her door tonight, she'd walked for days through her house in a fog, her hopes and dreams and assignment in pieces. And now the sun had come out. She smiled. “How can I say no to that?”
He swallowed hard, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “Rather easily, in fact, but I am hoping you won't.”
Cradling his face, Olivia pressed her lips to his forehead. “Do you understand now why I couldn't leave you behind in the forest?”
He pulled away, nearly toppling her from the chair. “Why couldn't you leave me behind?”
She joined him on the floor. “Because I love you, my fox, and I think you are saying that you love –”
His lips caught the last of her sentence, pressing her words between their kiss. They'd kissed many times before, each encounter charged with sexual tension, each time under the shadow of their work. This was time was completely different, no acting, no roles to play. Gin filled her mouth, crisp orange and the bite of juniper berries on his tongue. Hands circled her arms, drawing her in. His movements were rounded and smooth, like the gin; sweet, with a hint of passion.
When they parted, it was like losing a part of herself as his head fell to her shoulder. He panted, damp heat working through the fabric of her dress. “A few weeks, that's all. We can risk it then.”
“That sounds like eternity.” Her life with Ty couldn’t begin soon enough.
Nodding, he stood abruptly, tugging her behind. “You’ll have a letter; the very moment I am settled.”
Olivia twined her arm with his, walking him out to the hall, eager for every last drop of physical contact.
He released her, moving to claim his coat. In a moment he would put it on, excuse himself, and take his first step away from her and toward Belgium. Toward war, and perhaps worse.
She darted for his hand, holding fast. “Don't go.”
His face creased into sad lines. “I have orders, Olivia. If I could –”
“Tonight. I meant tonight.” She laced her fingers with his. “I want you to stay.”
There was a war on Ty's face, and his chest rose faster. He hesitated, and she knew she had won.
She pulled him toward the stairs.
Ty closed the door behind them, turning the key slowly. Her heart thundered against her ribs at a simple act filled with so much intent. He faced the door without moving, and Olivia studied his back while he seemed to wrestle with some question. Then he turned and pressed his back to the door.
“Olivia.” His voice was an ardent murmur, eyes fixing her in the darkness. “How many times have we been here before?”
She felt strange comfort that his thoughts had followed hers, that he too had appreciated a new sensation in familiar territory. Nerves tied her tongue; rather than answer with words she reached back and pulled the tortoise shell comb from her hair, sliding it atop the vanity.
Ty pushed away from the door. Stopping in front of her, he slipped a hand on each side of her waist, pressing until she turned around. His fingers danced over the bu
ttons of her gown one by one until it whispered over her petticoats and pooled at her feet. Her stays came next, their cord singing through the grommets with each gentle tug. He slipped them over her head, sending them to land atop her bureau with an easy toss. Her petticoats came last, tumbling to join her dress. All that remained was her shift.
“Olivia.” There was a smoky note to her name on his lips, and like a magic spell, it turned her slowly to face him.
He stared at her a long time, taking her in, as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he took her hand, resting it on his shirt where it disappeared into the waistband of his breeches.
Eager to return the favor, she tugged fistfuls of the crisp linen tail until it hung free, and Ty moved his hand to the knot of his cravat. She reached out, stopping him, and shook her head.
She slid her hands slowly up his chest, close as a whisper, until they rested on the ends of the cravat. She tugged firmly, and the knot slipped free. Retracing her path downward, she took the tails of his shirt again and lifted. It all came off together, joining her clothes at their feet.
She rested a hand at his breast, barely pressing the flesh there. Why did she feel so timid? “You're still freezing.”
“I hadn't noticed,” he murmured. He turned back the quilt, waiting beside the bed.
Take a step, a voice whispered. Why was it so difficult? They had been in bed together a hundred times. But not like this; this was very, very different.
She settled on the mattress, scooting to the middle and stretching. Ty turned down the lamp until it winked out, leaving them as nothing but silhouettes, framed by light through the window that glistened off the rain-soaked street.
One thump, then another. His boots. He had to be drawing this out to torment her. Certain her anticipation was stretched to snapping, she was proved wrong again and again.
He sat, weighing down the mattress, and pulled the quilt over them. Every part of her was strung tight.
“Sit up,” he whispered, tugging the fabric at her shoulder. When she obliged, he pulled her closer. Fingers grazed her neck, little skipping points of contact, and then slipped into her hair to pluck out the pins. His breath fanned her ear, sending a shiver up her back.
When her hair finally tumbled free, Ty brushed it with his hands. She felt his nose against her nape, heard him inhale deeply. The pressure in her chest grew to bursting, and Olivia waited for his lips, her eyes half closed.
Instead, he fell against the pillows, pulling her down with him. A hand circled her waist, drawing her back against his chest.
“I've never had this with anyone, Olivia,” he whispered against her ear. “This is different, honest. I admit I'm more than a little terrified.”
She squirmed against him, eliciting a low grown. “Terror is not a very romantic sentiment, Tyler.”
“Hush! You know what I mean.” She could not see his face, but she caught the smile bending his words. “I cannot play a role with you. You see through every deception, take off all of my masks. But there is a thrill in that, and some damnable relief. That you know me for who I am.” His hand caressed her hip, then circled her waist again.
She half held her breath, for a long moment, but Ty was still. There was nothing but his heartbeat above her ear, the occasional voice on the street beneath her window or the rumble of a carriage going by. Ty's heat transferred through her shift at her back. The scent of soap and cologne drifted from under the blankets, citrus and sharp. Relaxing, she nestled deeper into him, finding his fingers at her hip and hooking her own around them. After a few moments, she yawned.
