Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

by Diane Gaston

  ‘It is no trick.’ He responded with a hungry look. ‘I want you for my wife and nothing will stop me.’

  She stood. ‘I wish to leave now, sir. If you will pardon me.’

  He stood as well and thrust the velvet box with its valuable bracelet into her hands. ‘You must accept my gift.’

  She handed it back to him. ‘If I accept your offer, I will accept your gift. Now please escort me back to the Green Room or move out of my way so I may return there alone.’

  He pressed himself against her. ‘I will escort you, my dearest love.’

  Somehow she bore his company back to the Green Room. He would not leave her side, and to her dismay, he whispered his intention into her mother’s ear. Her mother’s immediate reaction was displeased shock, but later she took Ariana aside when Tranville was distracted by Mr Arnold.

  ‘You fool,’ whispered her mother. ‘You did not accept him right away? We could be set for life.’

  We?

  Of course. Her mother would relish such a close relationship to a baron, especially one with deep pockets.

  ‘I have no wish to give up the theatre,’ Ariana explained.

  Her mother laughed, and some people turned their heads at the sound. She came even closer to Ariana’s ear. ‘The theatre is nothing. Say yes and marry as quickly as you can before he comes to his senses.’ Her mother flounced away.

  Ariana interrupted Tranville’s conversation with Mr Arnold. ‘If you gentlemen will pardon me, I bid you goodnight.’

  She moved quickly and had almost got away when Tranville caught up with her. ‘My carriage awaits you, my dear.’

  She was forced to ride with him and when it pulled up to her residence, he manoeuvred her into another kiss. Ariana finally escaped and hurried inside.

  From a gap in the curtain of the drawing room, she watched for his carriage to pull away.

  She walked slowly upstairs without any idea of what to do and wishing it was not the middle of the night. She would have to wait until morning to tell Jack.

  Jack entered the Seven Stars near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the latest tavern on a search through at least a dozen dark and noisy taverns starting near Somerset House. He’d been searching for Michael all night, through the dark London streets in a widening circumference. The rumblings of Badajoz pursued him each step of the way, but he ignored them.

  Nancy’s happiness depended upon it.

  Michael had not attended his classes that day, Jack had discovered. He’d not been in his rooms. One of his fellow architectural students told Jack that Michael had been with a young woman the day before, the same day he’d failed to come to dinner, the day Nancy had made her decision to marry Ullman. It did not take much to surmise that Nancy, when missing, had gone to Michael and had told him of her plans.

  Jack made his way through the narrow tavern, searching each table, suspecting it would be to no avail. He seriously considered giving up his search, but was not eager to brave the dark, shadowed streets again and the memories that assaulted him there.

  In the very farthest corner of the room, he saw Michael, sitting alone at a small table, a tankard of ale in his hands. He did not even notice Jack’s approach.

  ‘I have been searching for you.’ Jack lowered himself in the seat across from the elusive man.

  Only then did Michael look up. ‘Jack.’ He lifted his tankard. ‘Have some ale.’

  Jack gave his order to the tavern girl and turned back to Michael. ‘No one has seen you all day.’

  Michael shrugged. ‘I took a very long walk. Through Mayfair, actually. A personal study of the architecture there.’ He took another sip of ale. ‘Mount Street has some interesting townhouses. I wished to examine the style and construction of them.’

  Mount Street was where Ullman’s townhouse was located.

  Jack’s ale was set down before him. ‘Your conclusion?’

  ‘I could assess the residences as being quite fine.’ Michael’s expression was pained. ‘But I cannot aspire to live in one of them.’ He drained his tankard and asked for another.

  Jack peered at him. ‘Are you foxed?’

  Michael gave him a wan smile. ‘I wish. Unfortunately, I have been doing more walking than drinking.’

  At least Jack would be able to reason with him. ‘I came to talk to you about my sister.’

  Michael looked away.

  Jack persisted. ‘I know Nancy sought you out the other day, so I surmise she told you of Ullman.’

