Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1)

by Baird Wells

  “You should. For now, she will keep silent. Caroline will not so much as hint at your petition for divorce at her own expense. It could not be done without revealing her bed-baiting of Major Pitt.” She clutched at his sleeve. “Let her catch the slightest whisper of Miss Foster, and she will paint you as an unfaithful husband who has abandoned her. All of London will trample itself to offer her a hankie.”

  He bristled at the idea. “I win its wars and bury its dead. I'm not sure I give a fig otherwise what London thinks of me.”

  She jabbed a finger toward the stairs. “But you should give a fig about Miss Foster, if you ever intend to make her your wife. Such a blemish would be grossly unfair to her.”

  Matthew caught a defensive snap to his mother's words and tried not to smile. “Mama, do you like her?”

  She sniffed, folding her arms. “She is plain-spoken and over-familiar.”

  “I cannot argue with you on that score.”

  “Too tall and too much figure to be popular in her beauty,” she snapped.

  If he wanted an admission, he was going to have to drag it from her. “I rather think she is bit thin. Campaign rations.”

  She drew up, brows veeing together. “Attend, Matthew. I did not say she is not handsome.”

  It took a saint's discipline to not laugh as she danced around the matter. He crossed his arms tighter, stomping a boot against the marble. “You like her or you do not.”

  A breath hissed between her lips, and Matthew knew he had finally won. “She is clever, I'll grant you. Possessed of tremendous compassion. And I could spend half a day listening to her stories of the native peoples in America. So savage and heroic!” She glared. “Byron could take a lesson.”

  He chuckled. “Give me your verdict, then.”

  It had been a long time, no memory readily at hand for the last time his mother had looked at him with such gravity. “Any man who trifles with Miss Foster had better have both hands free to manage her.”

  His mother had clearly recognized her own kind. “Sympathetic conspirator?”

  Her expression did not change. “I hardly fall into the same camp. Your father did not pay me enough mind to be troubled by my temper.”

  “And neither did I, it seems.” He smiled to soften his words. “You were not enough of a warning to steer me from Miss Foster's path.”

  Her eyes drooped, weary and lined with concern. “I strongly object to the two of you carrying on in the same house, Matthew. Let Uxbridge be a caution to you in that regard.”

  He had been sure of being in the right, where Kate was concerned. Hadn't Caroline's actions justified his own? It had not occurred to him that he was not entirely free to give himself to Kate in the way she deserved.

  It was too late for such worry now.

  “I can hardly stay away from her, mama. Duty chafes of late, when I am called away. Even sleep is an inconvenience, robbing me of her company.”

  She stroked his cheek, truly smiling for the first time. “I think perhaps she deserves you.”

  * * *

  He led Kate onto the step, shutting the door behind them. It was well after dark, and the grand square was empty and still. Wet cobblestones glowed with lamplight ahead of them, bathed by a summer shower that had come and gone while they were inside. Kate clutched her shawl and nestled against his side. Good manners warred for a moment with his enjoyment of how perfectly they fit together. “Would you like my coat?”

  “No, thank you.” She wrapped tighter around his arm and smiled. “You will do just fine.”

  He chucked her under the chin, leading them out into the square. “My mother would like for you to attend Lady Richmond's soiree, as her guest.” For all her caution about his conduct with Kate, Adelaide had been amusingly eager to offer her regard publicly.

  “She was very clear about my not meriting a ticket,” Kate smiled.

  “Louisa is too fragile and frankly too old. She will be secretly grateful at being excused. I'm not fond of mama going either, but she refuses to see reason.”

  Kate's elbow dug slightly into his side. “Your mother knows her limitations, Matthew. And I will be there, to keep an eye on her.”

  He relaxed, both in mind and body. Her words dissolved tension he had not realized he was carrying. Slowing their pace, he took the longest path across the square to enjoy his time with Kate. A damp breeze rushed over them in little bursts, the cool breath of a summer night. It nipped her cheeks into a soft pink, tossing her hair away now and then, affording him stolen glances of her beautiful profile in the lamplight. She worried at her bottom lip, a gesture he had come to know so well. He waited, letting her put her thoughts together. When they were nearly to the other side, she spoke. “Don't you find it strange, going with me to the shops, dining with your mother, carrying on as though we have not a care? As though fighting is not just over your shoulder?”