In a breath, her nerves eased and tension flowed away. She was safe in his arms.
A moment later, she was fast asleep.
* * *
When she awoke, Olivia guessed it was near dawn. The room was still dark, but the shadows had deepened, absent the blue glow of moonlight.
He was awake. Though Ty was at her back, she had known him long enough to tell by the sounds he made, or did not make, and by an indescribable tension she could feel without seeing him. She rolled over to face him.
On his back, arms folded beneath his head, she could just make out the flick of his eyelids blinking, staring at the canopy overhead.
“Tyler?”
“Olivia.”
He reached for her and his knuckles traced a path from her cheek, down her neck, up the curve of her breast. “I love you, Olivia. Madly.”
“And I, you. Two or three weeks is even more painful than it was last night.” Never had she trusted so much that happiness could belong to her. Now, lying with him, everything seemed right in the world.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
He reached a hand under the quilt. “I have something for you.”
“Amusing,” she teased. “You cannot fool me twice.”
“Hush.” He smiled and held something out to her. “I meant to wait until we were wed, but now seems better.” He opened his hand, as shy as she'd ever seen him.
She gasped. It was a ring. Biting her lip, her heart pounding too hard for her chest, she sat up and took it. Brushing the hair from her face, she turned towards the window to see it better. The band glinted silver in the gray light, a lacy filigree. A pear-shaped green stone winked back at her, brighter than emerald.
Ty coughed, a nervousness to him that she found entirely endearing. “Ridiculous sentiment, but it made me think of your eyes. Though, now that I think on it, I have no idea why I thought you'd want a ring that reminded you of yourself.”
She laughed, staring at the ring in awe. “It will remind me of the way you see me.” She extended the third finger of her left hand.
“What the devil are you doing?” he snapped, grinning.
“Wearing it?”
He rolled his eyes as if she had missed the most obvious thing in the world. “You cannot put on your own ring.”
“Is it bad luck?” she quipped.
“It will be if you rob me of the opportunity.” He plucked the ring from her hand and clasped the other to the flesh above his heart. “Olivia. I forsake all others in your name. I pledge you my arm, and my hearth. My vow is broken by death alone.”
She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes, and Ty slipped the band past her knuckle. It was not a perfect fit, a bit on the large side, but it was hardly enough to matter. “That was beautiful.”
He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “I heard it in a two-shilling play and I have waited a very long time to use it.”
“Your timing is impeccable,” she whispered, smoothing the hair at his temple, “but you don’t need lines to charm me.”
* * *
Ty tucked his shirt in slowly, deliberately, not in any particular hurry to begin the day and leave Olivia behind. He'd come here to gamble everything, his heart and his future, and she'd accepted. He wanted to pick her up, carry her away, and disappear forever. He wanted to spend every moment of the rest of his life with her.
Soon enough. He breathed deeply, steeling himself, shoring up his resolve. They had promised two or three weeks, but Napoleon would take Paris in a matter of days. Who knew what would happen then? In truth, it could be months before he saw her again.
In truth, he was going to war.
She appeared beside him, presenting him with her back. “Button me up?”
“I'd rather the opposite, in fact.” He ran a finger across the bare skin between her shoulders, taking his time. Pleased with the shiver that ran through her, he pinched the first button.
As he fastened her gown, he admired the way gauzy muslin hugged her hips and backside. The pale yellow gown seemed entirely designed around Olivia's long curves. Without thinking, he ran a hand up her waist.
“Mmm.” She pressed back into him, head resting against his breast. Her sweet vanilla scent drifted up, and Ty closed his eyes.
“Say my name,” she whispered, breath fanning his chest.
“Olivia.”
“Say it like you did l
ast night.”
Laughing, he spun her around, kissing her with some force. “I am well aware of your game, Dimples. You've underestimated your opponent.”
Her grin was cheeky, a prankster caught. “Who, you?”
“The army. She's a harsher mistress by half. Which is good, I suppose. Otherwise Napoleon would find two skeletons in your bed upon his arrival.”
Olivia ducked her head, one hand pressed to her mouth. “Outrageous.”
“You're right. There wouldn't be that much left.” Grabbing her arm, he dared one last kiss on his way to the door, tugging her behind.
Slipping into his coat, Ty's spirits were high until he spied Olivia, slouched against the wall and biting her thumbnail. “Triste?”
“Oui.” She nodded slowly. “I cannot reconcile myself to your leaving.”
He chucked her under the chin. “A few weeks. You'll be so busy leaving yourself, you'll have little time to miss me. Now, what time you do have will be absolutely excruciating...”
That coaxed a smile, and she stood up. “I suppose that is what's making this worse. I'm the closest I have ever been to finding my parents, and now I have to flee. Again.” Olivia shook her head, almost more of a shiver. “It's a terrible nightmare, repeating itself over and over. Fouche always behind me with Napoleon, chasing me.”
For a third time, she was being forced to run. He reached out and took both her hands. “He won't be here long, Olivia. Not long enough to unpack his trunk. I will give you Paris. One hundred days, I swear it.”
“And can you give me Fouche, too?”
“Precisely like a woman,” he teased, drawing her closer. “No, I cannot give you Fouche. He is outside my sphere. I cannot kill the wolf, but I can certainly cut his claws.”
Olivia's features softened, furrowed brows lifting a little. “I can ask no more than that.” She relaxed into him, sighing.
He knew how she felt. “Will you write me the moment you reach Brussels? Just a line, to say you are safe?”