A Rose for Major Flint (Brides of Waterloo)

by Louise Allen

  Rose had learned to read the emotions behind that expression of stoical calm, the carefully controlled hands, the set shoulders. She could not do anything but believe that oath, but she would have followed him to the ends of the earth without it, just for the look in those blue eyes and the betraying twitch of the nerve in the corner of the rigid mouth.

  ‘Stay, Adam. I believe you and I trust you. I love you, I never stopped loving you and I am so sorry I doubted you.’ There was more, explanations, protestations, but, breathless, she never had a chance to say them. She was on her feet, in his arms and his mouth was on hers, hot and fierce and possessive. Somehow she pulled back. ‘Adam, I swore I would not ask you for marriage.’

  ‘I am the one doing the asking. I have proposed before and you accepted. Are you going back on your word?’

  ‘No. How can I, if you want me? I love you too much.’

  He narrowed his eyes at her, calculating. ‘Where and when do you want to get married?’

  ‘Here?’ Yes, that felt right. ‘You do want to keep this estate?’ She could not believe she was saying this, that this was happening.

  He nodded slowly. ‘I can see us here. And it is right to marry here, just as soon as your parents are able to come over. Shall we arrange everything for the end of next month?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Perfect.’

  ‘If you had pouted at me and demanded a big society wedding in London with months to organise it and arrange your trousseau then I wouldn’t be able to do this.’ He bent and scooped her up into his arms.

  ‘Adam, it is one o’clock!’

  ‘Had you invited anyone for luncheon?’ He pushed open the door and strode towards the foot of the stairs. ‘Jane. Your mistress is not at home to callers for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Rose caught a glimpse of the maid bobbing a respectful curtsy, quite at odds with the grin on her face.

  It seemed futile to protest and, in truth, she had no desire to, only the desire to lie naked in Adam’s arms again and make love with her fierce Devil warrior who had sworn his love on his sword like a knight of ancient chivalry.

  He undressed her slowly, letting the long skirts of her riding habit slide into an amber pool at her feet, untying the knot of her stock as though he had all the time in the world, brushing kisses against the tender skin at her nape as he freed her from the short corset she wore for riding.

  ‘Look at you,’ Adam murmured as he turned her in his arms and let his gaze caress down the naked length of her. He set her on the bed and began to strip, his gaze locked with hers until he was as bare as she.

  ‘You lost weight, being so sick.’ He stroked his fingertips down her ribs. ‘I must feed you up.’

  ‘While you never had any spare flesh on you to lose,’ Rose murmured as he came down over her, his lips and tongue exploring the softness between neck and breast. ‘How will you stay so hard and fit when you have no battles to fight?’

  ‘You’ll have to exercise me a lot,’ he muttered and took her nipple between his teeth, making her gasp and arch up against him.

  ‘It makes a difference, knowing we are to be married.’ Rose cradled his head between her palms as he shifted down her body, his tongue sliding over her ribs, working wicked magic.

  ‘It does?’ Adam lifted his head. ‘More respectable, less exciting?’

  ‘More serious. This is for ever. And more joyous—because it is for ever. I was always saying goodbye to you in my thoughts and now…Adam.’

  He slid down between her parted legs and spread her wide for his scrutiny. ‘You were talking about joy, my love?’ His mouth, his lips, his tongue, took her and tormented her and worshipped the quivering, aching flesh of her until there was nothing but him and a single point of sensation and then an explosion of feeling that wrenched his name from her lips, over and over again.

  When she came to herself Adam had come up her body and slid into her, filling her as he lay still and patient, waiting for her to rejoin him.

  ‘I love you,’ he said as he began to move and she shifted, curled her legs around his hips so he could plunge as deeply as possible into her heat, surging with the movement of his body as he drove them both into a tightening spiral of sensation. It broke in a shuddering fulfilment that seemed to reach the core of her and she felt Adam break, too, as she did, her name breaking from his throat in a cry of primal possession that somehow sent her over into another paroxysm of pleasure, her body pulsing around him.

