For the Love of a Soldier

by Victoria Morgan

  “Oh? What did I say? Your name?”

  She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful as if trying to recall his words. “It wasn’t very clear the first time, but then you said it again. You said, ‘Champion.’ Clear as day. Is that not the name of your horse?” She gave him an innocent look.

  He laughed. “It is indeed, but a cavalry soldier and his horse become like one. My life depended upon him.” His eyes roved over her. “It’s little surprise that we call out to the one we feel closest to or need.”

  “So you say.”

  “I do.”

  “Mmh. As edifying as this has been, I find that it is late and I’m rather hungry. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “That’s Mr. Fielding’s doing.”

  “Mr. Fielding?” Confused, she stared at him.

  “The author of Tom Jones. Remember? The narrator was a restaurateur who called his work a feast and the reader a patron to dine on the cuisine of human nature. It makes one hungry.” His eyes roamed over her. “Very hungry.”

  The husky timbre of his voice sent shivers spiraling throughout her body. He was very close. Crowding her. She leaned back. Clearly, he was feeling much better this morning. “His squire, Allworthy, also spoke of virtue,” she primly replied.

  “Yes, he was a bit longwinded about that. But I liked his point about lust.”

  “Lust?” Her voice squeaked, mortifying her.

  “Don’t you remember?”

  She shook her head, leaning close to him as he lowered his voice.

  “He compared lust to a person’s appetite for a good chunk of white flesh.”

  Her mouth dropped into a round O. She felt it do so, for how was one to respond to that? And Garrett’s naked flesh within a finger’s reach.

  She now understood the wicked gleam in Garrett’s eyes the prior evening when he had chosen Mr. Fielding’s wretched book.

  “Don’t you have any biscuits hidden away in that god-awful nightgown of yours?” Garrett teased.

  Her eyes flew open when she felt Garrett’s hand prodding at the fabric of her gown.

  “Stop that!” She slapped at him, but he leaned over her, forcing her back into the pillows. His eyes locked on hers and her pulse skipped in response.

  His hand slid up from her waist, and she caught his wrist as he cupped her breast. But she didn’t push him away, wanton hussy that she was.

  “No, biscuits. But there is some fruit.” He opened her gown, lowered his head and pressed his lips to her bared nipple, his tongue stroking her, arousing her. “Apples complete with stem.” He lifted his head, “or perhaps peaches. Very nice, ripe peaches.”

  He slid his arms around her, flattening his body to hers. His mouth moved over her lips, devouring them. She should have pushed him away, but she opened her mouth and groaned, for that was what wanton hussies did.

  For the second time in her life, she caressed the smooth, warm skin of a man. Not just any man, but Garrett. Her heart thudded and her pulse raced in anticipation, for it was what she had secretly yearned for ever since their tryst at the hunting lodge and Garrett had awakened her to the passion that slumbered within her.

  With a mixture of wonder and solemn reverence, her hands moved over him, her pulse skipping. She slid them over his strong back, liking the feel of his bare skin, liking the feel of his body, hard and pressed to hers. It felt decadent. Delicious. She dared to slide her hands over his bare buttocks, eliciting a masculine groan.

  Her robe parted, so the thin layer of her linen gown provided the only barrier between them. And it was an old, flimsy, weathered gown.

  He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. He grasped the collar of her nightgown. Before she could decipher the gleam in his eyes, he ripped the gown in two, rendering her speechless.

  “I owe you a nightgown. This one has to go.” He swallowed her protests in a demanding kiss.

  He was a feast for her senses. He tasted so good as his tongue thrust and parried with hers. Her hands slid into his hair and she arched against him, an intoxicating heat building to a fervent pitch. His hands touched her everywhere, leaving tingling heat in their wake as they caressed and kneaded her breasts, her abdomen, and slid to her thighs. When his head lowered to draw her nipple into his mouth, she closed her eyes and arched, yearning to get closer, to merge her body with his.

  In a haze of delirium, she felt his hands urging her thighs to part, and his hips press intimately against her. She gasped at the feel of his erection, hard and dangerous against her. A molten wave of desire coursed through her. When Garrett’s hand slid between them to cup her, the protest she had lodged the other day stuck in her throat. A growing need she could no longer deny silenced it.