  A muscle in Michael’s cheek flexed. ‘I wish her happy.’

  Jack leaned forwards. ‘She is not happy. She cannot be. She is miserable, but I cannot talk her out of this folly.’

  ‘It is not folly to marry a man who is able to give her every luxury in life,’ Michael countered in a mournful tone.

  Jack dismissed his words. ‘Would you marry a woman for whom you have no regard, simply for her money?’

  Michael looked defiant. ‘I might.’

  ‘You would not, and neither should Nancy marry Ullman.’ Jack levelled a direct gaze at him. ‘You know my sister’s character. You know her romantic nature. This engagement to Ullman fulfils none of those romantic notions of hers. It is wrong for her, and I want to know what you intend to do about it.’

  ‘I?’ Michael’s brows rose. ‘I can do nothing. I have nothing to offer any woman. I must complete one more year of study and even after that it will take time for me to earn a creditable income.’

  So he had been thinking about it. Jack was encouraged. ‘You know wealth means nothing to Nancy. She is doing this to please my mother.’

  ‘More than to please her mother.’ Michael drank again. ‘Do you not know that Tranville will cut off your mother’s funds and ruin your chances as an artist if she does not marry? She is in a desperate position, Jack.’

  Nancy knew of Tranville’s threat?

  He waited until Michael looked back at him. ‘Listen to me. We must not allow Tranville to blackmail us into sacrificing Nancy’s happiness. I will take care of my mother, Michael. You must take care of Nancy.’

  ‘I cannot—’

  Jack would not hear it. ‘I will help you as much as I can. I suspect your father will as well. Nancy would not mind if all she had was one miserable room as long as she shared it with you. Indeed, she would find such a situation romantic.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘She has never indicated anything of the sort towards me. No romantic feelings—’

  ‘She ran to you first, did she not? She told you more about her reasons for marrying than she told her family. Why else would she do that unless she felt a romantic attachment to you?’

  ‘It is friendship she feels.’ He lifted his tankard to his lips.

  ‘Fustian.’ Jack pushed Michael’s hand down. The ale splashed on the wooden table top. ‘Listen, Michael. You, me, Nancy, my mother—we will all muddle through somehow no matter what Tranville threatens. I am persuaded we will have food enough to eat, clothes on our backs and roofs over our heads. Life will improve as time progresses.’

  Michael averted his gaze.

  Jack was losing patience. ‘Michael, look me in the eye and tell me you do not love Nancy, and I will walk out of here and never trouble you again.’

  Michael looked him in the eye. His words were clear and deliberate. ‘I love your sister more than I love my life.’

  The intensity of emotion in Michael’s words stunned Jack and echoed inside him. He could not help but glance away.

  Michael’s father had once told Jack to look for a revelation in his art, that moment when he knew what separated his work from that of other artists, that piece of truth that was uniquely his. He’d thought Sir Cecil was merely spouting nonsense until Ariana had shown him the truth in his art.

  Jack felt his whole body go warm, as if he’d been suddenly bundled in a blanket. He knew the truth in Michael’s words was the truth in his heart.

  He loved Ariana more than he loved life.

  He wanted to be with
her always, could not imagine a day without seeing her smile, without basking in her energy and optimism, her belief that everything would turn out right.

  He almost jumped off his chair. He wanted to dance on the table to tell the world he loved Ariana and would happily live with her in one miserable room as long as they were together.

  He looked back at Michael and it was all he could do to contain his excitement.

  Michael gripped his tankard as if he were gripping a life line. ‘I will say it again, if you did not hear. I love Nancy more than life itself. I love her enough to do what is best for her. I love her enough to respect her wishes, even if it puts a dagger through my heart, even if it means I must let her go.’

  These words dampened Jack’s enthusiasm.