  *

  ‘Adam, wake up.’ A sharp finger prodded him in the ribs.

  Flint opened one eye. ‘Again?’ he enquired. His body, against all reason, greeted the question with enthusiasm.

  ‘No. Not until after dinner.’ He opened both eyes. Rose was blushing adorably. She also, strangely, had her hands full of paper.

  ‘What on earth?’ He hauled himself up against the bedhead and began to pull scattered pillows together.

  ‘It is my plan for what I was going to do when I thought I would never marry. I want to do something for soldiers coming back from the war who are disturbed in their mind. You saved me—my mind as well as my body. I cannot bear to think of those men condemned to wander, bemused figures of fun, or locked up in Bedlam with no one to fight for them. See what I have written already.’ She thrust the papers at him. ‘It is more questions than answers, but you will know what to do. We can do this together, can’t we?’ She frowned. ‘I suspect we may be told we are mad ourselves to attempt it.’

  Flint glanced at the papers. It was brilliant. And difficult, complex and, probably for some people, controversial. It would be a battle. ‘I love it,’ he said and pulled the woman who would be his wife into his arms. ‘And I love you, Rose Catherine Tatton. I’m done with Randall’s Rogues, let us plan for Flint’s Folly.’

  Epilogue

  31st August 1815—Knap Hill House, Kent

  Rose had told Adam that a wedding here, at the house that was now their home, would be perfect, and it was. The sun shone, the sweep of lawn down to the river was dotted with guests, with little pavilions and scatters of rugs and chairs. When it became obvious the good weather would hold they had simply moved the wedding breakfast outside and made a glorified picnic of it.

  She stood for a moment, looking down from the terrace, searched for Adam and found him easily, standing beside Lord Randall. The two of them in civilian dress were surrounded by men in uniform, but it was obvious from their bearing that they were soldiers. And brothers. They looked right together and easy with each other at last. As she watched she saw Justin slap Adam on the back and the group’s laughter drifted up to her.

  Justin had been his best man in church that morning, finally bridging the divide between their father’s sons.

  She turned to take the sweeping steps down to the lawn and came face-to-face with two ladies, arm in arm. Mary, Justin’s new countess, and Lady Sarah, Major—no, Colonel now—Bartlett’s bride. My sisters-in-law, she thought, finding a smile. She knew neither of them, really, and now she felt wary. She’d had a fleeting encounter with Mary only as a desperate, brave woman fearing for her lover’s life and Adam had described a tiny martinet, ordering him from Justin’s sickroom. Sarah had been a furious, then penitent, avenging angel, a woman Tom Bartlett had described as full of courage and Adam as a foolish chit.

  The polite words were forming in her mind, but she was enveloped in a double hug before she could say any of them.

  ‘Our third sister,’ Sarah said with satisfaction, stepping back to look at Rose while keeping a firm hold of her right hand.

  She’s grown up, Rose realised. There was a gloss of calm and style, an air of confidence that had replaced Sarah’s wilful arrogance. And she looks well loved, Rose thought wickedly. She recognised that little smile of smug feminine satisfaction from her own mirror. Tom Cat Bartlett was obviously employing his famed amatory skills to good effect at home these days.

  ‘I suppose we are sisters,’ she agreed, returning the pressure of the
two warm hands clasped around hers. ‘I’ve never had sisters before.’ The feeling was surprisingly good.

  ‘Neither have I,’ Mary said. ‘It will be wonderful to have you both to confide in.’ She looked softer, somehow. No less intelligent and alert, yet…

  Rose let her gaze drop to the other woman’s slender midriff and was answered by a blush and a laugh. ‘Yes, but we aren’t telling anyone yet,’ Mary whispered. ‘And Justin is driving me insane! You would think no woman has ever carried a child before.’