  When no denial came, he moved his fingers, increasing their pressure and pleasuring her as they found her most sensitive spot, the key to her passion. As his fingers worked their magic, she writhed and gasped, yearning to reach something that was just beyond her grasp.

  “Shh, relax. It will come,” he breathed against her lips. “Trust me.”

  And she did. Trusting in his words, his touch, and him, she let her body open to the emotions flooding her. His fingers slid inside her and her hips bucked against the invasion, a whimper escaping as his fingers moved, tipping her into a wild frenzy. Oh, God. His touch did things to her that should be forbidden.

  She grasped his wrist, wanting to stop him, but then just…wanting.

  Anticipation exploded within her, building until she felt her body erupt in an explosion of sensation. Like smoldering embers of a fire bursting into flame. She cried out with the force of it, digging her nails into Garrett’s sweat-slicked back as her body bucked and arched against his hand.

  Good Lord. She didn’t think she had ever felt anything like it. It was like a taste of heaven, but better. Like the richest brandy coursing through her body in a hot, liquid warmth. After a few more spasms, she collapsed beneath Garrett. She savored the feel of his hard body pressed to hers, his ragged breathing matching hers, and his heart pounding wildly against her ear. It wasn’t until she felt the twitch of his manhood, still large and very much alive against her thigh, that awareness returned and her eyes flew open.

  Good Lord, what had she done?

  This was not good. Well, it had been good, better than good, but they couldn’t finish it. She was not this type of woman. She did not…She froze.

  There was someone at the door.

  Panic-stricken, Alex sprung into action, moving as if the hounds of hell were biting at her heels. She shoved Garrett from her, scrambled to sit up and yanked the two sides of her torn gown together. One handed, she struggled to pull her robe on, keeping her head lowered to hide her mortification.

  “My lord? Sir? Lord Warren has arrived with your sister. They are—”

  “Just a minute,” Garrett barked. He blew out a breath and sat up, dragging his hand through his tousled hair.

  With shaking fingers, she belted her robe closed.

  “Are they downstairs?” Garrett called out.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Her eyes widened. It must be far later than she thought. They had been up very late last night, reading that blasted book. Flushing, she eased from the bed, swatting at Garrett’s hand when his fingers curled over her wrist. “No,” she hissed, frantically shaking her head. She needed to escape.

  Havers’s voice said something else, but she didn’t hear it. She dashed across the carpet and escaped to her room.

  GARRETT FROWNED AT the closed door and slammed his fist into his pillow, cursing Havers’s untimely arrival and Alexandra’s more untimely departure. His desire ebbed from him and he collapsed back into his bed, a mixture of pain and sexual frustration warring within his body.

  “Sir, Lord Warren said to tell you, and I quote—”

  Another voice cut Havers off and the door flung open.

  “I know you’re a good-for-nothing wastrel, but company has arrived, so you need to get your scrawny arse out of bed before I
come in there and haul it out.” Brandon stood scowling in the door. “Do you know what time it is? It’s nearly past dinner and I’m hungry.” His eyes narrowed on him. “Damn it, man, are you sober?”

  Resigned, Garrett sat up, wiped his hands down his face, and addressed his brother-in-law in a near growl. “First of all, my arse is not scrawny. Secondly, obnoxious family relations do not constitute company. Thirdly, not that it is any of your bloody business, I am sober but waking to your ugly mug makes one crave a drink. Perhaps you should leave.”

  Brandon raised a brow. “You look like hell.” He paused and his voice lowered. “Are you all right?”

  Worry darkened his friend’s eyes. Garrett sighed. “I’m fine. Or was until your arrival. What the hell are you doing here? This is midweek. You weren’t due until the end of it.”

  Brandon strolled into the room, closed the door behind him, and lowered himself into the easy chair across the room. “What do you think happened? Kit happened. She discovered you were traveling here with a young woman, unchaperoned. You calculate the rest. As far as she’s concerned, you’ve had more than enough time to enter into a bacchanalian orgy of ruination. I held her off as long as I could. But”—he blew out a breath—“one can’t stem a tidal wave once it starts rolling.”

