For the Love of a Soldier

by Victoria Morgan

  After an interminable period of time, his breathing leveled and his eyes slid closed. She lay the cloth over his forehead and threaded her fingers through his hair, brushing the disheveled strands back from his temple.

  When she felt he had settled enough to leave him, she eased to her feet and turned to Havers, who stood rooted beside the bed. He had recovered the tray and mug and held them in his hand. She lowered her voice. “Why don’t you see if you can get a hot toddy from Cook? I’ll sit with him for a while.”

  Havers looked at Garrett, his expression a picture of indecision.

  “Havers, I promise, I will not leave him. He will be all right.”

  He studied Garrett before he gave a curt nod and dropped his voice to a barely audible murmur. “Talk to him. Talk him through it. It don’t usually last long, but the storm…the noise.” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the window, his brow furrowed. “It brings it back. It’s—”

  “I understand,” she said.

  When the door closed behind Havers, Garrett sprang up, whipping the cloth off his forehead, his eyes darting around the room.

  Alex sat back on the bed, refusing to recoil from the wild look in his eyes. When they landed on her, he stared at her without recognition. Enormous pupils colored the steel gray black. She cautiously rested her hand on his shoulder, his skin clammy beneath her fingers as she eased him back. “Shh, it’s all right. I’m here. Lie back. You’re all right.”

  At first, he resisted until his unfocused eyes settled on her and he swallowed, allowing her to push him down.

  She reclaimed the cloth from where he had flung it across the bed and again pressed it to his forehead.

  “Don’t leave me.” His words wrenched from a hoarse throat. His fingers curled around her wrist. “Stay.”

  “Of course.” Alex blinked away the moisture blurring her gaze. “I’m here. I won’t leave you. It’s all—”

  A crack of thunder cut short her words and Garrett’s hands shoved hers away to clasp his head, holding it as if in a vice. “Christ.” His back arched, his eyes closed and then opened, dark and wild. “We’re surrounded…Christ, ride!”

  “You’re safe! Look at me!” She leaned forward and cupped her hands over his. She stared into his eyes and forced them to meet hers, as if through sheer willpower she could tame his madness.

  “Listen to me! Garrett, you’re safe.” She raised her voice and repeated the words, watching as his eyes clung to hers. When she felt he had returned from his battlefield, she lowered his hands to his sides and threaded her fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his brow. She dropped her voice to dulcet tones and as Havers advised, she began to talk.

  “When I was a girl and the thunder roared, my father told me the angels of music had heard me practicing on my mother’s piano. He said I had offended their sensibilities, not to mention deafened them with my pounding.”

  Garrett’s eyes became less vacant, his panic receding and his breathing leveling off as her words pulled him back from the darkness gripping him. She dabbed the cloth over his forehead, his cheeks, and his neck until finally, his eyes drifted shut. But still, she talked. Her words low and soothing.

  “My father would beg me to have a care for his head and of those in heaven, and refrain from practicing unless old man Bates came for a visit. Then I was given free rein to pound away. If Lady Bates arrived, I was also to sing. My father compared the woman to a magpie. Like a magpie, Lady Bates was a scavenger who enjoyed foraging in other people’s nests and devouring everything she thought edible.” She grinned at the memory.

  “He told my mother my playing was a foolproof plan to not only clear a room but stop all guests from dropping in uninvited. He wanted to loan my talents out to friends who complained of their relatives overstaying their welcome. He planned to charge them for my services, convinced he’d make a fortune. My father was always in need of a fortune.”

  “Did…did it work?”

  She froze. The words were music to her ears, more beautiful than anything she could produce, for she had spoken the truth. To her musical mother’s despair, she couldn’t sing a note.

  She swallowed back her tears. “Of course it worked. That’s why I’m confiding this pathetic story to you rather than singing a lullaby. I do have a care for your head.”

  His eyes opened, and the familiar glint lit the gray depths. “Thank you.”