  ‘He’s a fusspot,’ Sarah declared. ‘And it is rather amusing to see my brother Lord Iceberg in a tizzy, you must admit. Tom will be perfectly calm when I am expecting.’ She cast a glance over the balustrade to where her husband was bowing over the hand of a particularly pretty young matron. ‘At least, I hope so. I refuse to be left at home, regardless.’

  ‘Tom is a terrible flirt,’ Mary observed. ‘I would kill Justin if he carried on like that.’

  ‘Tom will flirt until he’s a hundred and ten and make every woman from sixteen to ninety feel wonderful. But he’ll never stray,’ Sarah said complacently. At that moment Bartlett looked up and the charming smile on his face changed to something so intense, so loving, that Mary and Rose caught their breath. Sarah kissed her hand to him and he grinned and strolled back into the crowd.

  ‘Now we are sisters I want to know all about this hospital.’ Sarah turned so they faced the scaffolding-clad wing of the house. ‘If I wasn’t going to follow the drum with Tom I would come and be a nurse for you. I was when Mary had the wounded men at her school in Brussels.’

  ‘We can both be patrons,’ Mary said. ‘You need money, advice from the military and lots of support in society. Between the three of us, and our husbands, you’ll have all that. And employment for the men who are able to work when they recover.’

  ‘Thank you. It is such a relief to have female friends who understand,’ Rose said, realising a lack she had never felt before. ‘Adam is wonderful, but he looks at it from a male, army point of view, and I try not to worry him with the details while he’s setting up the stud.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that wonderful stallion of his. I’ve heard such stories about it from Justin,’ Mary said as they linked arms and began to descend the steps. ‘Has Adam bought any mares yet?’

  ‘Just one. See, over there.’ Rose pointed to a paddock where a black horse with a long, waving mane and tail was watching the activity in the gardens with interest. ‘Her name is Belladonna and she’s my wedding gift from Adam. And she’s as sweet-tempered as Old Nick is evil, so we’re hoping for a nicely balanced set of offspring.’

  ‘Mrs Flint.’ Tom Bartlett stepped out from behind one of the little marquees. ‘My felicitations.’

  ‘Colonel.’ Rose found she was still a trifle annoyed with him.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’

  ‘What have you done, you wretch?’ Sarah demanded, jabbing at her new husband with her parasol. ‘I won’t have you upsetting my new sisters, either of them.’

  ‘I accused Miss Tatton of emasculating Flint and turning him into a lapdog.’

  ‘Emasculating?’ Mary gave a snort of completely unladylike laughter as the three women turned to scrutinise Adam’s broad back, now only yards away. ‘I rather doubt it!’

  At the sound of his wife’s voice Lord Randall looked around, then walked over to them. ‘My dear. Did you cry out? Are you all right? It is very hot.’

  ‘I was laughing, that is all, Justin.’ Mary tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘We were just admiring your brother.’

  ‘Were you indeed? In that case you are definitely overheated and I am going to take you off to a chair in the shade and feed you ice cream. Mrs Flint, Sarah, you’ll excuse us.’ He nodded to Bartlett and strolled off, taking Mary with him.

  ‘Mrs Flint?’ Bartlett was still looking at her with a rueful expression.

  ‘Rose,’ she said and smiled. ‘Of course I forgive you for defending your friend. Now, if you will pardon me, I am going to take my husband away to tell him about my wedding gift to him.’

  *

  ‘Rose.’ Adam turned at the touch of her hand on his arm. His eyes on her face were intense. ‘I’ve been neglecting you.’

  ‘You’ve been mingling with our guests, very properly,’ she said with a smile. ‘But come down to the paddock, I need to tell you about my wedding gift to you.’

  ‘Have you bought me another horse?’ He took her hand and began to stroll towards the ha-ha that edged the lawn.

  ‘No.’

  ‘New boots?’ He vaulted down into the ditch and held up his hands to swing her down.

  ‘No. Nor a tiepin, nor a hound.’ They walked to the paddock fence and Belladonna trotted across to nuzzle them in the hope of treats.

  ‘What, then?’ Adam lifted her on to the top rail of the fence and stood looking up at her, his big hands bracketing her waist.

