My Favorite Major (Heroes Returned Book 1)

by Stone, Ava

  He kissed her once more, inhaling her scent and essence as his tongue swept into her mouth. “God, Amelia,” he breathed as his free hand caressed her bottom.

  At the sound of her name, Amelia took a step away from Philip, and he felt the loss instantly. He reached a hand out to her, but she simply stared at him in utter surprise.

  Damn it all to hell. What was he doing? He was supposed to be helping her, not seducing her. But he wanted to seduce her like nothing he’d ever wanted in his life. And that realization was more than astounding. He wanted to seduce Amelia Pritchard. He wanted to feel her slender body beneath his as he filled her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

  “I think—” his voice came out all husky “—perhaps our betrothal should be in earnest.” Especially as he didn’t trust himself in her presence otherwise.

  She gulped in response.

  “Promise me you’ll stay.”

  Apparently lost for words, she nodded her agreement. At least he wasn’t the only one affected between them.

  Cordie grinned to herself. Oh, she knew it wasn’t polite to listen at doors, but she’d never quite outgrown the habit. Besides, how was she to know what was going on under her own roof if she didn’t listen in from time to time? And this was the best possible outcome she could have imagined.

  Philip would never suggest a true betrothal unless he felt something for Amelia. He was too noble to do so. And that was the most wonderful news she’d learned in quite a while. How strange to think that Russell, of all people, should actually be commended for seeing possibility in the match. Her brother might be more capable than she’d ever thought before. That was more than surprising.

  Behind her, someone cleared his throat and she turned to find her butler, Higgins, just a few feet away holding a calling card in his hand. “For you, milady.”

  Cordie reached for the card and frowned at the name emblazoned on the velum. “Lord Haversham?” Heavens, it had been forever since she’d seen the marquess, and even then she had been quite adamant that Clayworth would not be happy with his one-time rival calling on her in the future.

  “Said it was urgent, milady.”

  Cordie tapped the card in her free hand. “Where is my husband?”

  “I believe he is visiting Lord Astwick this morning.”

  Yes, that was it. Clayworth had mentioned a planned meeting with his old friend the night before. She sighed. “Very well. Show the marquess into his lordship’s study then, Higgins. I’ll meet with him in there.”

  She strode immediately down the corridor and around the corner, into her husband’s private domain. It was as formal a setting as she could think of. Just as she settled behind Clayworth’s desk, Marcus Gray, the Marquess of Haversham, appeared and leaned his large frame against the doorjamb.

  “Radiant as ever, Cordie,” he drawled.

  She scowled at him. “I can’t imagine what you are doing here, my lord.”

  He bit back a grin and stepped over the threshold. “You used to be much warmer in your greetings, Cordelia. I am wounded.” He touched a theatrical hand to his heart.

  “Oh, I have no doubt,” she replied drolly and gestured to a chair in front of her husband’s desk. “You may sit, if you like.”

  “No, I won’t be long. I just thought you might like to know that someone has been asking quite a lot of questions about your friend Major Moore.”

  Cordie sat up straight. “What sort of questions?”

  Haversham shrugged. “The sort Kelfield would not be happy about.”

  Cordie’s belly twisted. “Something about Olivia, then?” Rumors about his wife would get His Grace’s ire up faster than anything else.

  “In a roundabout way, I suppose.”

  “Marc!” He always had been one of the most exasperating men of her acquaintance. “Pray tell me what you’ve come to say and stop making me jump through hoops.”

  “You should have picked me, Cordie. Clayworth can’t be nearly as exciting.”

  She was certain he could hear her teeth grind together even from the distance between them. “Marc!”

  “All right, all right.” His light eyes danced with mirth. “Last night, a fellow found me at a Hazard table and wanted to know every last detail about Kelfield’s duel with the good major.”

  Amelia’s jilted fiancé. It had to be. Who else would be asking such questions? And especially now? “What did you say?” Cordie rose from her spot.

