She thought about his question last night. Was she looking forward to returning home?
In truth, Honor couldn’t say. Since her arrival in Spain as a new bride she’d witnessed sights no gently bred woman should. She had experienced situations even the hardened "baggages," as the troops called the women who followed the drum, found hard to deal with.
Honor shifted uneasily. A light breeze whispered across her face, lifting stray tendrils of hair into her eyes, and she brushed them away while watching the men working methodically through the morning routines. Unlike her and Dev, most of them slept in the open. And now, tired and cold, their clothes plastered to the skin, the sight always reminded her of a macabre kind of ballet. She sensed the excited unease that tinged the men’s normal battle awareness, hovering over them like a lingering storm cloud left over from the previous night. It filled the air and emphasised the soldiers’ movements.
Since none of them were attempting to break camp, Honor assumed they intended to stay put for the day and their leader did not anticipate any confrontation with the ever-moving French divisions occupying the larger of the two land rises on each side of the village of Arapiles.
Would Wellington send Dev out to scout the French movements before his leave began? Or would the earl order Devlin to report to Whitehall when they arrived home?
“I am not breaking a trust when I tell you word has come from London about a French agent within our midst,” Dev had told her in confidence a couple of days earlier. “I tell you this, my dear, for you own safety. You must keep this to yourself and maintain vigilance at all times.”
Would Wellington charge her husband to carry the information back to London if they’d uncovered the spy’s identity?
It was less than a week since they'd last fallen back at Toro, only for the enemy to seize the advantage and cross the Bridge of Tordesillas two days later. The movements of the two armies reminded her of chess players summing each other up. Watching… waiting… anticipating before combat resumed.
“Why is it we always go into battle the morning following storms such as this one?” When the resigned mutter of someone nearby reached her, she silently agreed, as she crossed the camp towards Wellington’s headquarters.
“Is it my imagination or are they —“ Honor cast a glance at the tent, “— or are they taking longer in there than usual?” she asked, when Phillipe headed towards her.
Phillipe, too, stared in the same direction, Honor noticed. Not the interest of a man waiting for instructions, she thought, and failed to define the expression in the man’s eyes.
“You are correct, my lady.” Phillipe took her arm and led her away.
“What is it?” Tension flowed off her husband’s batman. Had he heard something? He’d certainly been close enough to hear the conversation within the tent.
The sound of distant cannonading impinged on her growing unease. Would Wellington hold his position or move against the French? With one more day to go before they left for home, she didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she cared. This morning something nibbled at her usual ability to cope with the daily demand of following an army. What was keeping Dev?
* * * *
Why hadn’t he insisted Honor join the other women when Wellington sent them and the baggage to the rear of the lines? Marmont was already moving his armies in an attempt to outflank them. It wouldn’t work of course, couldn’t work, simply because in doing so he’d overextend his army, leaving them open to attack from Wellington’s different divisions. No way would Old Nosey sit back and let that happen without going into action. And Honor would be right there in the middle of it all while he would be too far away to provide her with protection.
To avoid meeting Honor before he was ready, Dev slipped through an aperture at the rear of the tent and sought out his friend, and batman, Phillipe. They’d been together through many conflicts — since long before he’d married Honor — and now he needed Phillipe’s word to see his wife safely away from Salamanca.
Today.
It wouldn’t take Phillipe long to reunite Honor with the wagons and get back to camp before he completed his mission, Dev thought.
If he returned.
And if he returned, Dev promised himself, he’d make his own way home to rejoin his beloved Honor.
Dev observed the despondency in his leader’s eyes, heard the false encouragement in his words, and the previous night’s niggling sense of foreboding exploded into life as the Earl revealed plans and issued orders.
It looked like "one more day" had just become "one day too long."
For a moment, Dev wondered whether Honor would be safer within the ranks of his comrades, then dismissed the notion. Nor would taking Honor to join the retreating wagons keep her secure if anything happened to him.
He’d hand Honor into his batman’s protection before he left camp this morning. As a local man, Phillipe’s vast organisation of contacts could arrange for Honor’s safe passage across Spain and into France. Not an easy journey under any circumstances. Add in the combination of Napoleon and Joseph Bonapartes’ armies plus rogue or deserting soldiers filling the roads or trying to escape, it would be fraught with even more danger.
* * * *
“There you are, Dev.” Keeping her tone light and carefree, she held out her hands when he joined her. The way Dev’s gaze slid away confirmed her instinct that it wasn’t going to be a normal day.
Just one day…
A shiver ran down her spine.
He revealed his soul in his eyes, and as she looked into them now, Honor detected the tumult of emotions stirring within them.
His face lit up when he saw her coming, and he opened his arms to welcome her, wrapping them around her tightly. For a moment he rested his forehead on hers, inhaling the scent of her, enjoying her warmth and softness before stepping back.