  ‘It is rather early to be certain, but I believe I am right to hope.’ Rose took his right hand and pressed it, palm down, to her stomach. ‘I’m late, you see, and I am never late. And I feel…different.’

  ‘Rose?’ Adam’s face was a picture of shock, alarm and delight. ‘You’re pregnant? You are carrying a child? Our child? How?’

  She laughed and bent forward to kiss him. ‘How? The usual way, I imagine. And perhaps that very day you proposed over your sword. And it is most certainly ours, my love.’

  ‘Oh, my God. Get down off that fence.’ He swung her down. ‘And I had you jumping off the ha-ha and you’ve been on your feet all day and it is hot and—’

  ‘And you are most certainly Justin’s brother. Mary says he is driving her absolutely insane, fussing over her.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You won’t repeat that, they haven’t told anyone else yet.’

  ‘And I suppose, for the sake of your reputation, I had better not rush back up to the lawn, order more champagne and drink a toast to my pregnant bride, had I?’

  ‘Indeed not. We must stroll back and continue to circulate and do our duty by our guests.’

  ‘Until they all go and I can take you to our big bed and celebrate with champagne and strawberries and kisses.’

  ‘That sounds like a perfect plan,’ Rose agreed demurely. ‘Provided I may have just one kiss on account.’

  ‘Just one,’ Adam agreed, taking her lips with a passion full of unspoken promises, then he swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the house and their guests and the rest of their life together.

  ***

  This is the third and final story in the fabulous

  BRIDES OF WATERLOO trilogy

  Make sure you’ve also picked up

  A LADY FOR LORD RANDALL

  by Sarah Mallory

  and

  A MISTRESS FOR MAJOR BARTLETT

  by Annie Burrows

  Both already available

  Keep reading for an excerpt from WARRIOR OF ICE by Michelle Willingham.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

  You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Warrior of Ice

  by Michelle Willingham

  Chapter One

  1172

  His sister was going to die.

  Killian MacDubh could see it, even if everyone around him was in denial. Though Carice was still the most beautiful woman in Éireann, her body was fragile. She left her bed rarely, and when she did, she often had to be carried
back. Her illness had struck hard, several years ago, and she’d wasted away ever since. This evening, she had sent word that she needed to speak with him, but he did not know why.

  Outside, the rain pounded against the mud, but another storm brewed inside Killian. There was a restless anticipation within him, as if an invisible threat hung over all of them. He couldn’t place it, but all day, he’d been pacing.

  His tunic and leggings were soaked through, and he stood at the back of the Great Chamber. The moment he stepped inside, Brian Faoilin’s face was grim with distaste, as if a stray dog had wandered into his house. The chieftain loathed the very air Killian breathed. Though he’d allowed Iona to keep the bastard son she’d brought with her, Brian had forced both of them to live among the fuidir. All his life, Killian had slept among the dogs and dined upon scraps from the table. He was forbidden to possess any rights of the tribe or own any land. It should have taught him his place. Instead, it had fed his resentment, making him vow that one day, no man would call him slave. He hungered for a life where others would look upon him with respect instead of disdain.

  He’d spent time training among the finest warriors in Éireann, intending to leave the tribe and become a mercenary. Better to lead a nomadic life on his own terms than to live like this. But then Carice had fallen ill. He’d delayed his plans to leave, for her sake, after she’d begged him not to go. Were it not for her, he’d have disappeared long ago. She was the only family he had left, and he knew her life was slipping away. For that reason, he had sworn to remain with her until the end.

  The chieftain leaned over to one of the guards, undoubtedly giving the order to throw Killian out. Within moments, his friend Seorse crossed the Great Chamber, regret upon his face. ‘You know you cannot come inside without orders, Killian.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He was supposed to remain outside in the pouring rain, amid the mud and the animal dung. Brian refused to let him be a part of their tribe—not in any way. He was expected to work in the stables, obeying all commands given to him.