  The marquess grinned. “That Kelfield is the most gifted swordsman of my acquaintance, my old friend would be quite put out if I said otherwise, but that Major Moore was even better. And that rumor has it, the fellow’s an even better marksman.”

  “And what did the man say?”

  “Not much, as everyone else at the table chimed in with tales of Moore’s bravery and valor on the battlefield.” Then he shrugged. “One would think a man so decorated would have been awarded a title for his efforts.”

  Cordie sighed. “The man challenged Philip last night.”

  “I figured as much, and I also figured you’d be unhappy about such turn of events. So I added that anyone who faced Moore might as well dig his own grave. The fellow lost a little of his color after hearing everything I had to say.”

  For as much as Haversham pretended otherwise, he really was a very decent man. “I could kiss you for that.”

  “So that Clayworth would call me out?” He chuckled. “And I thought you still liked me a little. I’ve already taken one bullet for you.”

  He had, and she’d always love him for it. “I adore you, as you well know.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” He winked at her, then turned to leave. “Give Caroline Staveley my regards when you see her next?”

  Cordie shook her head, though she couldn’t hide her smile. “So Caroline will call me out?” she teased him. “She doesn’t like discussing you.”

  “Pity.” He nodded in farewell, then sauntered from the study. “Until next time, my dear,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Until next time, indeed. Cordie sank back down into her husband’s chair and closed her eyes. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Haversham had actually frightened this Mr. Mason into withdrawing his challenge? And with Philip asking Amelia to make their betrothal one in reality, her old friend just might get the happily-ever-after he so deserved.

  She should go and check on Amelia and Philip. Happily-ever-after notwithstanding, they really shouldn’t be alone for such a long period of time. At least not until after their marriage, which Cordie had no doubt would be sooner rather than later.

  She left her husband’s study and returned to her green parlor only to find that Philip had already taken his leave, honorable man that he was. Amelia, however, paced the floor as though she couldn’t sit still.

  “All alone?” Cordie asked.

  Amelia frowned at her. “Major Moore just left a moment ago.”

  Cordie glanced at Amelia’s traveling cloak, lying in a puddle in the middle of the floor. “Am I to take it you’ll be staying in London after all, then?”

  “I—”

  A loud shot rang out, interrupting whatever Amelia was going to say.

  “Heavens!” Cordie started for the corridor. “What was that?”

  Higgins appeared in the hallway the same moment. “I believe it came from outside, milady.”

  Cordie, with both Amelia and Higgins in her wake, bolted for the front door. She turned the knob and stepped outside and nearly stumbled down the steps at the sight that met her. Philip lying lifeless, facedown in the middle of Hertford Street.

  Amelia screamed and then rushed past Cordie, dropping to her knees beside the fallen major.

  Tears stung Amelia’s eyes as she collapsed beside Major Moore. Dear God, he wasn’t moving. She touched his back and her heart clenched when her fingers found a patch of sticky wetness. Blood. A lot of it.

  Behind her, she heard Cordie order someone to call for a Doctor Watts and to get help, but it w
as all a blur, as though she was watching it from somewhere above herself. And in the pit of her soul, Amelia knew this was all her fault. Major Moore was dying in her arms, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

  “Move!” barked a gentleman who’d come out of nowhere.

  Amelia somehow scrambled out of his way and numbly watched as the finely dressed man helped a footman carry the major inside Clayworth House.

  “Marc,” Cordie ordered, “take him to the first room at the top of the stairs.”

  Amelia glanced down at her blood-covered hands, still in a daze, not quite believing what had transpired.

  Just moments earlier he’d touched her, kissed her, held her close. And now—she stared towards her cousin’s home—he was dying.

  “Amelia!” Cordie’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Come along.”

