An Officer, Not a Gentleman

by Elizabeth Johns

  Their mouths clashed and devoured as though their last meal was each other. His hands began to roam over her back and she planted kisses all over his face and neck. His Bridget clung to him as though she understood, and her passion matched his, kiss for kiss. However, some little voice deep inside kept reminding him that the time was not yet right. She was not his.

  “Lass. Lass. We must stop.”

  She ignored him. “Will you marry me if we do not stop?” she asked, gazing down at him with a devilish, most unladylike grin.

  “No proper man would have done this to you.”

  “That argument grows old, Tobin.”

  “So ye were trying to seduce me?” He grinned at her in his turn.

  “If I thought it would work, I might.” She blushed. “I suppose I became a little carried away.”

  “You have no idea how much of a saint I am being at this moment. Let us hope Saint Peter remembers when I arrive at heaven’s gate.”

  Lifting her away from him, he tucked her into his side. Of course, Bridget, being who she was, could not resist looking at his wounds when she was so close to them.

  “You appear to be healing well on the outside. How do you feel on the inside?”

  “At this minute, I feel as though I am about to explode.”

  “Oh. Oh…” At last she understood the effect she was having on him. “Perhaps, then, it is better if we stop for now.”

  “For always,” Tobin said, regretting the words the moment they were spoken. Was he truly such a great fool as to let an angel go? Yes, he was, but he would do it because it was best for her. Despite her words, she was still clinging to him and he was not ready to let her go yet. He wanted to savour these moments and store them for later.

  “I found your uncle in the study.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “Did he find anything?”

  “Not your father’s will, but he found the late Earl’s. Apparently, if Riordan marries at all he receives his inheritance immediately but if he marries you, he retains control of the unentailed properties.”

  Bridget gasped. “I cannot believe my uncle would have put such a clause in his will!”

  “Can you not?”

  “No! He was a kind, dear man,” she protested.

  “But he did whatever the witch wanted.”

  “Sadly, that is true. What happens to the unentailed properties if he does not marry me?”

  “They go to your Uncle Fergus.”

  She frowned. “It makes his motives to help me less pure, does it not?” She put her head back down on his chest.

  “To be fair, they would have gone to your father.”

  “But Riordan is young. In all likelihood, he will outlive Uncle Fergus just like he did my father.”

  “Perhaps there is more to it than I know. I did not read it—I only know what your Uncle Fergus told me.”

  “I do not want to stay here, Tobin.”

  “You do not have to, lass. I was thinking we could visit Wrexford for a day or two while we wait for word from Waverley.” Tobin was growing tired and Bridget was snuggled down on his chest.

  “That sounds wonderful. Can we leave in the morning?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

  “As soon as possible,” he agreed, knowing she was not going to leave his room this night. He reached over and put out the taper between his thumb and forefinger, then pulled the tangled sheets back up over them. He only hoped he could maintain his saintly behaviour until morning.

  Bridget woke up and realized she had fallen asleep in Tobin’s arms. What had possessed her to do such a thing? Then she remembered his nightmare and blushed at her brazenness. She inhaled deeply, relishing his scent and his warmth, and looked forward to the day when she might wake up with him every morning. Reluctantly, she crawled carefully out of the bed and crept back to her own room to dress for the day, instructing her maid to have their belongings packed for an early departure.

  When she left her room, she found Tobin standing waiting for her in the hall, arms crossed. She smiled and raised up on tip-toe to kiss him on the cheek. His devilish little half smile made an appearance and she could see in his eyes he cared for her, even if he wished to deny any deeper feelings. It was enough of a morsel to keep her hopes alive for now.

  “I want you to distract Riordan for a while so I can search for the safe. Your Uncle Fergus said there was one in Riordan’s room,” he whispered in her ear. It sent shivers down her spine. Did he know what effect he had on her?

  “He may not be awake for some time,” she remarked.

  “Then we will wait. I think it is worth the effort before we leave. Who knows what kind of plan they might hatch while we are away?”

  “I was hoping we might not have to return at all,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps so, if we are lucky. I need to stop in the village to have them re-direct my mail to Wrexford unless I return.”

  She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. She hoped they would be able to obtain her dowry, at the very least, but she would have to convince him the money did not matter. Even to her own ears, she knew it sounded naïve, but she had lived before in less than ideal circumstances and had been happy.

  When she entered the breakfast room, she was surprised to find her aunt and cousin in close conversation. What were they plotting? They both sat back hastily when they saw her and Riordan came around the table to greet her with a kiss on the hand.

  “Good morning, Cousin,” he said with his customary smooth smile.

  “Good morning, Riordan; Aunt Betha.”

  “Might I make you up a plate?” he asked.

  “No, thank you, I only want toast and tea at the moment.”

  “I have some correspondence to attend to,” Aunt Betha said, and Riordan went over to help her up. Bridget did not miss the pointed look her aunt gave him. Something was afoot.

  Riordan sat down, folded his hands across his lap and stared at her. It was awkward, to say the least.

  “You need not wait for me, Cousin,” she finally said.

