by Baird Wells
Kate jumped up from the yard, smoothing hands down what was thankfully probably the cleanest of all her aprons, and accepted his hand. “I am.”
“Excellent.” The warmth in his single word was genuine. “I am Doctor Henry Hallick.”
His introduction knocked the wind from her chest. She had known this day would come, of course. After Captain Greene's vindictive maneuvering, Matthew was left with little choice but to accept a new doctor whenever Wellington sent him. For a while, she had reminded herself almost daily not to get too comfortable in her position. Then days had turned into weeks, and Kate let go of worried anticipation, simply enjoying her little kingdom. Now the day of reckoning was upon her. Hard on the heels of Porter's news, she fought off crushing disappointment.
Hallick tucked his hat into the crook of a slender arm. “Field Marshal Wellington has sent me here to fill Doctor Addison's sad absence. Tardy, I'm afraid, but...” He shrugged, sweeping a hand around them, and smiled.
Doctor Hallick had a pleasant, halting warble to his speech that put her immediately at ease. “I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing. We were acquainted, you know, in Lisbon.” He looked from her to Porter and back with downcast eyes, clucking his tongue as though they were Addison's orphaned children. “So very sad. In any matter, I have been sent, I am here, and I am briefed.” He reached a hand out to Porter, bracing their palms, earning her esteem in one simple gesture.
Porter withdrew, patted her shoulder, and nodded to her and their guest. “I had best be getting back to Major Burrell. He's been waiting.”
“Dinner won't keep for long,” she warned with a smile.
“Not with your stomach about,” he teased, and Kate shook her head at Doctor Hallick.
As Porter passed by, she took one of the camp stools from beside her tent – in truth nothing more than an ingeniously shaped tree stump, and pushed it around to Doctor Hallick. Looking abundantly pleased, he collapsed onto the seat and patted hands atop his knees. “General Webb has effuse praise for you and Mister Grimm. Truly a wonder, by his account.”
The information warmed her, head to toe. She drew a slow breath, chasing off a telling smile. “He deserves ample credit. The general has allowed me a great deal of latitude here, given some of my more controversial practices. I hope that you and I will be equally comfortable with one another.” She was testing, watching for resistance or a frown.
He nodded. “You seem clever and sensible to me, but I don't estimate we'll have much chance to work together.” There was a touch if regret to his words.
He was letting her go. Kate fought the disappointment gripping her chest and stiffened her expression. “Oh? I am sad to hear that.”
“Are you?” He snapped up straight, looking genuinely concerned. “You had better communicate that to the general. He seemed convinced you would wish to move up with him, to headquarters in Brussels. If you wish to stay, I have no objection to a skilled nurse...”
She heard nothing else the doctor said. Mind racing, she tried to absorb the implications of his news. A move to Brussels was significant. Wellington's key staff would congregate in preparation for true battle. Matthew would not leave his garrison, or his men, for anything less. And he was taking her with him. As a nurse, according to her guest, but her heart quickened at the truth.
Hallick's rising from the stool snapped her to attention, and Kate realized by the question in his smile that he was waiting for something, something she had missed. “I beg your pardon?”
He waved a hand around at the garrison. “I was only saying that, if it is convenient for you, I should appreciate being acquainted with the lay of the land, so to speak. How the hospital is arranged, what supplies we have?”
She straightened, smiling. “Oh, of course. Porter keeps the inventories, and a copy is always filed with the general. Anything else, I would be happy to show you once you have settled in.”
“That would be most helpful.” He returned the hat to its perch, tipping her a nod. “It was pleasant to meet you, Miss Foster. Good evening.”
Kate watched his retreating back without truly seeing. She was too deep in the enjoyment of Matthew's plan to really notice anything. She would not spoil that pleasure with worry over the inevitable. Instead she simply basked in his affection, and his unwillingness to be parted.