  Numbness had set in, but Amelia refused to leave Major Moore’s bedside. She wasn’t certain how he was still clinging on to life and neither was Doctor Watts, who had rushed to Clayworth House to attend the fallen officer. The doctor had stripped the major’s jacket and shirt from his body. He’d extracted a bullet from the officer’s back. Then he’d cleaned and dressed the wound. Amelia had assisted in the entire process. There’d been so much blood, and though she’d felt faint more than once, she’d persevered and kept her focus on helping in any way she could.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Amelia knew that if she left him, the major would take his final breath. So she’d done everything Doctor Watts had asked so he would allow her stay. Now she sat in a wooden chair beside her pretend fiancé and waited.

  Behind her, someone cleared his throat in the threshold. Amelia glanced over her shoulder to find Clayworth frowning from his spot just inside the room. “Cordie says you’re refusing to eat.”

  She shrugged and turned her attention back to the bed. “I’m not refusing. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Sitting vigil in a sick room is hardly conducive to your health, Amelia.”

  “I won’t leave him. I can’t.”

  The earl sighed and stepped further into the room, squeezing her shoulder in silent support. “A fellow from Bow Street would like to speak with you. I’ve already told him everything, but he’d like to hear it from you too.”

  “Will he attend me in here?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll stay with you as well. He’s not a bad sort. You can trust me on that.”

  Amelia nodded, though she barely heard him. All of her attention was focused on Philip Moore, willing him to wake.

  The earl departed, only to return a moment later with a rather stoic man in an unfashionable brown jacket. Clayworth gestured to his companion with a tilt of his head. “Amelia, this is Mr. Blackaby from Bow Street. Blackaby, my cousin Miss Pritchard.”

  “Mr. Blackaby,” she mumbled.

  The runner nodded in greeting. “Sorry to meet you under such circumstance, Miss Pritchard.”

  Clayworth walked the length of the chamber and settled against the window frame. “Cordie and I met Mr. Blackaby last year after we found ourselves in an unfortunate situation.”

  “Lord Haversham was involved with that incident too,” the runner remarked. “You don’t think someone was aiming for him again?”

  Amelia didn’t even know who Lord Haversham was. Or did she? Was he the gentleman who had helped carry Major Moore back inside Clayworth House?

  “Anything is possible.” Clayworth shrugged. “The man has enough enemies, but as I said below, I don’t believe so. Haversham stopped by to warn my wife about a fellow who was asking questions about Major Moore.”

  Someone had been asking questions about the major? Amelia blinked at her cousin. “What sort of questions?”

  “Questions about Moore’s ability on a field of honor.”

  Amelia’s heart constricted. This was all her fault. “Mr. Mason,” she said quietly. Both men’s eyes were on her and she sat up straighter. “Geoffrey Mason challenged Major Moore last night at the theatre.”

  Clayworth nodded to the Runner. “Lieutenant Avery witnessed the exchange. Then the fellow began inquiring about the major’s abilities. At least I assume it was the same fellow. I can’t imagine he liked his chances after everything he heard.”

  Amelia felt faint once more, and she gripped the arm of her chair. “So he shot him in the back instead of facing him.” Alan had been shot in the back as well. Her poor brother never had a chance, and neither had Major Moore. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back, but they trailed down her cheeks anyway.

  “I am sorry,” Mr. Blackaby said as he offered her a handkerchief. “I understand you’re the major’s betrothed.”

  Amelia nodded as she dabbed at her eyes.

  “Do you know why this Mr. Mason challenged your fiancé?”

  She nodded again and her tears came faster. “Because of me.”

  “Amelia was engaged to Mason previously,” Clayworth added.

  “Ah, so jealousy, then?” The runner frowned.

  “It looks that way to me.” The earl nodded.

  “But to shoot down a man in Mayfair in the middle of the day. Brazen fellow, this Mason.”

  Clayworth heaved a sigh. “I’m worried for Amelia’s safety, so I’m taking precautionary measures.”

  “No taking the law into your own hands again, my lord,” the Runner warned.