  “Would it not be the same, if we were at the garrison? It is for me.” He hadn't given it much thought before. Today had been no different than many others, waiting to wade onto the field.

  Kate's head shook against his shoulder. “Not for me. I spend every moment waiting for a report. Inventory, preparation, triage area. Wondering if I should sleep at midday, on the chance I could be awake for days to come. I do not understand how you carry on so easily.”

  He considered the differences a moment. Matthew realized he had never contemplated why the days before battle passed mostly like any others. “Some men hunker in their tents, sick with anticipation and certain the end is nigh.” He shook his head. “There is no shame or cowardice in that, in being acquainted with how little time you might have left above the dirt. However, if Death rides for me, no amount of agonizing will stop his charge. I want my final moments to be fond and warm, the memories easing me into whatever awaits when my eyes close for the last time.” He squeezed her fingers.

  She was quiet for moment, just the snap of their feet on the cobblestones punctuating a line of tension between them. “I can't bear to think of it,” she whispered finally.

  He hated the ragged quaver in her voice. “Not thinking of it doesn't change the possibility, Kate.”

  “Don't ask me to be rational, Matthew. Until you, Ty and Porter were the only people I had to lose, and they are not the same. Not now. I'm heartsick at the thought of you taking the field.” She didn't look at him, but he caught the tell-tale sniff at the end of her words.

  “There will be time enough to spend your worry later. Here.” He dug inside his breast pocket for a small bundle of tissue. “I found something while we were out earlier. It was impossible to hide anything larger from you, and I imagine you find jewelry impractical.”

  She pulled away smiling, pressing the heel of her hand to each eye. “You know me so well. Fann does justice to sparkles and trinkets, but I only feel like an over-garnished holiday roast. Here, here is an emerald to put on your ham!” Kate brushed a hand at the air. “Wasted, and utterly out of place.”

  He chuckled. “Then I will not have disappointed you.” They were in front of their own door now, and Matthew pulled the ribbon out of its paper, holding it up under the lamplight. “You will not be able to see the color properly out here.” It was not gray enough to be indigo. Softer and a little too blue. “This shade puts me in mind of you, though I can hardly say why.” He had almost missed it, all that was left on the rack, at the shop when Kate ducked in to buy Fann's gift. The color could hardly be called vibrant, but it was constant, a warm, faithful blue.

  He dangled it before her, and Kate ran fingers down its length. “Matthew, I don't know what to say. You could not have chosen more perfectly.” She bit her lip in a gesture he found entirely desirable.

  Looping it behind her head, he lifted her hair, feeling her skin tense. She shivered beneath his fingers, and his body twitched just as eagerly at their contact. He laced the ends together, tugging the ribbon into a bow at her throat.

  Kate's mouth quirked up at one side. “Who could have
guessed, all those months ago?”

  “I should have, from our first meeting. There was no hope fighting you.”

  “Were you so distressed by me?” Kate laughed, shaking her head. “You didn't show it.”

  “I was terrified of you!”

  “Me! Why?” Kate's hand flew to cover a grin.

  He stared across the street a moment, without really seeing anything. “I've never gone into battle assured of anything but victory. Even when it was not certain, my stubbornness, the strength of the men around me buoyed my confidence.” He tugged her up the steps and opened the door to let Kate pass inside. He waited until the door was closed, and she had turned back to him before taking her hands and finishing. “When you set me straight that very first night outside Addison's tent, gave me the lay of the land with you in no uncertain terms...” He shrugged. “You had already won. I was lost to you, Kate. It was just a matter of how long, and when I surrendered.” He felt a little foolish, that his feelings for Kate had boiled over as if taking him by surprise. If he had been honest, they were there from the beginning

  Kate relaxed against the wall at the foot of the stairs and brushed the knuckle of her thumb hypnotically over her bottom lip. “I'm not sure I know when it happened for me. When you came to me, made love to me in my quarters...I shouldn't have been surprised. I loved you then, even if I hadn't named it, but when did it happen?” Kate smiled and shrugged.