She passed a solitary dinner in her tent, Porter there and gone like a flash of lightening, eager to play cards with the men of his new company. Fann's letter, now half a book, received some attention, but Kate realized she was mostly doing the same thing: staring at nothing from various attitudes. Snaking a hand beneath her pillow, she tugged out Doctor Addison's watch and examined its hands. Midnight. She had been certain Matthew would come to her, no matter the hour. Replacing the watch, she trailed fingers over her quilt. It was surreal that only nights before, Matthew had shared her bed. He had lain just where her hand now rested. Kate bent her head, inhaling the scent on her blankets. Her pulse quickened, body eager, embracing the memory of him crushed between her thighs, whispering her name hot against her neck.
Groaning, Kate got up and put her coat on. There would be no rest tonight, whether Matthew came or not. If he was going to torment her in spirit, Kate decided, she would return the favor in person.
* * *
His eyes ached. His writing hand ached. There was a throbbing at his temples, partly from the strain of reading, and mostly from the obsessive manner in which he ran through Napoleon's divisions. Mentally he had pieced together biographies of the French generals, unable to keep himself from working through each and every scenario which their emperor might pursue. Preparations for his move to Brussels were hardly going to plan, and despite McKinnon's valiant efforts there were still dispatches left unanswered, though admittedly they were probably obsolete by now.
Matthew flipped his watch over on the desk and sighed. The later the hour, the longer a two-paragraph message took to compose. He had disciplined himself the whole day, promising that he would see Kate when his work was done. He had entirely forgotten to send the note he had planned earlier in the day. By now she had likely given up and gone to bed. Defeated, Matthew vowed to conclude the reply in front of him and turn in for the night.
A rustle from outside pulled him from his work. She was a witch. He could hardly believe otherwise, seeing Kate slip into the tent at his thoughts of her, as though she had been conjured. The tension between his shoulders melted away. “Kate.”
Her hair should be worn down at all times. Waves spilled wildly onto the shoulders of her blue coat, almost entirely distracting him from the question of why she was dressed so warmly on a balmy June night. “I was certain you would be sleeping by now.” He waved a hand over the chaos of his desk. “I would have been with you in an instant, if I could have spared myself.”
She said nothing, standing just inside the flap, wearing a smile that was all in her eyes. The coat slid from her arms, pooling on the floor and giving him an answer. She was clad only in a calico-print wrapper. His body hardened with instant approval.
She padded gently across the space between them, coming around the desk to stand at arms-length from him. Kate claimed his hand, lifted it, hanging his fingers from the loose knot of her belt.
Touched, he realized she was asking. Kate had come to him knowing the gravity of the work before him. She was offering herself, while making clear that it was his decision if she stayed or went. He could not have denied himself were he drafting orders mid-battle. Their first night's memories meshed with a need for the comfort only she could give, and he was lost.
With a palm he pressed her hip, pushing Kate gently until she was between his knees. Lifting her onto the desk, he ignored the sharp crease of papers under her backside. Hypnotized fingers clutched the belt, hooking through a loop in the knot with one sound yank. The robe came loose, but did not fall open, instead hanging free between her breasts and down to her belly. He had been mistaken; it was not the only thing she wore. Blue stocki
ngs of sensible light wool caressed her to the knee. The manner in which she was employing them, however, was anything but sensible.
Hooking thumbs into her neckline, he raked them down her breasts, across taught nipples before pulling back her nightclothes. She gasped with a little 'ah', arching against his hands. The wrapper fell away, sliding to her elbows where it came to rest, checked by the slant of her arms braced on the desk.
He did nothing but enjoy her, indulging himself in the same way she had with his tattoo. He moved eyes slowly over the hair flirting with her brow, down the dusky flesh of her breasts, before tracing the undeniably feminine curve of her hips. He plucked at the pewter buckle of a garter, starting to tug down her stocking. She swatted him away, shaking her head.
Kate reached out, playing with the hair at his temple, smoothing her hand over his jaw and stroking an earlobe roughly with the pad of her thumb. Her lips were pressed together, and it occurred that she had been entirely silent since the moment she set foot in the tent. Her fingers pressed beneath his chin, raising his eyes to hers. It was a challenge, and an invitation: Last chance for surrender, General Webb.
