For the Love of a Soldier

by Victoria Morgan

  “It’s a fine thing you’ve given these men. And, Garrett”—she paused, surprising him with the use of his name—“it’s not just a job that you’ve provided. You know that, don’t you?”

  Garrett turned away from her admiring look, unable to respond as she voiced his earlier fear. Hell, he never regretted this venture he had embarked upon, but he was no savior. How could he be when there were too many others that he hadn’t been able to save? They’d been his men, too.

  He nodded curtly to Alexandra, striding away before he said something he would regret.

  He regretted too damn much already.

  ALEX BLINKED AT Garrett’s retreating back. The man revealed so many different facets of himself that she was finding it difficult to remember her list of his faults. She worried that this act of decency eradicated them all. A familiar flutter arose in her chest. If this didn’t make the man trouble, she didn’t know what did.

  However, she was unsettled by the darkness coloring his steel eyes black before he turned away.

  Damn the man.

  He was like a vault, sealed closed and locked tight. Whatever he hid, it ate at him. And there was something. Something big and boiling inside him. Like those newfangled steam engines that exploded with smoke, Garrett needed a release valve for what churned through him. She feared it was more than tortured memories, more than the death and mayhem of Balaclava. But what?

  Frowning, she strolled over to stand at the perimeter of the fields. A few of the men tipped their heads to her, those with more visible scars turned away, hiding their features. Her heart constricted, but she maintained a serene expression. She would not cry for these men. They did not need pity. This is what they needed. A job. Dignity. What Garrett gave them, but refused to acknowledge. A sigh escaped her.

  “You all right, miss?”

  She jumped at Stewart’s sudden presence beside her. “Yes, of course.” She nodded to the fields. “It’s impressive. How long before the plants take root and grow?”

  “I’m no farmer, but my understanding is that vines or bines, as the hops are called, grow rapidly. Once they do, stakes will be planted for them to be trained up, a few bines to each hill. Holt”—he gestured to the man in conversation with Garrett—“is overseeing the plantings. A latticework structure will be built over the lot to string the bines up to trellises once they grow tall enough.”

  Stewart explained more of the process, pointing out different plots and the plans for them. He possessed a head for more detail than Alex cared to remember, and she smiled as she listened to him.

  “I assumed Charlton Manor had some tenant farmers, perhaps a few kitchen gardens, but never this,” she said. “It’s quite a large-scale operation.”

  Stewart beamed. “Holt and Kendall cooked up the scheme in the Crimea. Holt oversaw a property east of here, but they weren’t interested in anything more than tenant holdings. Rent to subsidize their life of leisure.” He grinned as he added, “But they got into debt and ended up selling half their property to Kendall to subsidize said life of leisure. Luxury is costly.”

  “Was…was the transaction a smooth one?” She innocently posed the question. Garrett had angered someone enough to want him dead. Who better than the owner of a neighboring estate who had lost property to Garrett? Land was power, and no one liked to be stripped of it.

  Amusement lit Stewart’s eyes. “Things would have gone smoother if Kendall had accepted the hand of Lord Keyes’s daughter in the bargain.”

  “Garrett was not interested in the girl?” Alex kept her tone casual. After all, it was of no import to her where Garrett’s interest lay.

  “No, he wasn’t interested in the girl,” Stewart assured her. At her frown, he added, “But you need not worry about her. There are plenty of other blokes in Kent who are. And…she’s receptive to their attentions. She—” He flushed and cleared his throat. “Well, Lord Kendall has no interest in marriage.”

  Alexandra dismissed Lord Keyes’s wayward daughter, experiencing a pinprick stab to her heart at Stewart’s last comment. Lord Kendall has no interest in marriage.

  It should be no surprise that Garrett was not interested in marriage. He had a mistress and appeared intent on adding another if his attentions toward her were any indication of his plans. Why bother with marriage?

  In truth, they held that in common. After witnessing her parents’ farce of a union, she was not interested in marriage, either, and had sacrificed much to avoid it. Nor was she interested in dalliances outside of it. She would fulfill their bargain and attempt to heal the man, but that was all she would do. She frowned, acutely aware that she had no idea how to accomplish either goal. She needed help.