  “I was hoping you would take a turn about the garden with me when you have finished your repast.”

  “Tobin and I are leaving to visit his father at Wrexford for a few days, so I must not tarry.”

  “It will only take a few minutes. There are some things I must tell you.”

  She narrowed her gaze but thought of Tobin searching Riordan’s rooms, and agreed. “A short stroll, then.”

  She rose, put her napkin on the table and went with him out into the garden. When they were some distance from the house, he cleared his throat and began.

  “I overheard you and O’Neill talking yesterday. You were not very discreet.”

  “I do not know what you mean, Rory,” she prevaricated.

  “Very well, I will be direct. You are not truly married, are you?” His gaze bored into her.

  “We were betrothed before the battle and said our vows on the ship. We intend to renew those vows when we return to England, but in every other sense of the word we are married.”

  “Not in any way that would be considered legal in court,” he said, looking very pleased with himself.

  Bridget felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and a growing sense of panic. “You cannot force me, Rory,” she pleaded with her childhood friend. “Uncle Fergus told me about the codicil to the will.”

  He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, and then shrugged carelessly. “You cannot blame me for trying. We were good friends once, and you would have all the freedom you could want. You could even keep your lieutenant if you like.”

  “How gracious of you!” she retorted sardonically.

  “It would be a marriage on paper only. You would not even have to touch me, though I suppose, for a female, you would be the one I could bestir myself for an heir or two.” He took his hand and softly ran his fingers down her cheek. She was going to vomit.

  “I could pass his babes off as mine, although I could wish it were someone o
ther than Wrexford’s bastard. Come, Mama and the vicar are waiting in the chapel,” he said, taking a hard hold of her arm to lead her away.

  “Rory, I cannot,” she said, at the same moment something flashed before her eyes and Rory collapsed to the ground.

  “Keep your hands off her,” Tobin growled. Looking astonished, Riordan clutched his nose, which was spurting blood.

  Bridget handed Riordan a handkerchief and then grasped Tobin’s hand. “He knows. He overheard us in the garden yesterday.”

  Tobin cursed. “Never mind. We need to leave before they force you,” he said. “The trunks are packed and the carriage is waiting.”

  “I really must insist you stay, I am afraid,” Riordan said. As they turned towards him, he cocked a pistol. “Please unhand my bride.”

  The sound of another gun being cocked came from behind them, and Bridget faced about to see Uncle Fergus pointing a fowling piece at Riordan.

  “I do believe they have a carriage waiting,” he said. “Go now, Bridget.” He inclined his head towards the front drive.

  “Bad cess to all of ye, you gobshite crazy ejeets!” Tobin said, pulling Bridget away and setting off almost at a run. Reaching the front drive, they climbed into the carriage, where Bridget’s maid was sitting up on the box next to the driver. “Make haste away from this hell-hole!” Tobin shouted before he shut the door.

  They were down the drive and out into the countryside before either one of them said anything. Bridget’s pulse was still racing with horror.

  “Are you harmed, lass?” Tobin asked. “Thank God I wasn’t too late!”

  She nodded her head and her chin began to tremble. He took her into his arms. “I canna’ stand to see you unhappy. But what am I to do with ye? I think we had better marry after all.” He kissed the top of her head. “’Tis the only way to keep you safe. But only if you are certain.”

  She looked up at him, unable to stop the tears pooling in her eyes.

  “Beggorah mo álainn.”

  “I know you think it is a mistake, but we can be happy together, Tobin.”

  “I will do my best to make you so. We will work it out as we go. I could never have seen any of this coming in a hundred years.”

  “They surpassed even my expectations,” she confessed.

  “I will ask Wrexford for help. Goodness knows, I have asked for nothing from him before. If he does not have the connections to see us married here quickly, I don’t know who will.”

  “I am glad you are giving him a chance, Tobin.”

  He sighed. “I am not sure if I am being a fool or no. He seemed genuine, and I have seen too much loss in the wars. I expect I have grown soft.”

  “Being willing to listen does not make you soft. It makes you wise.”

  “That is something I have never been accused of.” He laughed.

  “I think you are caring and compassionate, and really quite wonderful.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Lass, what is going to happen when your eyes are opened to the real me?”

  “You do not fool me one bit. You are the most unselfish, honourable man I know. You were my friend when I had no one else, you brought my father’s and brother’s bodies to me at your own peril, you have stayed with me to protect me from my family, and now you are going to marry me.”

  Tobin shifted uncomfortably with the praise. “I did what anyone would have done in my position.”

  She made a noise of disbelief. “Hardly. I am grateful, though, dearest Tobin. I will make you happy.”

  “You already do, lass. You already do.”

  Chapter 13

  Tobin was distinctly uncomfortable as they pulled in through the gates of the Wrexford estate. He had not known he was a bastard, or that he had a different father, until he was about five years old, when they had seen him in the street. Even then, he had not truly known what it meant until he had been sent away to school and the legitimate children had thought it their right to harass and beat the bastard. Wrexford’s heir had taken particular joy in it. Perhaps it had been embarrassing for him, though Tobin had never told anyone who he was. Somehow, people had still known.