  He clutched his chest. “No lightning bolt? No sudden blaze of passion? You wound me, Miss Foster.”

  Kate looked him over, head to toe, before meeting his eyes. “Only a slow burn from the inside.”

  How did she manage it every time? One glance, the barest touch and she cost him his sanity. He braced arms against the wall on either side of Kate, the tip of his nose tracing the curve of her cheek. The fabric of his shirt and waistcoat absorbed her heat when she raised into him.

  “I would give you anything, Kate.” Matthew fought to catch his breath. “Ask it of me. I would lay Paris at your feet. Tell me what you want.”

  Her face crumpled against his chest, arms making a desperate knot behind his neck. “I want you to come back to me. There is nothing else, Matthew.”

  He crushed her against him, grabbing fistfuls of the blue muslin to hold her. “I love you, Kate. More than England or the goddamn, scum-filled British army, if that is even possible. If I fell tomorrow on the battlefield, I would carry you in my soul. One way or another, I will always come back to you.”

  He had never spoken anything like it, not to anyone. Caroline would have laughed in his face. Matthew felt drained inside, now that the words were out. Not an absence, but satisfied, like the conclusion of something profound.

  She shivered against him, drawing a ragged breath, and Matthew wrenched himself away. “We could go on in this fashion until we're both too morose for anything but stewing miserably. That is not the night I imagined when we set out today.”

  “What did you imagine for our night, then?” she murmured.

  He rested fingers on her arm, at the border of her sleeve, tracing warm skin all the way to her thumb. She slipped her hand around his, and Matthew gave her a tug, pulling her away from the wall and to the stairs.

  * * *

  While Matthew searched for matches and lit a lamp at her bedside, Kate stood at the door, unsure what to do with herself. Should she cross the room or let Matthew make the first overture? They had never begun things with such easy anticipation, out from under the pressure and urgency of the garrison.

  At a loss, she sat down in the pink arm chair and settled for taking off her shoes. Matthew seated himself across from her, on the edge of the bed, giving two or three telling little bounces. “Can I confess that this bed has occupied my thoughts half the day?”

  “Shocking.” She bit back a grin and shook her head. It was possible that she had entertained the same idea, but Kate was not sure she could have said so out loud.

  Matthew leaned forward, pretending to strain at seeing her in the dim light. “Miss Foster, are you suddenly shy?”

  The smile escaped her efforts. “Yes, in fact, I am.” Kate traced every inch of him with her eyes, forcing slow breaths against a heart fluttering at the cage of her ribs. “It feels as though it's our first night together. We're in a house. A room! All the day's wanting, anticipating, and here we sit.” She studied her toes, then worked up the nerve to meet his eyes again.

  Matthew's head cocked, mouth turning up. “You look so very innocent, when you peek up at me like that, and for a moment I almost feel guilty. As though I have no business trespassing with someone so much younger.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I recall that, on occasion, you have caused me to blush.”

  She groaned, pressing a hand to her mouth, and turned her face away. It was hardly fair, holding against her anything she said, or did, in his arms. “I am sorry.”

  Matthew chuckled. “I did not say I was bothered by it. More than once beneath the sheet I've invoked a colorful oath in your name.”

  Her face burned at the memory. She stared at Matthew, staring back, knowing what he was thinking as sure as if she could read his mind. For every bite, caress, gasp and moan she was reliving, he was doing the same.

  “Come here, Kate.” His order was husky.

  Heart pounding, her body rose from the chair under his spell, bringing her a step between his knees. It was not her doing. There had been no conscious decision to stand, just the pull of magnetism in his command.

  Cradling her hips, he turned her until she faced away from him. Fingers brushing now and then at the skin of her neck and back, his hand moved downward, working free the buttons of her dress. For a moment, she watched their shadows play on the wall, then gave in to his touch and closed her eyes with a shiver.