He got up slowly in answer, forcing Kate to lean farther onto his desk, her blue eyes full of mischief. Amber lamplight spilled warm like honey over her skin, making his fingers itch. His hand worked between the robe and her back, brushing her spine, pressing her closer. His other palm braced atop the papers, gripping her naked thigh. It steadied him as Kate's mouth claimed his.
He was powerless. Matthew realized it as she pulled his lower lip suggestively over her own. She had come armed for seduction, just as he had their first night. If at any point tonight he had believed he was in control, beyond inviting her to stay, that illusion was broken now. Kate ducked his effort to ply her with his tongue, pulling away and redoubling the aggression of her kiss. Groaning, he surrendered. He could admit when he was out-flanked.
He lowered his head to her breast, teasing a nipple for as long as she would allow. Kate's palms flattened against his shoulders, forcing space between them. Her fingers danced at his waistband, torturing him with slow deliberate pinches to free his shirt-tail. He was cradled between her knees, and as she worked, she twined legs around his back, pulling him close enough to feel her heat through the wool of his trousers.
Panting, Matthew wondered briefly if he would last until he was inside her. Everything ached, from his gut to his knees. “Kate, I cannot –” Her hands left his breeches, and her ankles slipped lower at the backs of his thighs. He could have sworn she was letting go. Matthew stood frozen, silent over her, puzzling over what had just happened. Fingernails raked his sides. Off went his shirt, landing out of sight behind him. Straining against the fall-front of his pants went from uncomfortable to agonizing. “Dear God, I have to...”
Again her hands left him, body going slack. When he met her eyes this time, Kate pressed her lips together and winked. So that was her game.
He worked at a button in clumsy haste. Kate snatched at his hands, and, in his desperation, he almost would have fought her, except she popped the little pewter disc through its grommet with easy skill. Her deft fingers felled each button double-quick. Panting, he wrestled down the waistband.
Slender fingers grasped him and Kate chuckled throaty approval as he thrust eagerly into her palm. Losing the support of his knees, he arched over the desk and over Kate, biting her shoulder and licking off the sweat. He was already near the brink, aching thighs warning they might give way at any moment. The demanding brush of her hand was driving him feral, and he twisted fingers into the thick silken hair at her nape and drew his hips back. Cautioning, he raked lips against her ear. “No more of that, love.”
She sighed, playing at the corners of his mouth with an assault of small kisses. Her hand stopped, and one foot worked into the band of his trousers, helping them down as far as his knees. Papers slid and something tore as Kate rearranged hands behind her. Wrapping him with her legs in earnest, she jerked him close with a hitch of her knees, arching her back in primitive, unmistakable invitation.
Matthew rooted himself in Kate, swallowing her gasp with an urgent kiss. He stilled a long moment, panting hotly through his nose, gathering himself against her heat. It was a physical struggle not to drive himself inside until they were no longer two people. Being with Kate was like the first time making love; the raw intensity of every sensation, fighting to keep control at nothing more than a groan, the brush of lips, warring to please one another with unchecked enthusiasm.
He caressed her ribs in imitation of her hands gliding up and down his back. His palm cradled her breast, working against a taught nipple, earning the bite of fingernails along his shoulders. He tensed inside her at their sharp sting.
Eyes shut, her breath came faster, hot against his shoulder. It was not enough. He wanted to hear her, to nip until she cried out, press her thighs until his name tore from her throat. Smoothing hands over the silken skin of her back, he pushed slow and relentless, until he was sure of being at her very center. “Kate,” he murmured into her hair. “Kate.” When she finally gasped, he withdrew and redoubled the effort.
It was his turn to chuckle. Her hands kneaded the muscles along his buttocks, palms pressing in an effort to draw him deeper. He hung somewhere between pleasure and the pain of self-denial, wanting to go on forever as much as spend himself to find relief.
