My Favorite Major (Heroes Returned Book 1)

by Stone, Ava

  “I did ask for you, but I didn’t mean for you to run a footrace to reach me.” He patted the place beside him on the bed. “Come here, love. Slowly, that is.”

  Amelia’s face burned. “I’m a complete dolt, Philip. I’ve just been so worried.”

  He smiled again, comforting her a bit. Then he patted the bed once more. “Amelia, I am quite lonely all by myself. Won’t you please remedy the situation?”

  Lonely? Had he lost his mind? Had his fever returned? Amelia crossed the room and touched her hand to his brow, but he didn’t feel warm. And he did look better than he had.

  “Sit here beside me. I have something to tell you.”

  Sit on the bed? What if someone saw them?

  He laughed when she frowned at him. “You removed my clothes and tended my wounds, and now you’re concerned about propriety?”

  He had a point. Amelia sat on the bed, the very edge of it, careful not to touch or bump the injured man. “I didn’t remove all of your clothes. Just your shirt and jacket.”

  “What a pity to have missed it.” Philip lifted his arm, gesturing for her to snuggle against him. “Though I’m sure I’ll enjoy it much more the next time you do so.”

  “Philip Moore, what is the matter with you?” He might look better, but he didn’t sound like himself at all.

  “Nothing to fret over, love.” He heaved a sigh. “Did you know Cordelia Clayworth is procuring a special license for us?”

  She was? Amelia’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “So sit here against me, love. We’ll be married by the end of the day, I’m certain. Your reputation is safe.”

  Married by the end of the day? Amelia wasn’t certain what she thought about that. She’d never had any real intention of marrying the major to begin with. But when she thought she might lose him, her heart had ached more than she knew was possible. She most definitely felt something for him, but could it be love? Wasn’t it too soon for such an emotion? Should she really marry a man she wasn’t certain she loved? Certainly she admired him, respected him. But love…?

  Amelia studied his face, the strength of his jaw and his dark, honest eyes. She could do worse. She had done worse. Philip was sincere and noble and everything she’d ever wanted in a man. She smiled shyly at him as she snuggled against his side. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “I don’t think you ever could.” His arm came down around her shoulders and he gently caressed her side. “You won’t mind heading to Leverton Park after Watts says I’m well enough to travel, will you?”

  Leverton Park. To her husband’s home. Her husband? The idea still seemed so foreign. But she had to say something. He was waiting for an answer. “Cordie said your mother had beautiful roses.”

  “Do you like roses?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you’ll love Leverton Park.” He jostled her a bit so her head was resting atop his chest. “Mother had every variety in Britain. The most amazing garden.”

  “You’re certain I’m not hurting you?”

  “On the contrary, you make me feel better whenever you’re near.”

  Amelia tipped her head up to look at him, and found that his warm brown eyes held no mirth, just the truthfulness she’d come to expect from him. She leaned back against his chest and let her hand settle gingerly on his stomach. “Tell me about your home. Cordie only mentioned the roses.”

  “It’s the most peaceful place I know…” he began, and—settled there against him—Amelia’s anxiety slowly dissipated. His soothing voice, his gentle touch, his lovingly descriptive words all blended together, painting a picture in her mind of the Nottinghamshire home they would share. She closed her eyes to see the lovely picture more clearly in her mind.

  Philip opened his eyes to discover someone had opened his drapes, allowing the afternoon sunlight to bathe his chambers with a golden glow. Amelia rested in his arms. A soft sound of contentment escaped her lips, which made Philip smile to himself. He could get used to waking with her beside him, something he couldn’t have even fathomed as far back as a few weeks ago. He wasn’t even sure how his circumstances had changed, but they most definitely had.

  “Interesting. I didn’t know you knew how to smile,” came a smug voice a few feet away.

  Philip turned his head, blinking away the afternoon sleep from his eyes, and then scowled when he realized the owner of the voice belonged to the Duke of Kelfield, who inexplicably appeared to be sitting vigil by Philip’s bed. Twice now he’d awoken to find the damned reprobate in his chambers, which was not a situation he wanted to make a habit of.