“What an age you have been. I do declare I began to wonder if Wellington sent you off without giving you a chance to say ‘goodbye’.” She angled her head for his kiss, letting it fall on her cheek. She wanted to grab hold of Dev and drag him back to their little tent.
His smile vanished. He glanced round at the general mêlée of movement and pulled her to one side.
Taking her hand he kissed her palm before holding her gaze. Without preamble he held her still when she went to embrace him. “Listen to me, Honor.”
She wanted to reach up and trace her finger over his lips. Instead she fisted her free hand at her side to prevent herself giving in to temptation.
“When I agreed to let you come with me to Europe you gave me a promise. Do you remember?”
All desire to caress Devlin vanished. Unable to get any words passed the constriction in her throat, she nodded.
“It is time.”
“But—” they came thick and fast now. “You said… we’re going home… you said…” Her words fell off her personal cliff of fear and tumbled to the ground between them, along with hope. What was that saying? Tomorrow never comes. Was Dev implying their future was an illusion? Her heart plummeted, and the pain in her chest was sharp as a knife.
“I will join you tomorrow,” he said.
The look in his eyes stopped her protest from tumbling out. She’d promised to be strong. For him, for her.
Now, it seemed, the moment had arrived to make good on that promise.
This time she didn’t resist her urge to touch him. She caught the lapels of his red jacket and pulled him to her. She stood on tip toe and pressed her lips to his.
“I love you, Dev.”
His eyes darkened, and for a second she wondered whether she’d made a mistake, added to his emotional burden. He needed a clear mind free from a sense of personal obligation to do his work, but the words slipped out before she could check them.
His hand came up to cover one of hers. “I know, and I love you too. You are my life.” He leaned down and deepened the kiss, then stepped back with a sigh.
“I will take you to Phillipe. In the nam
e of your promise to me, do what he says without question. Your safety, and his, will depend upon it.”
Once more words failed her; once more a nod was all she could give him.
He took her hand and kept it close to his heart for several seconds. When he pulled on it she followed him as they made their way to the perimeter of the camp beyond the commander’s tent. A minute later Dev placed it in Phillipe’s; she recognised the understanding in the Spaniard’s eyes, saw the gleam of admiration when she nodded to him and stepped away from Dev.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“I have to go.” He looked over to where a soldier stood beside his waiting horse.
“I have to go,” he said again, then placed his hands on her face and pulled her close. To Honor, his kiss stopped time. Whether it lasted a second or a lifetime, she didn’t know. The cool air on her cheeks brought her back to the present. To a separation she feared might last forever.
The next hardest thing was to keep a smile on her lips when Dev stole another brief kiss before striding away.
“Phillipe, I promised Dev I would follow your instructions without question, and I will, but please just this once, may I stay here until Dev leaves?” If he agreed she vowed she’d never ask him for any more favours.
She held her breath when he hesitated and released it with a whoosh when he acquiesced.
They stood side by side in the brightening daylight as Dev strode over to another officer, nodded after a moment’s discussion, then mounted his waiting horse. He didn’t look back. Had she expected him to? At a gentle trot, Dev headed for the outskirts of the camp where he was joined by three other soldiers.
When Phillipe gripped her arm, she cast a puzzled glance at him. She read the horror in his eyes and swung round in time to witness one of the men swing his sword in an arc and bring it down on Dev’s head, then the others closed in to haul his unconscious body from the horse. She wanted to scream, but Phillipe’s hand over her mouth prevented any sound from escaping. She wanted to rush to Dev’s rescue, and found herself restrained by the Spaniard’s other arm clamped her waist.
She wanted to deny what she seen but couldn’t take her eyes of the unfolding horror.
Where were his friends? She fought Phillipe’s insistence they move away until the men, with Dev, disappeared from view. Where were the men taking her husband? Who were they and why hadn’t anyone gone to her husband’s rescue?
“What’s going on?” she demanded when Phillipe remove his hand from her mouth. “I want to go to him,” she insisted, but Phillipe shook his head and began dragging her in the opposite direction. She wanted to curl up and die.
“I don’t understand. Why have our own men attacked him, and why did no one go to his aid?”
“Those men are not members of Wellington’s army.”
Phillipe’s certainty had her spinning round. “Not our soldiers? They wear our uniforms.”
“Not correctly, which means they are from either one of Marmont’s divisions or partisans in captured uniforms.”
When Phillipe tugged on her arm, she wrenched out of his grip. Why go anywhere with anyone if she’d never see Dev again, and then his words came back to her. "Remember your promise…"
She remembered, and straightening her shoulders, nodded at Phillipe before following him when he walked them through the mud at a steady pace and in the opposite direction.
Another great read from Astraea Press!