  Her breath caught and her heart flipped over. She blinked to clear her blurred vision before she managed a small smile. “You are welcome.”

  She couldn’t drag her eyes from his, so delighted to see the sanity returned to them. To have him back. She might not be able to carry a tune, but her heart played a joyous, pulsating song.

  “You’ll have to sing for Keyes should he ever dare to visit.”

  His words shattered the moment, but when their meaning registered, she grinned. “He would fare better in a duel with you. Less pain and suffering.”

  “And the piano playing? As bad as the singing?”

  “Of course not.” She beamed. “That’s much, much worse.”

  He laughed. “Accompany your song with the piano, and the combination will be so lethal, Keyes won’t feel a thing. He’ll drop dead on the spot.”

  “You might have something there.”

  Another moment passed and his gaze drifted to the window. The storm had tapered off to a persistent patter, the wind whistling and the raindrops dancing over the roof. “The noise…it’s…well, the angel of music is no longer angry.”

  “No, he’s settled for now,” she murmured.

  “But…”

  “I’m here.” She assured him, unwilling to let the shadows cloud his eyes again. “I’ll stay with you.” She shrugged. “You never know when a poor child might butcher a tune on their piano.”

  Garrett’s gaze swung back to hers. Finally, he nodded. “You are probably right. I’ve heard many bad singers in my day.”

  “I commiserate with them.” Suddenly she became aware that his sheet was tangled about his hips and his chest was naked and inches from her.

  The firelight flickered over the broad expanse, and she drew in a sharp breath, wondering how she could have been oblivious to it. To him. “Ah…ah, where is your nightshirt?”

  He laughed.

  “Do you have one?” she persisted.

  “No.” He sat up and arranged his pillows behind him before settling back into them. “Can’t abide them. In fact, the one you are wearing looks like an old maid’s castoff. Wherever did you get it?” He fingered the collar of her white linen robe and grimaced.

  Slapping his hand away, she sat up poker straight. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t think you would recover if I wore my silk nightgown, the whisper-thin one with the slit up the side and the drooping lace décolletage. The shock alone would have killed you.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned. “I’m a weak man, and you have no mercy. Wait—” He held up his hand. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “Right. I have the image down.” He smiled. “I feel better now. Much, much better.”

  She stared at his smug expression, torn between offense and laughter. Her amusement won, and her laugh slipped loose. “You are incorrigible.”

  When he smiled, she shook her head. She never would have thought she would miss this arrogant side of him.

  He furrowed his brow. “But I need more details to get a clearer picture of matters.”

  “What matters?”

  “Exactly how low does the neckline to this gown plunge?”

  Her laugh was rich and sultry, stunning even her. She leaned close and opened her mouth to respond when a throat cleared. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. When she recovered her ability to move, she did so quickly, jumping to her feet and whirling around.

  Havers stood framed in the door, his expression carefully blank. He held a mug in one hand, the other clutching a stack of books. “I have what you asked for. And…” He glanced down
as if he needed a visual reminder of what he held. “Ned gave me these books that Kit left last time she were here.”

  “Thank you, Havers,” Garrett said. “I appreciate it.”

  Havers handed the items to her, eyeing her as if she were an apparition from the underworld who had bewitched Garrett.

  “That will be all, Havers.”

  Havers bobbed his head and shuffled backward. “Right, sir.” He turned, gave his head a sharp shake, and departed.

  Alex stared at the closed door. She should follow the man out. She didn’t know what had gotten into her earlier, but it wasn’t good. It veered into that boggy ground that she had been struggling to avoid.

  “What did he bring?”

  She jumped at the words and spun to face Garrett.

  “What books?” He nodded his head to the stack in her arms.

  She stared at the bare expanse of his chest, his naked shoulders, and his handsome features. When a loud flood of rain thrashed the roof, she jumped and dropped her eyes to the books.

  “Bring them over here,” Garrett said.

  She crossed to the bed and dropped the volumes beside him.

