An Officer but No Gentleman

by Bronwyn Scott

  “That’s hardly fair. A gentleman is honor-bound to lose.” But a competitive spirit sparked in his eyes nonetheless.

  Her next words were bold. “But you’re no gentleman, are you, Grahame? That’s the secret, isn’t it? The one thing that keeps you from continuing our affair?” The look on his face said she was close. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He didn’t think he was good enough for her.

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” Grahame blew out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve asked you to leave this alone. It can’t matter in the end.”

  The end being tomorrow, Elowyn thought. “It matters, because I’ve found a man worth keeping.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “For how long, Ell?” Until you decide it’s over? Is that what this is about? You don’t like that I’ve decided it needs to end? Is that how it was with the others? You chose? What do you want?”

  She let the comment slide, all but the last part. They’d arrived at the knife throwing. She put down coins for the entrance fee and faced Grahame. “What I want is your best throw and then I’ll want your secret, you stubborn man.”

  * * *

  Grahame hefted one of the knives laid out at the booth while Elowyn marched up to the throwing line. Folks had begun to gather. He smiled in spite of himself. Elowyn knew how to draw a crowd. She was magnificent. Even now after days on the road there was a regal quality to her as she stepped up to throw. She stood there, proud and defiant, staring down the target with deadly intent. A few onlookers called friendly advice but she paid them no attention. That was when Grahame realized he was going to lose. Elowyn only knew how to win, even if the prize was something she wouldn’t want.

  She threw her three knives in rapid succession, one of them hitting the bull’s-eye, the other two close enough it didn’t matter. Elowyn turned to him with a confident smile. “It’s all yours, Captain.” The crowd cheered. They wanted her to win. Maybe he did, too. Maybe the truth needed to come out.

  Maybe.

  His first throw matched hers.

  His second throw matched hers.

  His third throw went wide, just wide enough to make a difference in her favor. The crowd roared. Someone took up the chant, “Kiss! Kiss!” Grahame obliged. He swept a triumphant Elowyn into his arms, wanting to remember her like this always with her cheeks flushed, her hair falling down, her eyes on fire. He kissed her for the crowd. He kissed her for all he was worth and wasn’t worth because very soon it would be over. She would know his secret and she would be done with him.

  Not as soon as he thought. The crowd saved him. One man clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Captain, is it? You’d better redeem yourself for the lady right over here.” The man gestured toward the horse and rider obstacle course and the crowd surged, sweeping Grahame along with them. He caught sight of Elowyn among them, but she was of no help. She merely nodded and laughed along with the rest of them.

  Aramis was already there, waiting for him. Grahame threw a censorious look at his newfound friend, who merely shrugged. “We all figured you were probably cavalry when we saw that big stallion of yours.”

  It was hard to be angry when spirits were riding high. Grahame swung up on Aramis. If he was committed to this, he might as well win it. Elowyn waved from the crowd and he lost himself in the moment at the sight of her. It occurred to him in a flash of insight this might be one of the best days of his life. His woman was cheering for him. Something primal surged in him as he kneed Aramis forward. He would ride for her and he’d win for her. Who he was might stop him from claiming her, but it couldn’t stop him from loving her. Right now, that was enough.

  He watched the first four competitors take the field and studied the course. It was classic, designed to test the skills of both horse and rider. The first test was about balance, a line of rope loops through, which the riders were expected to cut through with their sabers. The second was a set of poles the rider and the horse were to weave through, testing the horse’s flexibility. Finally, there was the double test of the horse’s steadiness and the rider’s strength, the stuffed dummies that were to be stabbed.

  The fifth rider did well, only missing one of the dummies. Then it was his turn. He saluted the judges, turned Aramis in a tight circle, readying him for the course. With a kick of his heels, Aramis was off. Grahame leaned low over Aramis’s neck as the first task approached, saber leveled. The rope loops gave. He was through the first task. He urged Aramis on, not letting the horse slow as they came up on the weaving poles. He worked the reins, kneeing the horse subtly, in and out, while the crowd cheered, loving the speed. He would need that speed for the dummies so his saber wouldn’t stick when it struck straw.

  Grahame steadied his arm and plunged into the first dummy and withdrew. He had to rely entirely on his knees for keeping Aramis on course, his hand occupied with the saber. He plunged again and again, taking the final dummy in a round of rambunctious applause from the audience.

  Elowyn was in his arms, kissing him soundly the moment he dismounted. The judges were congratulating him; strangers in a town he’d never met were pounding his back. Tonight, he was Captain Grahame Westmore, and tonight he belonged.

  The prize was a bottle of champagne. Grahame grinned and took the bottle from the judges. “Shall I open it here?” he asked the crowd gathered about him. They cheered him on and he took out his saber one more time and turned the flat of the blade against the bottle. The cry of “sabrage!” broke out through the crowd in surprised delight. Elowyn’s eyes were alight in awe. Grahame slid the blade along the body of the bottle and broke the neck away, the bubbling foam covering his hand while everyone clapped. He drank first and passed the bottle to Elowyn, who charmed the crowd with a healthy swig of her own. She passed the bottle on and that was the last he saw of the prize. They were swept up with the crowd toward the dancing floor and the trestle tables set up for eating.