  His mother had explained things to him, and through a child’s eyes, he had often wondered what it would be like to live with his real dad in a grand house.

  When he had come home from school, his stepfather had made it clear he disliked him. Tobin had never thought anyone liked him besides his mother until he enlisted in the army and became Waverley’s man.

  The estate was grand, just as he had expected it would be. It was a shame that there was no longer an heir. Not that Tobin cared for the aristocratic sense of entitlement, but good peers employed a great many people.

  It took them some time to reach the house. It was more hilly than Dungarvan had been, but equally lush and green. The carriage climbed in order to reach the house, which stood proudly atop some cliffs, overlooking the Irish Sea.

  For a brief moment, Tobin wondered what it would be like to own all of this. He had been born first, but on the wrong side of the blanket. Tobin was not sure he could forgive his sire. His mother had been genteel, if not a lady, and had deserved an honourable marriage. With a shake of his head, he dismissed those thoughts. He was here to make peace with his father if he could, but was not sure it was possible.

  Bridget reached over and took his hand.

  “It is very grand,” he said, for lack of a better way to describe it. He had grown accustomed to manor houses while working for Waverley, but there was something different about this one. The mansion was an orange-pink stone, with mullioned windows and gables that seemed to change with the light.

  “It seems desolate,” Bridget remarked.

  “’Tis certainly solitary. It is quite some ways from the village.”

  Nevertheless, a groom came out to take charge of the horses and a butler opened the door to greet them. Lord Wrexford was not far behind.

  “Welcome home, my son,” the man said, smiling.

  “You were expecting us?” Tobin asked, surprised. “I should have sent word, but we left rather suddenly.”

  “I was hoping, shall we say,” Wrexford corrected.

  Tobin helped Bridget alight from the carriage and a strong wind from the ocean nearly pulled her bonnet off.

  “And here is your lovely bride. You are most welcome,” Lord Wrexford said to her. “Come inside and the servants will show you to your chambers. Would you like to freshen yourself or have some tea? This is Mrs. Byrne, she has been housekeeper here since I was a lad.”

  “Welcome,” she said with a curtsy. Then she looked up into Tobin’s face. “As I live and breathe, you look just like your father!”

  “Yes, he does, Mrs. Byrne,” Lord Wrexford agreed with a grin. “He’s a regular chip of the old block!”

  “And you are in mourning, you poor dear,” she said to Bridget. “You must be tired if you have come all the way from Dungarvan. Come with me.”

  The plump, older woman with a shock of red hair led them up a majestic, white marble staircase to a landing where large windows overlooked the water. Steep cliffs formed in a horseshoe around the property and the waves splashed against the rocks into a white foamy spray.

  “What a magnificent view! It reminds me of the Peninsula,” Bridget exclaimed.

  “You will have the same view from your rooms,” Mrs. Byrne explained. “Some days I stop and stare at the majesty of it all and think of how fortunate I am to have lived in such a place.” She stopped at the end of the hallway. “Here we are,” she said as she opened a large wooden door into a luxurious chamber. The only thing Tobin had seen as luxurious as this was Waverley’s chambers.

  The rooms were decked out in pale shades of blue and gold. There was a large sitting room, set in between the two bedchambers with their adjoining dressing rooms.

  “I hope you will find this satisfactory. Anything you need, just ring. Tea will be in the drawing room at your convenience and hot water will be along shor
tly.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Byrne.”

  She smiled and bobbed a curtsy before closing the door behind her.

  “What do you think?” Bridget asked.

  “I think I am overwhelmed. To think I might have grown up here had circumstances been different.”

  “I have certainly never lived anywhere so grand,” she replied as she joined him in looking out of the windows and took his hand in hers. They stood there in peaceful silence until a servant knocked on the door with hot water.

  “You enjoy your bath. I think I will go down and speak with Lord Wrexford. I feel the need to get this over with.”

  “Are you sure you wish to do this alone?” she asked, looking concerned.

  He gave a slight nod. “I think it is for the best. Enjoy.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and left, hoping he could find his father. When he arrived downstairs, the butler informed him Lord Wrexford was in his study and escorted him there. Tobin was nervous in a way he had not been before.

  “Well, son, I am glad you have come. Can I offer you a drink? I confess I am somewhat nervous.”

  Tobin laughed. “That is good to hear, for my palms are sweaty and my knees are knocking.”

  His father went to a cupboard, poured them both a measure of whisky and handed a glass to him. He raised it.

  “To finding each other again.”

  Tobin did not know how to respond but he raised his glass to his father’s and then took a drink for false courage.

  “Please have a seat. There are many things I should tell you.”

  “May I go first?” Tobin asked.

  His father looked surprised. “Of course.”

  “Bridget and I are not truly married. Her aunt was trying to force her to marry Dungarvan, so we said that to protect her. Her cousin overheard us and discovered our deception, and this morning, they tried to force her into the marriage. Apparently, there was some addition to the will that Dungarvan would not retain the unentitled properties unless he married her.”