  “I’ve heard rumor that you’ve done so on occasion in the past,” the duke continued, “but I’ve never seen evidence of it before now.”

  “What are you doing here?” Over the last year, both of them would have been happy to learn of the other’s demise, after all. “I can’t believe you’re concerned for my well-being. So what do you want?”

  Kelfield shrugged, then leaned forwards in his seat. “I don’t wish you ill, Moore, despite what you may believe.” Then he gestured to the still-sleeping Amelia with a cock of his head. “Quite the nursemaid you’ve found for yourself. Never left your side, from what I hear. You’re a fairly lucky man, if you ask me.”

  Philip held Amelia tighter to him as though to protect her from the duke’s notice. “I’m certain your duchess would do the same for you.” Saying so didn’t have the same sting it once would have.

  Kelfield agreed with a nod. “Indeed. We’re both lucky men.” Then a rakish smirk settled on his face and he had the audacity to tsk. “An innocent miss found in your bed, Major Moore. You have quite compromised the girl, I’m afraid.”

  Philip glared at the blackguard. If Kelfield even considered impugning Amelia’s good name… “We’re to be married,” he growled.

  The duke’s smirk widened to a full-fledged smile as he rose from his seat. “By special license, yes, I know.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved a letter that he held out to Philip. “Hope you don’t mind that I acquired it for you. I thought it was the least I could do under the circumstances.”

  “You?” Philip gaped at the license he now held in his hand.

  “Cordie asked me to do you this favor. She thought it might…” he paused as though searching for the right word, “bridge the distance between our two houses, for lack of a better term.”

  That was Cordie, always plotting, always wanting to smooth over any rifts, no matter how egregious… As though any kindness Kelfield did Philip could erase the wrong he’d done him. Amelia snuggled closer to him, and Philip looked down at his bride-to-be. She was such a dear girl, and he was quite fortunate to have her. Perhaps it was time to let go of a bit of his hatred for the duke, no matter how well-deserved or well-honed.

  One of the duke’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “I told our estimable Lady Clayworth that her plan was in vain, but she does keep her own counsel.”

  So Kelfield wasn’t anxious to befriend Philip either, huh? That was probably for the best. They didn’t have to wish each other to the devil, but neither did they have to become devoted friends.

  “In any event, I do hope you’ll accept my offering.” The duke nodded towards the license. “And I do hope you will live a long and happy life alongside your bride.”

  Truly this was one of the most surreal moments in Philip’s life. Lying in bed with a girl who wasn’t yet his wife, a bullet hole in his back, with Kelfield – of all people – coming to his rescue. “Thank you.” Philip tipped his head towards the duke. After all, what else could he say?

  “You’re welcome. Though I can’t take credit for the clergyman in Clayworth’s drawing room. That was all Cordie’s doing.”

  Of course it was. Philip couldn’t help but chuckle. Cordie would see him taken care of as though she was a mother duckling.

  “I’ll let her know you’re awake.” The duke started for the door, but then stopped and glanced back at Philip over his shoulder.
“Olivia and I are returning to Hampshire on the morrow. So if you’d like to say your farewell...”

  But there was nothing left to say to Olivia, not anymore. And for the first time since Philip had lost his childhood love to the scandalous duke, he was happy for her. Kelfield did seem enamored with his wife. “Safe travels, Your Grace. Take care of her, will you?”

  “’Til my dying breath.” And then the duke vanished into the corridor.

  Philip nudged Amelia to gently wake her. Heaven forbid a man of the cloth find her in his bed before they were properly married. “Amelia,” he crooned. “Wake up, love.”

  She lifted her flaxen head and blinked her blue eyes open. A smile lit her face when she looked at him. “You were telling me about Leverton Park?”

  “Hours ago, if the sun is to be believed.”

  A blush stained her cheeks. “Did I fall asleep?”

  “We both did. Lucky for us—” Philip smiled as he lifted the special license in his hand “—Lady Clayworth has been quite busy in the meantime.”

  “Has she?”