  “I didn’t take the law into my hands the last time, Blackaby.”

  The Runner narrowed his eyes on the earl. “I suppose I should be having this conversation with Lord Haversham then.”

  Clayworth shrugged. “He only shot Brookfield in self defense, as your final report showed. But, by all means, you should talk to him anyway. See if he can identify the fellow who was asking about the major last night.”

  Mr. Blackaby turned his attention back to Amelia. “Lady Clayworth said she heard the shot and then discovered the major in the street. You were with her?”

  Amelia nodded.

  “And did you see anything, anyone? This Mr. Mason of yours, by chance?”

  Amelia winced. She hadn’t noticed a thing. Not one thing. “When I saw the major on the ground, I ran to him. There was so much blood. I could barely breathe. Everything was a blur…”

  The Runner glanced to the bed and sighed. “I’m sure it was frightening. But if you remember anything at all, send for me.”

  “Thank you.” Clayworth gestured Blackaby towards the corridor, then he turned back to Amelia. “I’m sending up a tray, and I want you to eat.”

  She nodded instead of arguing.

  Amelia lifted her head from the edge of the major’s bed to find the beeswax candle on the nearby table was half the size she remembered before closing her eyes. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep, but her back ached from her awkward position in the chair. She must have been out for quite some time.

  Major Moore’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took and she smiled at him. Thank heavens he was too stubborn to die. Now if only he’d wake up. She touched a hand to his brow and drew it back quickly. Dear God, he was burning alive!

  “Oh, Major!” she breathed in alarm.

  Amelia rushed to the far corner of the room and tugged the bell pull for a maid. Then she quickly crossed the floor to the injured major and drew back his bedclothes. He’d need another poultice to combat infection.

  “Yes, miss?” a maid called from the doorway.

  “Cold water and a fresh poultice, please.”

  The maid rushed back down the corridor and Amelia smoothed a hand across the major’s cheek. “Don’t stop being stubborn. Please keep fighting. Please.”

  He groaned, which was the first sound she’d heard from him all day.

  “Philip,” she whispered, relieved to have heard something from him. “I’m going to cool you off and tend to your wound.”

  But he didn’t make another sound, not when a footman helped her roll him to his stomach, not when she applied the fresh poult
ice, not when she smoothed a cool rag across his face. But he had made the one sound, hadn’t he?

  Exhausted, Amelia dropped back into her chair and rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she stared at the major. Even in sleep and in his pain, he was beyond handsome. Her mind replayed the memory of his kisses, the memory of his touch, and she swiped at fresh tears. “Please,” she whispered, brushing her wet fingers across his cheek, “wake up.”

  “You’re Miss Pritchard,” a soft voice came from the doorway.

  Amelia looked up to find an auburn-haired beauty standing just inside the major’s room. She nodded her answer.

  The woman stepped closer to the bed, a strained expression upon her face. “Cordie sent for me. I’m the Duchess of Kelfield.”

  The air whooshed out of Amelia’s lungs. She’d never considered that this particular lady might call. “You’re Olivia.”

  The duchess agreed with a nod. “Has there been any change?”

  Not in nearly seventy-two hours. “No.” Amelia stumbled to her feet, protectively guarding her major from the woman. “He’s moaned a bit, but he’s much the same.”

  “Cordie says you’ve refused to leave him.”

  “I’m afraid to do so.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I won’t ask you to,” the duchess said. “But do you mind if I join you for a while?”

  Amelia gestured to the chair on the other side of the bed. And though she would rather not share the major’s sick room with the duchess, she also knew he’d rather have Her Grace attend him than have Amelia’s company. “Of course.”

  The duchess walked around the foot of the bed and then dropped into the empty seat. Her hazel gaze fell to Major Moore, and she brushed a tear from her eye. “I never thought to see him like this.”

  Neither had Amelia. “He was trying to protect me,” she muttered more to herself than to the duchess.