  Damn Kit for being an all-knowing busybody. And a correct one. He was on the road to ruination. What was he doing tangling the sheets with Alexandra? She deserved better than him. But he wanted her like he wanted no other woman. And her body’s passionate response told him that she wanted him, too, whole or not. The knowledge of this revived his spirits, and he flung off his covers and came to his feet. “Where is Kit? Downstairs pacing a hole in the carpet?”

  “Of course.” Brandon paused, before adding in a more serious tone. “She was worried when you weren’t awake. She sent me up here to check on you.”

  He paused in the midst of yanking on his trousers to glance over at Brandon, who shrugged apologetically. Well, he deserved that. His past behavior had not been exemplary. He clenched his jaw as he turned to the commode and scooped a handful of water over his face, scrubbing hard. Straightening, he grabbed a towel and eyed Brandon. “And the boys?” he asked as he dried his face and then crossed to his wardrobe and selected a crisp white linen shirt.

  “They’re in the stables. Your tomcat has found a mate, and she had a litter of kittens. I couldn’t drag them away. I’ll collect them after I retrieve you. I am under direct order to bring you downstairs, willingly or not.”

  “You mean sober or not,” he muttered, shrugging into his shirt.

  “You still don’t have a valet?” Brandon frowned.

  “Unlike you, I’m quite capable of getting myself dressed or undressed as the case may be.” He moved to the mirror to tie his cravat.

  “The truth is that Havers is the only man who’d put up with you.”

  “Havers is a smart man. One of a kind. Except for Poole, whose misplaced loyalty is to be commended.”

  Brandon smiled. “He always saw right through your antics.”

  “Yes, and my not-so-scrawny arse has the scars to prove it.”

  Brandon laughed. “Yet you still turned out to be a wastrel.”

  “Kept bad company.” He turned from the mirror to grin at his friend. “But since I’m stuck with you, let’s hope you’ve been useful. What about this Viscount Langdon?”

  “I thought Alexandra’s name is Daniels.”

  “You thought wrong, but continue to address her as Miss Daniels. Did you learn anything?”

  “A Viscount Phillip Langdon owns a modest estate in Essex. He has three young daughters, none of whom have come out yet. He is new to the title, being the younger son and having inherited it upon the death of his elder brother. The elder Langdon and his wife died of the influenza two years ago while traveling in Italy.”

  Garrett leaned against his bureau, folding his arms over his chest. “What do you know of the elder Langdon?”

  Brandon sat back, stretched his legs out before him and crossed them at the ankles. “Paul Langdon was a notorious philanderer and gambler. He had a reputation for investing in disreputable business ventures, often authoring many of his own schemes while finagling others to finance them. He ran through fortunes as frequently as he did his mistresses, stripping his estate and selling it piecemeal to stay out of debtor’s gaol.”

  Garrett frowned as he recalled Alexandra’s story about her father’s plans to sell her abysmal singing voice to neighbors to scare off potential houseguests. My father was always in need of a fortune. Her words sent a cold chill through him. “Anything else?”

  “He had a child, a daughter,” Brandon said.

  He waited for Brandon to continue, refusing to shift under his knowing gaze.

  “Your Alexandra had one Season and made quite a splash, garnering a dozen or so offers for her hand. She refused them all.”

  Garrett frowned at the thought of a bevy of fops salivating over his Alex. “What else?”

  He shrugged. “She disappeared. Dropped out of school to take a grand tour. No one’s heard from her since. That is with the exception of you, if I’m to understand she is your Miss Daniels?”

  Garrett ignored the query. “What about the estate? Is it debt ridden or solvent?”

  “A year before the elder brother’s death, the estate turned around. Word is the late viscount had hired a new manager who took a firmer hand on his finances. He put him on a strict budget, reined in all excess expenditures, while working more closely with the tenants to turn a neat profit.”

  My father owned some property, and I used to review the reports with the estate manager.

  “I’ll just bet she did,” he muttered, his lips curving.