  “Hmm. Tell me you’re ready to marry me.”

  “Now?” She giggled in surprise.

  Philip nodded. “I believe a clergyman is on his way up the steps this very moment.” At least, if Kelfield was to be believed.

  “A clergyman?” Amelia’s blue eyes widened and she scrambled off the bed, straightening her skirts just as someone cleared histhroat in the corridor. “Heavens, Philip!” she whispered. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I hardly had any warning myself.” Then he glanced towards the doorway to find Cordie, Clayworth, and a fellow Philip didn’t recognize standing just outside his chambers. “Lady Clayworth,” he called. “To what do we owe this honor?”

  Cordie rolled her eyes. “Kelfield told me you were expecting us, my dear Major.” Then she stepped over the threshold with her husband and the other fellow following in her wake. “Major Philip Moore, Amelia Pritchard, this is our vicar, Mr. Bailey.”

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Bailey,” Philip said.

  The vicar, a cheerful looking young man now that Philip got a better look at him, smiled in response. “Happy to be of service, Major.”

  “Amelia,” Cordie began, “why don’t you take a spot in the chair beside the bed?”

  Amelia glanced at Philip, and he noted an expression of trepidation flash in her eyes. Was this moving too quickly for her? He didn’t want to force her into something she wasn’t quite ready for, but they had run out of time, and she did need the protection of his name. He reached out a hand to his fiancée, hoping to reassure her. “Are you ready, Amelia?”

  A nervous smile tugged at her lips, but she took his outstretched hand and sat in the seat beside his bed.

  “Well then,” Mr. Bailey said, “I suppose we should begin.”

  Amelia was fairly certain she only made it through her marriage ceremony because of the sincerity she saw reflected in Philip’s eyes. She’d maintained her major’s gaze the entire time Mr. Bailey spoke and then softly declared them man and wife. Then, when Amelia took her first breath as a married lady, everything hit her. No longer Amelia Pritchard, she would for the rest of her life be Amelia Moore.

  Philip squeezed her fingers, and her heart lightened a bit. He thanked the vicar for attending them in his sick room, and then he very graciously invited Cordie and Clayworth to leave his chambers.

  And then Amelia was all alone, except for her husband.

  “You look terrified, love,” he said, tugging her hand, urging her to join him on the bed, once again.

  “Terrified?” A nervous laugh escaped Amelia as she moved to his side. “I’m not terrified,” she said once she’d settled against him. And she wasn’t frightened of Philip; she was simply amazed to discover she had somehow become his wife.

  “Good. There’s no reason to be. Even if I was in any condition to enjoy our wedding night, I would take care with you.”

  Good heavens! The marriage bed was the last thing on Amelia’s mind! She pulled back to meet his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  A smile that had seemed so foreign on his face when she’d first met him graced his lips, and then he chuckled. “You are frightened.”

  Amelia shook her head, even though she hadn’t given marital relations much of a thought until now. “I’ve simply been concerned about your health, Philip Moore, and worried about what Mr. Mason might do next.” But now that he mentioned it, the marriage bed was a little frightening.

  “Mason is the last person I want to think about on our wedding day, Amelia.”

  “Hardly an orthodox wedding day. You’re recovering from a bullet wound, and—”

  “Indeed, but I’m hardly dead, love. And you have taken such wonderful care of me. Certain thoughts have been lingering about my mind.”

  “Thoughts?” she whispered.

  “Mmm. My mind keeps replaying the afternoon in Cordie’s parlor…” He let his voice trail off as a rakish twinkle glinted in his eyes.

  Amelia’s face burned at that memory. The liberties she’d allowed him that day. “Heavens.”

  “Certainly was heaven for me.” He tugged her back against him and his hand gently caressed her side, making tingles race across her skin. “I vow, Amelia Moore, that the moment I am up to it, I will make you mine in every way, and I will see to your happiness on every level.”

  She gulped, not knowing what to say. The memory of what he’d already made her feel at his hands and lips was more than she had ever experienced with Geoffrey Mason, even when she thought herself in love with the scurrilous blackguard.