  Matthew took his time, every movement deliberate, clearly enjoying their new-found privacy as much as she. He stripped her dress, wrestling it over her petticoats until it pooled at her feet. Her stays were next; Kate felt his insistent tugging on the laces, then the sharp zip-zip as cord pulled through the grommets. He worked them off over her head, and they landed in the chair a moment later. She was nude to the waist, cool air whispering over bare breasts.

  His fingertips started at her shoulders, dragging down her back in ragged lines to the waistband of her skirts. A thumb worried at a spot above her right hip, where he had found her scar, a mark nearly identical to the one on his left side. Then his lips pressed to it, and she sucked in a breath. He was getting revenge, she decided, for the way she had tormented him their last night in camp. Finally, he turned her around.

  He pressed a palm flat against her belly, gaze moving up over her breasts, her throat until he met her eyes. “Let your hair down for me?”

  She nodded, not realizing until she had worked the second pin free exactly what the position was doing for her breasts. Ever the tactician. “You're the devil,” she teased.

  He chuckled as she plucked the last hairpin, tossing her hair and rocking back just in time to cheat Matthew out of stroking a nipple.

  Matthew grinned. “I could say the same about you.” He jumped from the mattress, growling, scooping her up over his shoulder. She made a valiant effort, twisting side to side, but it was hopeless. Matthew's arm pinned her vice-like to his body. She hammered at his shoulder blades, but her fists only pounded loose his laughter, not his obedience. “Put me down! Matthew –” Giggling turned to panting, wrestling against the vice of his arms. Finally, he relented and dropped her. Stocking-clad feet slipped against the rug, and Kate was sure of landing on her backside. She shrieked, laughing as his arm snaked around the backs of her knees. Matthew scooped her up, cradling her against his chest.

  “Put me down!” She jabbed two fingers into his armpit. It was a dangerous move, Kate realized too late. Matthew's arms went slack at her assault and he nearly dropped her in earnest.

  “Witch! If I let you go, then what?”

  “Set me d
own. Let me look at you.”

  Matthew moved his arm, tipping her feet gently to the rug, and stepped back.

  Catching her breath, she eyed him over, calculating her assault. She rested a hand on the shoulder of his blue wool coat, taking small steps around him. Matthew dressed like no man she had ever met. Understated enough that it might have been plain, except that his clothes were cut to flatter the man beneath. Almost a pity, she thought, brushing fingers across his shoulder blades, that she was about to take them all off. Kate finished her circle, stopping in front of him. She was certainly going to enjoy it, though. “Take off your coat,” she ordered.

  “So that's the game?” Challenge burned in his eyes. Two good shrugs got it off. Matthew launched it on top of her stays, forgotten in the chair. “And now?”

  Tucking her fingers into the knot at his throat, she worked loose the linen of his cravat. She took her time, unwrapping the fabric until it hung over each shoulder. Wrapping her fists in the material, she used it as a yoke, tugging Matthew close. His lips twitched, anticipating a kiss but Kate buried her face in his neck instead. A groan in his chest rumbled against her cheek, and she inhaled the bite of cedar on his skin. Pulling away, she snapped the open vee of his neckline with a finger. “Shirt.”

  “I tremble and obey,” he breathed, mouth just inches from hers.

  She pressed a finger to his lips, and smiled. “You're not allowed to use my words against me.”

  He grabbed the tail, rolling crisp linen up his arms. As it wriggled up over his head, Kate traced the flat plane of his stomach, rigid muscles of his chest, but only with a look. She denied the twitch in her fingers a little longer.

  The shirt landed atop her dress. Matthew kicked them both aside. “Boots?”

  “Very well.” Kate lifted her chin, pretending that was her plan all along.

  He employed some sort of magic, using the heel of one boot on the toe, then his bare toes on the other, prying them off before Kate could really grasp what the trick was.

  Matthew held his arms wide. “Now what would please m'lady?”