  Overhead, stars came out. Lanterns were lit. There were beer, sausages and potatoes until neither he nor Elowyn could eat another bite, and there was dancing! Country dancing, where no one cared how many times you danced with the same partner. He danced all night with Elowyn, watching her eyes burn with green fire, watching her hair come loose, watching her smile at him as if she were the happiest woman in the world and he knew he had to tell her. It was not fair to let her fall in love with an illusion.

  The crowd was thinning, the musicians tiring as he led her to the inn where the innkeeper was all too glad to have chamber set aside for the day’s champion and his wife. Elowyn collapsed on the bed, arms outstretched in weary happiness. “You were magnificent today! No wonder the Spanish riding school wants you.”

  When he said nothing, she sat up and fixed him with a puzzled stare. “You’re still dressed. Aren’t you coming to bed?”

  “I will, if you want me to.”

  “Of course I want you to.”

  Grahame cut her off gently. “I owe you my secret. That was our wager today.” He didn’t want to hurt her but she had to know. “I have to tell you who I am and you may not want me after that.” He shook his head to silence her protest. She had no business protesting what she didn’t know.

  Elowyn sat up in bed, all seriousness. “All right, then tell me.”

  Grahame began to pace. “I am a captain, but I didn’t buy my commission. Mine was a field promotion for valor and leadership during battle. That’s all true, but I’m not a gentleman born as you may have guessed. I have no title, not even a brother with a title. There’s no grandfatherly baron on my family tree, no pretensions to the gentry at all. I’m a kid from the slums who enlisted in the army as soon as he was able. I worked my way up from there.” He studied her, watching her take in the first salvo.

  “You’re truly a self-made man, then. That’s more than admirable, Grahame,” Elowyn said with quiet fortitude.

  “There’s
more, Ell. Think about what that means. Being self-made means I work for a living. I will probably always have to work for a living. I can’t offer you the things you’re used to. Your father will see that right away. He will not find me suitable for any kind of association with you.”

  She pleated the blanket between her fingers, thinking. “He doesn’t decide for me.”

  “Then there’s more you need to know. I can’t have you making decisions without all the knowledge.” Grahame ran a hand through his hair. “I have to tell you the rest. After I returned to London, I needed work. A half-pay officer doesn’t have a salary that will keep him in London, so I started escorting rich women to their entertainments. They were grateful.”

  “How grateful?” Elowyn had stopped pleating the blanket and fixed him with a hard stare.

  “They would give me gems, necklaces, bracelets, expensive jewelry.” Lord, it was hard to say the words. It had never bothered him before, but he’d not cared for anyone’s opinion the way he cared for Elowyn’s.

  “Did you have sex with them?”

  “Some of them, yes. All right, a lot of them.” Grahame shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. “I was part of a group that called themselves the League of Discreet Gentlemen. We pleasured women who were unable to find pleasure in their own relationships.” He blew out a breath. “I know it sounds bad.” He waited. He waited for her ultimate rejection, her revulsion. Her green eyes were narrowed like a cat’s.

  “Well, Grahame Westmore, that certainly explains a lot of things.” He could not tell by her tone how angry she was.

  “What things?” Grahame ventured tentatively.

  “Why you are so damn good in bed.” Elowyn rose off the bed and came to him. She circled him, her hand caressing him as she went, her hips swaying seductively. “As for being bad, I would have to disagree. I think there’s a bit of nobility in your calling. It is a great thing to give a woman pleasure. What it doesn’t explain, though, is how you ended up with my father’s commission.”

  Grahame coughed uncomfortably. “A mix up of words, I imagine. Your father was looking for an escort, just of a different sort.” Channing had known that and exploited it.

  Elowyn smiled. “Imagine that. Well, we don’t have to tell him.” She sobered, her hand pausing on his chest. “It also doesn’t explain us. I need to know, was I a game? Was I just another woman in need of your skills?”

  Grahame covered her hand with his. Everything depended on these next simple words. “No. You were not, are not a game, which is why you had to know who I was, what I was. I could not bind you to a fiction of a man and have you discover too late what you’d chosen.”

  “And what will I have chosen?” Elowyn’s eyes glinted in challenge. She was not going to let him go. He would treasure that later. Right now, he had to make her see the futility of her tenacity.

  “Ell, I am a man of no background and no significant wealth. I work for a living. I will probably move several more times and you hate moving. I can give you none of what you crave. But God help me, I’m the man who wants to bed you tonight one last time before I deliver you to your father and say goodbye tomorrow.” If she would not let him go, he would have to stand firm and let her go, even if it killed him to do it. He would not be able to respect himself otherwise if he dragged her down to his level. But before that, he’d give them a night to remember.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It had been a week and Grahame Westmore had proven to be as good as his word, damn him. Elowyn looked out the front room window yet again. It had a view of the busy street and she’d found her eyes going to that view several times a day as if she expected to see Grahame striding up the front steps and declaring he’d made a mistake, that he’d been wrong when he’d decided there were more important things for her to have besides love.