Chapter One
Phillip Peartree, Tenth Duke of Bartlett, squinted as he scanned the titles on the dusty shelves of his favorite bookstore. He needed something new to read, something to help him relax and forget the depression weighing him down ever since he'd inherited his burdensome title. Phillip had been aware of his father's extravagant tastes, but he'd had no idea about the extent of debt they'd caused. Debt that had become his worry and responsibility. In the two years since his father's passing, the young duke had managed to satisfy most of his creditors by selling off part of his estate and working hard to improve what was left. Needing a respite, he'd decided to spend the holiday season in London, near his sister and nieces.
London offered plenty of activities for an eligible bachelor, but the social whirlwind was something Phillip avoided. Not that he wanted to be alone. He'd always dreamed of having a contented, if not happy, life with a suitable mate. Ideally, he'd prefer to wed someone with charm, looks, and intelligence. His hand went to his face, tracing the scars left from the hunting accident that had changed his life several years before. He sighed. How could he hope to win the hand of such a woman once she compared him to the good-looking members of the ton? There was no shortage of handsome single men who knew exactly how to converse with a woman, how to charm them, and how to woo them.
So he lived vicariously through the characters in his books. They were his friends. Although he'd already read nearly every title on the shelves, he'd come to this quiet little shop, on the edge of town, hoping find something new. There had to be something...
"Oooof!"
The missile hitting his abdomen doubled him over, knocking the breath from his lungs. When he'd recovered enough to straighten, his eyes focused on the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Had the punch to his stomach addled his brain, or did a halo surround this woman's face? The lively young thing waved her arms as she talked, and judging from the way her mouth moved, she spoke as quickly as she moved. Shiny golden curls tumbled from her bonnet, and her deep brown eyes radiated with intelligence and purpose. Fascinated by the way her luscious lips formed her words, he forgot to pay attention to what she was saying.
The lips stopped moving, and her eyes widened. She must be waiting for him to reply, but he had no idea what she'd just said.
"Er — pardon me, miss. I didn't see you. I sincerely hope you're not injured." Spying a handful of books scattered near her feet, he quickly bent and retrieved them for her. "Here you are."
Her lovely brown eyes narrowed. Had he said something stupid? Sometimes he did, especially when he hadn't followed a conversation closely. Since he'd lost most of his hearing in the accident that had disfigured his face, he'd learned to read lips quite well, but occasionally he'd get it wrong, much to the amusement of his cousins, who would tease him mercilessly.
"I'm fine, good sir," she said, taking the books he offered. "And I thank you for retrieving my books." She took them and whirled away without so much as a goodbye.
Phillip stood transfixed, staring after her.
Slowly, common sense returned, and he sighed regretfully. Such a lovely woman would never consider a friendship, much less a courtship, with someone like him.
Remembering his reason for entering the bookstore, Phillip continued to peruse the titles. At the back of the store, he found the section from which the lady had emerged. Here he found an assortment of slender books like those she had dropped. They were children's stories. Of course. She was married and probably had been there to purchase books for her children. He'd best forget about dreaming of a life with her.
Chagrined, he moved on to the next section. His eye caught a familiar name from his youth. An elegantly bound volume held a collection of poetry by Robert Burns. He remembered his grandmother, when she still lived, sitting on a bench in the estate gardens, reading her own well-worn book of Burns' poetry. Later, when she fell ill, Grandfather would go to her chambers and read to her, his gentle voice caressing the words as if singing a love song. Grandmother would lie back with her eyes closed, an ethereal smile lighting her face. It was his favorite memory of his grandparents and the love they shared.
Warmed by the memory, he picked up the volume, took it to the shop clerk, and purchased it.
****
Robert Townley, the duke's valet, stayed close to his master, but not so close as to intrude. The duke managed to get around quite well on his own, reading lips and using his other senses, but he couldn't hear warning shouts or the rushing carriages traveling the busy London streets. Tho
ugh Robert hadn't been instructed to do so, he'd made it his mission to protect Phillip whenever the young duke went out.
Robert's father and grandfather had both served the duke's family. Robert himself had grown up on the estate, spending his youth with the young heir. He'd been allowed to sit in on Phillip's lessons, never letting on that he was learning as much as Phillip. When Phillip had left for Eton, Robert had continued his own education by reading the duke's discarded newspapers and everything else he could get his hands on.
When Phillip's gun had misfired, leaving him scarred and deaf, he'd come home to convalesce, and Robert had been one of the few people he'd allowed in his rooms. The two men had forged a bond more akin to friendship than the usual relationship between servant and master. Now, he noted Phillip's dazed expression.
What happened in that bookstore?
He reached out a hand and lightly touched the duke's sleeve to get his attention. "Your Grace?"
Phillip blinked several times, seeming to bring himself into the present. "Yes, Townley?"
"Is everything all right? Did something happen in there? You look rather… dazed."
Phillip sighed. "I suppose I do. I just caught a glimpse of heaven."
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Redeeming the Deception of Grace Page 9