She was impatient, too. He felt it as she arched up, sinking him forcefully deeper. It was a reminder that he was not truly the one in control. He would have continued their slow build just to tease her, but Kate's ankles locked hard behind him, stockings scratching the flesh at his back. Her hips lifted insistently, not satisfied by his tame attention. Happy to oblige, he grasped her backside, jerking Kate to the edge of the desk in a waterfall of papers. She buried a cry in his neck, claiming him fully inside.
Something stilled in him, passion and lust simmering at the sudden sense of being complete. It was entirely new territory where lovemaking was concerned. Rather than give him pause, Matthew found it pushing him over the edge, breaching the last of his self-control. Two days apart had been too long for any sort of measure.
One hand behind Kate, he raked fingers down her hip, clutching her thigh where it clung damp against his side. Her pressure urged his rhythm and her knees bit his sides with demand. Matthew leaned farther over her, pressing Kate almost to the top of the desk, wrapping trembling fingers around its edge for leverage.
He went mindless inside her, save for an instinctive ear, listening with each thrust to her gasps and soft cries, until he was certain she was on the edge. She raised her hips, catching his momentum till they jarred the desk. Tension coiled deep in his gut exploded. Kate's cries filled his mouth, and he stole her breath with ragged groans.
Half-collapsing over her, his papers gave way beneath her palms and she slid backward. Matthew caught her shoulders and hauled her against his chest, their arms and legs lacing easily into an embrace. He realized he was crushing her when she giggled against his chest, wriggling free of his arms. He couldn't help it; even inside her, he still was not close enough. There was no amount of holding her, kissing her which could satisfy his need. It was a need he felt all the way to his soul.
Wrapping an arm around her back, he scooped Kate from the desk, taking her with him and dropping onto his chair. It creaked in protest and Matthew held his breath while they fitted themselves back together. Blessedly, the old wood held and he gave silent thanks. Kate leaned forward, cheek pressed to his shoulder, urgent breaths cooling his damp skin.
For the first time since leaving her Wednesday morning, Matthew felt peace. He wanted to tell her something, words he had felt but not realized for weeks now. He had known it by name, lying beside her in the stillness of her tent, unable to fathom any part of his future which did not include her.
Not now, not yet. He would tell her, when they got to Brussels. Old wounds faded slowly, and he wanted to turn the feelings over in his mind, to be
enough at peace with them to give his confession the eloquence it deserved. That Kate deserved. Years with Caroline – or without Caroline, he corrected, had left him starved. If he spoke now, Matthew was afraid of making himself a fool.
With a last teasing kiss, Kate lifted from his lap. Their bodies were two again, and Matthew groaned at her absence. She slid the wrapper back up her arms, tying it slowly, seduction in reverse. He watched her, disappointed and mesmerized, until she was again covered. He adjusted the flap of his trousers for the barest amount of modesty and consigned his shirt to whatever dark corner it had landed. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed arms behind his head and studied Kate.
She settled on the floor, resting against his cot, and extended a leg to straighten her stocking. It was a gesture, he decided, entirely calculated to stir him up all over again. The illicit sensation of straddling the border between clothing and naked flesh during lovemaking provoked his lust like nothing else. The mischievous glint in Kate's eyes hinted she perceived this quite well.
Witchcraft.
She glanced up, catching his gaze on her, and for the first time he could recall she truly blushed. He suspected their minds followed a similar tack. “Three times in as many days.” He grinned at the fetching way she ducked her head. “I came to you for some sort of relief, and now I'm doubly afflicted. You're a terrible doctor.” He finished with a wink.
“After a thorough examination, I declare you perfectly fit.” They were the first words she'd spoken, and her voice was beautiful to his ears, full of laughter. She tossed him a pirate smile, head falling back against his cot. Then, her brows furrowed. “What's this?” Her hand fished in the dark space beneath his bed, pulling out her shawl and holding it up. “What is this doing here?”
He pulled in a breath and let it escape slowly, scrounging for a reasonable explanation. “You forgot it in my quarters,” he offered lamely.