  “What’s that?”

  She followed his eyes to the mug she held. Remembering her request for the rum drink, she handed it to him. “It’s for you.”

  He peered into it and frowned. “What is it? Poison eye of newt?” He tried to return it to her. “It’s not necessary. I promise to forget about the images of you in the satin nothing. And the one of you naked in my arms. Poof. Gone.”

  He was becoming more himself by the minute. And Garrett Sinclair in his full faculties and bare-chested was a lethal combination. “Very funny. It’s a rum toddy.”

  As if she had taken a candlesnuffer to the flame burning in his eyes, the light died, and his amused expression vanished.

  “No.” The mug slid from his fingers onto the floor. He never glanced to the spill pooling over the carpet.

  “Garrett!” She snatched the towel she had used to swipe his brow and knelt to soak up the mess. “What is wrong with you?” She set the mug onto the bedside table, hurried to the commode to wring out the cloth, and dumped it into the porcelain bowl.

  When she returned to the bed, Garrett had his arms crossed over his chest. “Havers knows this. No spirits. No laudanum. Never again. He must have brought the toddy for you.”

  She stilled at his words and his truculent expression. “All right.”

  After a moment, he swiped a hand down his face and exhaled. “I can’t.” He looked at her and then away. “I can get back faster if I’m not…if…I need to be in control. That day during the charge…” He swallowed, but forced himself to continue. “I had no control. I couldn’t stop it. Then I was wounded and the nightmares began. They toss me back into the battle. Over and over again.

  “They came all the time, day or night. I couldn’t escape them. I turned to drink. A lot. First to dull the edges and then to blur the rest. It worked for a while, but then it…it didn’t. So I stopped.” His voice fell. “They don’t come that often anymore. Only sneak up on me when I’m not in control of a situation. And certain triggers set them off.”

  An image of him at Hammond’s came to mind, when he had shoved the brandy glass away from him. Then another of him at the hunting lodge, whipping the flask into the fire. She recalled the thunderstorm and her heart constricted. “The storm?”

  “Some loud noises. The storm. The name of a battlefield. So you see why I don’t talk about it. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “Garrett, I—”

  “Don’t.” He met her eyes. “I wanted you to understand, to explain tonight. You were kind to me, even after my behavior today. The things I said. You could have left me alone, but you didn’t. This is all I can give you.” He swallowed. “Let it be enough for now.”

  The shadows had returned to his eyes and they seeped into her heart, but she raised her chin and grasped on to his last words—for now. That meant there would be a later. It was a small breach in his wall. “Of course.” She hesitated before continuing, compelled to respond as honestly as he. “This afternoon, it’s all right. We both got carried away.”

  Her words restored his humor, for he grinned. “Is that what happened?”

  “Yes. The storm, the secluded lodge, the fire…” His plea to her. Make me forget. “But it won’t happen again.”

  “Pity,” he murmured. He studied her in his infuriating manner. “At my home, when I can’t sleep, I read. It keeps the worst of the images at bay. So I’ll be all right with these.” He glanced at the books and then to the window. “And the worst of the storm has died down. Thank you.”

  She shook her head. “Slide over.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, move. I haven’t read a novel in years.”

  Garrett stared at her and then slid over. “Damn bossy woman.”

  She climbed onto the bed. “Have you hoarded all the pillows?”

  Grinning, he leaned forward, snatched one from the stack behind him and tossed it to her.

  It still held the warm heat of Garrett’s body. If she hadn’t killed her reputation already, sharing a bed with a man shredded it to pieces even without more sultry kisses and naked tussles and…“What book did you choose?”

  “This has potential.”

  “Tom Jones?” She read the title. “By Henry Fielding.”

  “Have you heard of it?”

  She glanced up and saw a gleam in his eyes. A warning bell rang in the back of her mind. “No, is it any good?”

  “It’s entertaining.”

  “Why don’t I read a chapter, and you read the next. Shall we begin?”