  She rather thought he’d overestimated those things and underestimated her. For that matter, he’d underestimated what he did have to offer. For starters, he wasn’t without resources. He did have an income. They’d have her dowry. They would hardly be paupers the way he made it sound. But there had been no convincing him of that. She’d hoped a week’s separation would have done the convincing for her. Perhaps that was why her eyes were ever drawn to the window these days.

  The housekeeper bustled in. “Miss, will you want to go over the menus for the week?”

  Elowyn turned her gaze from the window. She stared at the housekeeper, one thought demanding all her concentration. This was not control, the thing she valued so highly in her life. Deciding what to eat, which china to eat it off, who to invite to dinner, what dress to wear, none of it was really control. In the end, she moved when her father said move. She’d been deciding the small things all along, making temporary decisions. Even her relationships mirrored that pattern.

  “Miss?” The housekeeper queried. Elowyn was sure she must look strange but she didn’t care. There was an important discussion going on in her head right now and if she deviated from listening to it for even a second, she would lose the thread. She loved Grahame Westmore. He loved her. If she really wanted to take control of something as significant as the direction of her life, she would not let his concern over society’s reaction stand in her way. Instead, she’d walk out this door and go straight to him.

  Elowyn rose. “If you’ll excuse me. I have something I need to do. I’m going out.”

  * * *

  Grahame leaned against the stall door, exhausted and dirty. He’d just finished putting away the last horse of the day. The school was training a new group of horses for the king of Spain. There were grooms, of course, to do the menial work of grooming and stabling but Grahame had insisted he and the group of Spaniards working with him do it themselves as a way to build trust between horse and rider.

  Maybe tonight he’d be tired enough to sleep, really sleep, without dreams. He only dreamed of one thing: Elowyn. He would wake hard and aching. Some nights he reached for her before he’d realize she was gone. His damnable respect was becoming a double-edged sword that was cutting only him. Perhaps he’d been wrong to let Elowyn go. It wasn’t that he didn’t value what they had. He knew how rare real happiness was and he’d meant it when he’d told her they’d found happiness for a short time. He’d seen too many unhappy women, women who’d come looking for him to provide them a type of happiness to know the difference. Maybe that was what scared him the most. What if he and Elowyn lost their happiness? It would be far worse to know what he’d lost then never to have had it at all.

  A few men passed by the stall and stopped to invite him to go out with them. He smiled, thanked them and waved them on. He was not fit company for anyone tonight. By turning Elowyn free, he’d done the best he could for her. Right now, she was probably getting ready for a splendid night in a sparkling mansion near the Belvedere. In his mind’s eye he could see her putting on a silk gown, her maid putting up her hair. A loose curl would dangle in tantalizing temptation at her neck. Tonight, whether she meant to or not, she would dazzle some poor unsuspecting soul who had no idea what he was getting himself into. She couldn’t help it. He could almost hear that sultry voice of hers.

  “Grahame Westmore, are you waiting for me?”

  His imaginings must be getting stronger because that voice sounded very real. Only it wouldn’t be his name, of course. His name. Wait. Grahame turned slowly.

  Elowyn stood there, just feet away, looking far too fresh for the stables, even pristine stables like this one. The horse in the stall gave him a hard nudge with its nose, pushing him forward as if even it knew Elowyn was his destiny.

  “Hello, Ell.” Maybe not so fresh, now that he had time to study her. Her cheeks were flushed and she was out of breath. That only made his blood pound harder. “You’ve been running.”

  “Yes, damn you, and it’s all your fault.” Her eyes sparkled and there was no malice beh
ind her words. “I have something to say.” She put her hands on her hips, her face set in earnest. “I want you, Grahame Westmore, for better or for worse, for now and for always. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about moving, I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’ve had a week to think it over and for the first time, I know my own mind.”

  He couldn’t let her do this. Grahame opened his mouth to remind her of all the reasons they needed to exercise restraint but the words never came. Elowyn crossed the distance between them in two strides and sealed his mouth with a kiss. She had him up against the stable wall before he knew what was happening. His body knew, though. It had gone hard at the sight of her and her rough play was exciting it beyond measure now.

  “You’ve spent too much time talking me out of this. Now it’s time for me to talk you into it,” She said between kisses, her hand slipping to his trousers.

  “Ell, you know what I can offer you is not what you’re used to. You know the man I am.” He had to try but his words sounded weak, even to himself. All he wanted was to seat himself in her and be done with it, be done with all the worry, all the doubt.

  “Yes, I do.” She stopped her kisses for a moment and met his eyes. “You are the man I love.”

  There was no fighting that. There was no desire to fight that. If he was truly brave, he’d reach out and seize what she was offering him with both hands; it was his dream, his fantasy. He’d found someone to belong with if he would take it. Grahame dropped a kiss along her jaw. “Then I guess there’s only one question left. Elowyn Bagshaw, will you be my wife?”

  Elowyn’s arms went around his neck. “I think the question is will you be my husband?” She laughed up at him but his answer was serious.

  “There will be difficulties,” Grahame warned.

  She gave him a soft smile. “Of course there will be. Sex is easy, Grahame. Love is hard.”