  Her eyes narrowed on Stewart. “Mr. Stewart, you served under Lord Kendall in the Crimea?”

  Surprised at her change of topic, he covered the pocket where he tucked the sleeve of his missing hand. Aware of his actions, he dropped his arm to his side. “Yes, I was his artillery sergeant.”

  “He was a good officer?”

  Stewart stiffened as if she had insulted him by suggesting an idea to the contrary. “He had our backs, unlike some of the other puffed-up…” His words trailed off, his expression darkening before he went on. “He used his own money to finagle supplies from the French, who were better prepared with provisions than us poor, forgotten sods. He was one of the few officers who took advice from the career soldiers. One of the few toffs willing to learn what’s what.” Stewart met her eyes. “And he’d be there still, standing for his men if he hadn’t gotten wounded and shipped out.” Stewart flushed, looking as if he had said more than he intended. “I should return to Lord Kendall.” He bowed stiffly to Alexandra before striding away.

  “Stewart?” She waited until he faced her. “He’s still standing for his men. He’s just doing it here.”

  Stewart stared at her before replying. “He is indeed.”

  Alex mulled over Stewart’s words, her eyes on Garrett as his secretary joined him and another field hand. The worker gestured at a distant point, while Garrett stood still. He had that quiet strength about him, an ability to listen without moving a muscle. It drove Alex mad. She followed their gazes to focus on the men working and sighed.

  He was a good man. A brave man. One with integrity and a bone-deep loyalty.

  Taller than both men, his gray jacket molded his shoulders and lean frame. She drew in a breath and her heart flipped over. Good Lord, he was handsome. His classic aristocratic looks belonged in a ballroom, dancing the night away. The man could probably seduce the skirts off the most reluctant bluestocking.

  She thought of Kristen and frowned.

  He was taken. She cursed a woman she didn’t know but suddenly disliked with a vehemence that stunned her.

  Alex might not love Garrett, but she felt certain that this Kristen could never fully understand him. Did she see his hidden wounds? Not that Garrett had allowed Alex close enough to see these wounds, but she had worked with soldiers before. She understood these men. Garrett was no different.

  “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

  She blinked, unaware of Garrett’s approach. “I’m fine.” She stepped back when Garrett offered his arm to escort her. He couldn’t touch her. Not now.

  “Good.” He eyed the patch of dark gray clouds drifting in from the west. “If the weather will hold, there is a bluff that overlooks the ocean that’s not too far. I thought we’d stop for a bite to eat. The view there is spectacular.”

  She needed a spectacular view. Something besides Garrett.

  He gave her Autumn’s reins and when his hands slid around her waist, her breath caught. She released it with a woosh as he set her on her saddle. Lifting her knee, she hooked it around the horn and gripped the reins tightly. She gasped when Garrett’s hand slid down to smooth her skirt.

  A puzzled expression crossed his features. “Have you grown bumps of late?”

  Belatedly she remembered the biscuits she had shoved in her skirt poc
ket at breakfast. Mortified, she edged Autumn out of Garrett’s reach. “They’re biscuits,” she muttered between clenched teeth, refusing to say more. What did he know of hunger? How it was like a disease that one never fully recovered from, the memory of it a permanent brand in your stomach.

  “What?”

  “Biscuits. Just biscuits,” she snapped. “I might get hungry.”

  “Good idea. I’m always hungry.”

  His voice was husky and when his eyes slid over her body meaningfully, she opened her mouth to give him a scathing set down but closed it. He might be a good man, but arrogance still topped his list of faults.

  She pressed her heel to Autumn’s side and cantered ahead. She didn’t know why she cared about helping him. He only wanted one thing, and he was baiting her to get it, knowing how he affected her. And he thought he could seduce her with gifts. Offering her a horse earlier. She knew his game. She had learned early not to covet anything for fear of seeing it disappear the next day, sold to cover her father’s debts.