  He smiled at her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He certainly seemed pleased about something. But feeling pleased herself, she shrugged off her misgivings. Tonight they had won a battle.

  Later, she planned to win the war.

  And so she began.

  Chapter Eighteen

  GARRETT watched Alexandra sleep. She lay on top of the covers, her body aligned with his. Sighing, she snuggled closer, rolling to her side and flinging her arm over the quilt across his waist. Her cheek rested on his bare chest. He sucked in a sharp breath as his body responded with a powerful surge of heat to his groin.

  Dear God, she was killing him.

  Usually after one of his episodes he awoke with a throbbing headache. It was a novel change to feel the throbbing farther south. It was…normal. He hadn’t experienced normal in a long time. Not until Alexandra’s arrival.

  She had seen a side of him that he had dared show no one.

  I won’t leave you. And she hadn’t.

  You’re safe. And he was.

  He had been stripped bare before Alexandra, both literally and figuratively, and yet when he awoke this morning, the anger and shame he expected to feel wasn’t present.

  Ever since he had looked up from his cards at Hammond’s and met those enormous pools of blue across the table, Alexandra had been tipping his world onto an angle. Perhaps such a drastic action was what he had needed to shake the dirt and blood of Balaclava free.

  His eyes dropped to Alexandra’s parted lips, feeling her breath stir against his chest, warm and intimate. She was magnificent. He desired her, but now he wanted so much more than her body.

  He feared he wanted her heart and soul as well.

  She was already stealing pieces of his, but she wanted to force him back onto the battlefield to fight his demons. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t go back. Refused to do so.

  She had seen how it tore him apart, so she should understand. As he had told her the prior evening, what he had given her had to be enough for now. He needed time to regain his footing. And lest he forget, he needed to find the bastard who was trying to kill him. They might have a plan to do so, but until it succeeded, there was no point in contemplating a future when he might not have one. His eyes opened and he frowned, wondering why choosing to confront a kil
ler rather than his past made him feel like a coward?

  He had no answers for himself. However, before tomorrow arrived, he had today. And Alexandra was beside him…in his bed. Warm, and with a bit of gentle persuasion, perhaps willing.

  ALEXANDRA ROLLED ONTO her back in the bed. Lifting her arms over her head, she stretched as she blinked to clear her befuddled thoughts about food and Garrett. And not necessarily in that order. Before she could untangle her thoughts, her gaze fastened on Garrett. He leaned over her with a devastating smile on his lips and his black hair deliciously sleep-disheveled. His gray eyes stared knowingly into hers.

  Good Lord, she was still in bed with Garrett!

  She scrambled to a sitting position and yanked her robe closed around her throat. She must have fallen asleep while he was reading the end of the chapter. It was scandalous. She was a wanton hussy.

  She recoiled when he sat up as well, the sheet slipping to his waist and baring his naked chest. She needed to leave. And she would. She would flee just as soon as the blood restored to her limbs and her legs could support her.

  “Good morning,” Garrett drawled, flashing that slow, lethal smile.

  “What time is it?” She gasped, shifting her attention to focus on anything but on him. Naked. In bed with her.

  “It’s late, very late. Do you know what you whispered in your sleep?”

  That brought her attention back to him. “Nothing. I said nothing!”

  He simply cocked a brow. “How would you know? You were asleep, so you wouldn’t hear it. But I did.”

  She clutched her nightgown tighter together and stared at him balefully. He was teasing her. Had to be. She did not talk in her sleep. Or did she? Would she betray herself so?

  He leaned close and dropped his voice to a murmur. “You said my name. You sighed it twice.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “I most certainly did not!”

  “You did, too!”

  “I don’t believe you,” she protested.

  “That’s your choice.” He shrugged, lifting a bare shoulder and sitting back.

  She scowled at him, and seeing the teasing gleam in his eyes she paused, for two could play at this game. “I think I heard you as well.”