  He’d gamble his last pence there had been no grand tour with her parents. Alexandra had returned home to salvage her father’s floundering estate. Probably was withdrawn from school when her father couldn’t foot her tuition. Christ, what a way to live.

  It was little wonder she had agreed to his financial proposal.

  “And the new viscount?” Garrett asked. Though he feared he already knew the answer. “The younger brother? How is the estate managing under him?”

  “I don’t know. He stays in the country and doesn’t venture to town much, but he has to finance three dowries, which won’t come cheap.”

  “No, it won’t.” Another thought struck him. There was money to be had in a lucrative marital agreement. But Alexandra had refused all proposals. He’d place another bet that her uncle didn’t admire her independence as much as he did.

  These provided more answers to the puzzle that comprised Alex. When he put all the pieces together, the finished picture of her life wasn’t pretty. The only remaining question was whether or not Alex had fled of her own accord or her uncle had forced her out.

  Alex’s history only furthered his admiration of her. By God, it had taken a great deal of courage to salvage her father’s estate and forge her own path.

  Some risks are worth taking, she’d said.

  He knew she was different. Had known it from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Admittedly, he hadn’t known she was a woman then, but the discovery only enhanced her appeal. And his desire. She was magnificent.

  A gruff cough made him jerk his attention back to Brandon, and he realized he stood grinning like a demented fool. He felt a warm flush steal up his neck and straightened. “Yes, well, that explains—” He got no further.

  “Bloody hell.” Brandon jerked up. “You slept with her.”

  “What?” he sputtered. “Why—”

  “Don’t deny it, man.” Brandon shot to his feet. “Kit is going to kill us both, and I am not deflecting any hits for you because you deserve every shot she aims.” He stormed to the door. “Miss Daniels seemed like such an intelligent young woman when I met her. What the hell do you do to these women?” He shook his head. “I thought you had changed since your return.”

  “I have,” he protest
ed, hearing the disgust and disappointment in Brandon’s voice. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have given a damn if Brandon thought he had slid back into his old philandering ways. But today he did. Things were different today, and he liked those differences. “There have been no women. No other women. It’s not like that.”

  At Brandon’s dubious look, he raised his voice. “I didn’t sleep with her!” he barked. When Brandon merely cocked a brow, he hissed, “All right, I did, but it’s not what you think.”

  “I’m not thinking about it. And don’t put visuals in my mind.” He held up his hands. “Please. Spare me the details.”

  “Shut up, for Christ’s sake. She was in here last night, but not tangling the sheets with me.” They performed that dance this morning, but he refrained from clarifying this discrepancy. Splitting hairs and all that. “She helped me.”

  Brandon paused, waiting for him to continue.

  “There was a storm, and I had…I had—”

  “I understand,” Brandon rescued him. “Miss Daniels, she helped you through it?”

  He exhaled. “She did. It’s the only reason she stayed with me last night. And the reason I was late to rise.”

  Brandon studied him for a moment, before his hard expression softened. “Perhaps I wasn’t mistaken about her.” He waited for Garrett to add something more, but when he didn’t, he continued. “However, there is still the lesser charge of the two of you being here alone and unchaperoned. I’ll collect the boys and meet you downstairs with them in tow. Kit wouldn’t dare kill you before the children.”

  “You’re too kind,” Garrett said dryly.

  “I got your information for you, didn’t I? And I spoke to Hammond, and he will send out the invitations as soon as we confirm a date. By the way, what have you done with mine? Any progress?”

  “Yours?” Garrett paused in collecting his waistcoat from the wardrobe and glanced over at Brandon.

  “Hammond’s guest list that I passed on to you?” His eyes narrowed at Garrett’s obvious blank look. “You were to review it to see if any names raised a red flag? Cut it down to a handful of would-be potential killers? We were going to have the police investigate the names you’ve flagged.” When he didn’t respond, Brandon frowned. “I know the list of men wanting your head on a platter, preferably with a roasted apple stuffed in your mouth, is extensive, but I had hoped you might have succeeded in slicing it down to a manageable group. It appears you had other matters more important than finding your would-be murderer. My mistake.”