  Jack looked him in the eye again. ‘Do not confuse desire with duty, Michael. My sister thinks she must martyr herself for our mother and for me, but do not delude yourself into thinking she desires being Ullman’s wife. Look beyond what she has said to you into what is in her heart. She has this romantic notion that she is the only one who can save her mother and brother, but you, Michael, are the only one who can save her. The question is, are you man enough to try?’

  Michael looked miserable. ‘I cannot answer you now, Jack.’

  Jack knew his own answer. He would allow nothing to end his time with Ariana. He intended to ask her to share all her tomorrows with him. He intended to ask her to marry him.

  If he could only convince Michael to do the same. ‘You do not have much time. Nancy seems determined to rush into this marriage. You must act swiftly.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ariana let herself into Jack’s studio early the next morning. To her surprise, he was not standing at his easel. The curtains were still drawn and the room was empty. She hung her pelisse on the hook by the door.

  The sounds of loud breathing came from the bedchamber.

  She smiled and tiptoed across the studio. Quietly she stood at the side of his bed and gazed down at him. He lay on his back, one arm flung above his head, the covers twisted between his legs. As when they made love, he wore nothing. Her eyes lit on the scars here and there on his chest, reminders that he had not always stood behind an easel.

  She sat on the bed and gently traced each mark of some Frenchman’s sword with her finger, glad, at least, that he need never face the horror of war again.

  He turned his head and mumbled something unintelligible. His eyelids twitched and opened. It took him a moment to focus on her.

  Then he smiled and reached for her.

  She fell into his arms willingly. ‘Good morning, Jack.’ She’d intended to walk into the studio and immediately tell him of Tranville, but she could not bear to speak of it upon his awakening.

  ‘You are a welcome sight.’ His voice was raspy with sleep.

  He pulled her down into a long deep kiss and she vowed that she would somehow make everything right for them. Rid them of Tranville’s interference in their lives.

  She wanted to love Jack for a long time, so long that she refused to think of their ever parting. He might never speak the words of love to her, but he showed the emotion whenever he looked at her, touched her. In his painting of her.

  Between kisses, he undressed her, tossing her clothing off the side of the bed. His lips against her breasts were as familiar to her as breathing and his hand caressing her flesh was now a recognisable thrill. He knew exactly how to give her the greatest pleasure possible. She could only hope she gave him the same in return.

  Today’s lovemaking took on a special poignancy for her. Their relationship, already so complicated it had to be kept secret, was bound to become even more difficult now that Tranville had proposed to her.

  Jack’s skill at arousing her drove those worries from her mind. When he groaned in pleasure at her touch, she felt triumphant and powerful. It was like a dance between them, first her move, then his, then they moved together.

  Some unspoken communication between them set a leisurely pace, unhurried, but as intense and sensuous as it had been the day before when they’d rushed through lovemaking.

  Ariana gasped when he entered her. She pressed her hands against the firm muscles of his buttocks, holding him fast lest the connection between them be broken. As their passion grew, she stopped thinking and merely lost herself in the dance, which became faster, wilder as he drove into her and the intensity of sensation grew and grew. She heard her own voice making urgent sounds, begging him to move faster.

  When she thought she could bear it no more, the pleasure reached its crescendo and she cried out. A second later he spilled his seed inside her, his convulsing also as endearingly familiar as a dance’s final bow.

  Ariana seemed to float back to the bed, again feeling the texture of the bed linens against her back, the cool air on her skin. He made a partially successful attempt to cover her with a blanket and nestled her in his arms.

  ‘I could get used to this way of waking up.’ His voice sounded full of emotion.

  An emotion she shared.

  She kissed his bare skin. ‘I am surprised you were still asleep. I expected you to be at the easel.’

  He nestled her closer but paused before speaking. ‘I was out very late last night.’

  ‘You were?’ He’d been avoiding the streets after dark. ‘Did you have a repeat of your visions?’

  ‘Almost.’ He held her close. ‘I heard the sounds. I could almost feel the visions pressing against my brain.’

  She hugged him. ‘But it was not like before?’