  Garrett was not like her father, though both were rakes. And once a rake, always a rake.

  She paused, her former estate manager’s words returning to her. Quid pro quo. Maybe if she gave him a little of what he wanted, he’d give her what she wanted; he’d talk to her. Intimacy creates an environment conducive to sharing confidences.

  No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It was dangerous.

  She slowed Autumn to a walk, biting her lip as she chewed on the idea, waiting for Garrett to catch up.

  She had told Garrett she was immune to seduction, and he had tossed her words back at her. If she’d spoken the truth, she should be able to test it. And she had spoken true.

  What harm could come from a few kisses?

  For that was all she would concede.

  It was a perilous game she contemplated. She could get devoured in the process. She took a deep breath and blew it out.

  Some risks were worth taking.

  Feeling a renewed confidence, she smiled as Garrett caught up to her. She’d handle him. Wait, that hadn’t come out right. She’d help him.

  If things got out of hand, a firm no should rein him in. If not, well then, he did promise to teach her how to use a revolver.

  Chapter Fifteen

  SHE was planning something. Garrett recognized the look of someone strategizing. Wheels were spinning behind those enormous blue eyes.

  But what? What could a practical, gently bred young woman be plotting?

  He studied her as they rode in silence. He could only hope her plans coincided with his. He didn’t like it, not knowing her thoughts, but he refused to take a defensive position when he had already prepared for a full frontal assault.

  The bluff was a strategic destination. It was rustic, thus no prying eyes, and romantic, with its scenic view overlooking a wide expanse of beach. He had shaken Stewart loose, sending him to the vicar’s to thank him for his assistance with the estate report. Alexandra had looked wary as she watched Stewart ride off, but then she had firmed her lips and lifted her chin. God, he loved practical, independent women.

  The area also contained an abandoned hunter’s lodge in which to take refuge should the weather not hold. He squinted at the threatening, smoky gray clouds. Weather was an unknown variable in any assault, but he thought they had time yet before the heavens opened.

  They rode through a veritable Eden of rolling hills before following a path that cut through a copse of trees. Beyond this wooded stretch lay the bluff. His eyes drifted to Alexandra, as they had throughout their ride. She rivaled the beauty of any natural view.

  She had a lovely profile, cameo perfect, and those full lips beckoned to him. Taunting him. He hadn’t lied when he had told her he was hungry. He’d been starving ever since his lips had first touched hers. A teasing taste when he wanted the full-course meal. He shifted in his saddle, struggling to suppress his impatience.

  An eruption of barking dogs shattered the silence.

  “What the…” he muttered, struggling to rein in Champion. He glanced ahead to see Alexandra handle Autumn. The horse tossed her head and whinnied before vaulting into a frenzied canter when the barks sounded closer.

  Garrett cursed and urged Champion to follow, leaning low over his neck as he cut the distance between them. “You all right?” he called out to Alexandra as she gained control over Autumn, patting the mare’s neck and murmuring calming words to her as they slowed their pace.

  A shot rang out. Loud and explosive.

  What the bloody hell?

  Searing pain singed his arm, triggering his defensive instincts. He reached over and swept Alexandra from her sidesaddle to sit before him. He curled his arm around her waist and leaned low, digging his heels into Champion’s sides and urging him into a gallop.

  With one hand on the reins and the other clutching Alexandra close, he was unable to retrieve the revolver in his pocket. He cursed his defenseless position, but protecting Alexandra took precedence over killing the bastard who had fired the shots.

  A whistle rent the air, and the baying dogs quieted.

  “Good boys, that’s fine fellas. What have you got?”

  Keyes. The bastard. Garrett gritted his teeth and drew back on Champion’s reins. Alexandra gasped and clung to his arm as Garrett whirled them around. The horse was cavalry trained and war honed, quick to obey his command and would not shy from gunshots and cannon fire, let alone a pack of hunting dogs.

  “Keyes?” he bellowed, rage vibrating in his voice.

  “Hello there! Kendall? That you?”

  Garrett reined Champion to a stop, his eyes narrowed on the path in front of him.

  A barrel-chested man astride a magnificent bay ambled into view. His riding jacket strained across a bulging gut and thighs the size of tree trunks hugged his mount. Windblown wisps of gray hair failed to cover his balding dome.

  He held a hunting rifle, its gleaming barrel pointed to the ground, the stench of powder reaching Garrett. Circling him were four English Pointers, sleek-coated, tautly muscled, and panting with anticipation.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you mad?” Garrett barked, barely refraining from planting his fist in the bastard’s florid face.

  “Hang on a minute, there. My boys smelled something. I didn’t think—”

  “You sure as hell didn’t! You fired your rifle blind. I ought to report you to the constable. You can’t—”

  “Excuse me, but the last I heard, hunting is not illegal.” Keyes raked him with a contemptuous look. “And this isn’t your land, or have you robbed Wharton as well?”

  “Christ, if you’re still crying robbery, fire your solicitor. He’s the one who obtained your signature on the deed of sale. Be grateful the property you’re left with is more spacious than a debtor’s gaol.” At Keyes’s sputter of rage, Alexandra’s hand squeezed Garrett’s and he leashed his temper. “What the hell were you hunting around here? Riders?”

  Keyes’s expression moved from beet red to pulsing purple. “Are you accusing me of attempted murder?”

  “You’re holding the smoking gun, and I’ve got a bullet hole in my jacket. My tailor will send you his bill.” Alexandra gasped, twisting to tug at his sleeve and assess the damage. He tightened his arm around her waist to still her movements.

  Keyes’s eyes narrowed on Alexandra, but his expression held no remorse. “My finger must have jerked on the trigger. My mistake.” He shrugged. “My apologies to your tailor. However, you look none the worse from your mishap, and you appear to be in good hands now.” His eyes dipped meaningfully to Alexandra. His smile was slow and insinuating. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your…ah, friend?”

  Alexandra stiffened and Garrett surmised her expression shot daggers, for he had the satisfaction of watching Keyes squirm under her regard. “Lady Daniels, Lord Keyes,” he spoke curtly. “The lady is a guest of Charlton Manor, along with Lord and Lady Warren.” It was a partial truth, for they should
arrive by week’s end.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Keyes drawled. “Or perhaps all yours.”

  Alexandra’s sharp intake of breath filled the silence. Garrett nearly launched himself at the lout but refrained. The ass wasn’t worth it. “I might not be able to hang you for murder, Keyes—at least not yet—but I can drag you in for trespassing and poaching. This is Wharton’s land and under my estate manager’s care while Wharton resides in town. I suggest you get the hell off it.” He withdrew his revolver from his jacket pocket. “I’d hate for my finger to jerk on the trigger.”

  Keyes drew himself up. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I am. Do you wish to call me out? Name the time and place.” He ignored Alexandra’s fingers digging into his forearm. There would be no duel. The man was a coward, preferring to shoot at unsuspecting targets.

  Keyes paled. “And have you kill me? I’m not an idiot, Kendall, contrary to your belief otherwise. I’ll leave. But you don’t control all the land in this region, and hunting is legal. You’d be wise to remember that.” He nodded to Alexandra. “Lady Daniels.” He sneered her title, the derision in his tone conveying his opinion of her dubious status.

  “Are you threatening me?” Garrett demanded.

  “Consider it words of advice as you’re new to the area and unfamiliar with our ways.” Keyes steered his bay around and whistled to his dogs. With a brusque hand gesture, he brought them in line as he kicked his horse and trotted off.

  The silence stretched as they watched him depart. Garrett blew out a breath and slipped his revolver back into his jacket pocket. “The man is an ass.”

  Alexandra spun around to scowl at him. “You still need to speak to the constable and report this incident. He could have killed you. Who’s to say he didn’t attempt it?”

  He snorted. “He couldn’t hit a target if he tripped over it. He’s a coward.”

  “Cowards kill, too.”

  “They do,” he conceded. “But this one didn’t receive an invitation to the Duke of Hammond’s ball.”