  ‘No.’

  They lay entwined in each other’s arms for a few more precious moments. She thought she felt a tension build in him.

  Finally he said, ‘We must get up. Get to work.’

  He rose from the bed and walked to the pitcher and basin on the bureau to wash. Ariana pulled out the sheer muslin dress.

  ‘Why were you out so late?’ she asked, putting the dress on over her head.

  He watched her, his eyes warm. ‘I was looking for Michael.’

  ‘Did you find him?’ She fixed the gold chains around her waist.

  ‘I did and I tried to convince him to talk Nancy out of this marriage, but I am not at all certain he will do it.’ He put on his painting shirt and trousers. ‘He admitted being in love with her.’

  She smiled at that, a sad smile because love seemed so complicated for all of them.

  He went on. ‘When Nancy left you the other day, she went to Michael.’

  Ariana was not surprised. ‘She was running to Michael when I first found her.’

  When they were both dressed, they walked out to the studio. Jack opened the curtains and set up his easel. Ariana made tea in the galley. She discovered some biscuits in a tin for Jack’s breakfast. He ate quickly and began readying his paints, poking the small bladders with a tack and squeezing paint from them onto his palette.

  She put the tea things away and leaned against the galley doorway. ‘I have to tell you something.’

  He smiled over at her. ‘I have to tell you something as well, but you must go first.’

  ‘I discovered who Tranville intends to marry,’ she began.

  His expression turned sour. ‘Who is it?’

  She inhaled a very deep breath. ‘It is me.’

  Jack stared at her in stunned silence, not believing his ears. ‘You?’

  She nodded. ‘He proposed last night.’

  He could barely make himself speak. ‘What reply did you give him?’

  Her posture went rigid and her eyes grew wide. ‘I told him I needed time to consider his offer.’

  He could only stare at her.

  He’d just begun to hope for a future between them. He had been about to agree they could declare their attachment openly. He intended to propose marriage to her himself. Now it all seemed impossible.

  She stared back at him. ‘Jack. I am not going to accept him.’

  He turned away, but said, ‘He is wealthy. You would bec
ome a baroness.’

  Her voice was tense. ‘If you do not think those things should matter to your sister, why should they matter to me?’

  He had no counter to that.

  Suddenly his hopes for a future with Ariana seemed dashed. What would Tranville do to Ariana if she refused him? What would he do to Jack’s mother if she chose Jack?

  He faced her again. ‘What does Tranville threaten if you do not marry him?’

  ‘Threaten?’ Her voice rose very high. She cleared her throat. ‘His only threat is to end my career on the stage if I do marry him.’

  Jack would never have asked her to give up the theatre.

  He turned back to the easel. ‘We should work.’

  She walked over to the chaise-longue and assumed the pose she’d used for both portraits. Her expression, however, was troubled.

  Jack dipped his brush in some of the white and dabbed at the canvas. His brush seemed to move at random.

  ‘I will make him change his mind,’ she said. ‘I will make him think it is his idea, not mine, and then he will have reason to feel guilty instead of vindictive.’

  Jack could not see a way back to her. If she married Tranville, she was gone, but even if she did not, Tranville would never sit still for Jack being the man who stole her from him. He would find a means of taking away everything that meant something to her.

  ‘Do not be too upset, Jack.’ Her voice was low. ‘Please.’

  He tried to focus on the painting. ‘This is not good news, no matter what you decide.’

  ‘No matter what I decide!’ Her voice was indignant. ‘There is only one choice.’

  Somehow they got through the morning but it had been a quiet, mournful time. When the mantel clock struck one, Jack declared their session over. Ariana said she had a rehearsal to attend.

  Helping her dress into her street clothes was a difficult intimacy to endure. He was tempted to thumb his nose at Tranville, his family, the theatre, even art itself, and jump back into bed with her.

  Instead, he did not even kiss her. ‘I will not need you tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘I can finish this in a day or two.’