  Philip kissed the top of her head, and Amelia couldn’t help but smile at his gentleness. He might not be the husband she’d ever thought to have, but she couldn’t be more fortunate.

  “Stay with me tonight?” he asked.

  She had stayed with him every night for nearly a fortnight. “I am your wife now.”

  His hand stroked her back. “And what a lucky man I am.”

  Lieutenant Tristan Avery had spent more than a little time in questionable taverns over the years, usually at his brother Russell’s behest. Together the brothers Avery had drunk and whored their way across the continent during their regimental years. They’d enjoyed one spectacular adventure after another. But he’d never stepped foot inside such an establishment alone before. He’d always had either Russell or Philip by his side when he’d done so. But not tonight, and not now. London was too large for him and Russell to scour it together. No, dividing and conquering the city in search of Philip’s would-be murderer made the most sense. And find the bastard they would, if it killed them both.

  He winced at the dank dockside tavern before him. The place reeked of raw fish, fresh-from-the-docks sailors, and unwashed whores. Certainly this Mason fellow wouldn’t hole himself up in a place like this. But, even more certainly, the Welsh bastard wasn’t spending his time in reputable establishments. At least that was the assumption he and Russell were working on. No one had spotted him some place reputable, in any event.

  Tristan inhaled a breath of putrid air and cringed as it entered his lungs. Boisterous laughter and cursing drifted outside the River’s End when he opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit tavern. Damn it all to hell, he’d never see anything in this place, which any other night might be a blessing. But, for Philip’s sake, he’d have to try.

  He squared his shoulders and walked in the direction of the bar at the far end of the taproom. He placed two coins on the counter and ordered an ale, though he had no intention of drinking anything the barkeep placed before him. The tavern looked as though it might have last been cleaned during the War of the Roses, after all. And the tankard that appeared in front of Tristan might have been washed sometime during the Reformation. A chill ran up his spine. Who the devil would choose to spend their time in the River’s End?

  “Lieutenant Avery?” came an Irish lilt not too far away.

  Tristan turned his head, blinki
ng into the darkness, and was quite surprised to find a young soldier slumped against the bar. “Sergeant O’Leary?” He abandoned his ale and made his way to the Irishman’s side. “What the devil are you doing in here?”

  O’Leary shrugged. “’Bout ta ask ye the same thing, sir.”

  Tristan glanced around the tavern once more. “I’m looking for a fellow.” Then an idea popped into his mind. “Actually, you might remember him. Tall Welshman. He was with the 69th. Mason. Lieutenant Mason.”

  O’Leary shook his head. “Doesna ring a bell.”

  With the way Mason had behaved in Belgium, O’Leary had to remember him. “He was the one strutting around like a peacock after Waterloo. Demanding passage on the first transport back to England.”

  The Irishman chuckled and then pushed back from the bar. And that was when Tristan realized O’Leary was missing an arm. Dear God in heaven. The sergeant had been injured in the battle? Damn it all to hell. O’Leary was good man, and now…

  “I was probably under a surgeon’s knife at the time or unconscious. Either way, I doona remember your friend.”

  “Hardly a friend,” Tristan muttered to himself. Then he took another look at the Irishman. “What are you doing in a place like this, O’Leary?”

  The sergeant turned his eyes to the floor. “It’s cheap, and it helps me forget things I’d rather not remember.”

  “You left your regiment,” Tristan surmised aloud. After all, O’Leary wasn’t in uniform, now that he’d taken a good look at him.

  A mirthless laugh escaped the Irishman. “Left my regiment? Good, able-bodied men have been tossed aside, Lieutenant. The 27th has no use for a one-armed infantryman, and especially not now.” Then he lifted his dirty tankard with his one hand in a mock toast. “Ta the French for finally surrenderin’ and puttin’ good men out o’ work.”

  Never before had Tristan considered that the war ending wasn’t the best outcome for a number of Britain’s soldiers. But O’Leary was right. A number of good men had come home from Belgium and found nothing waiting for them. He’d spent the last few months so preoccupied with his own foolish problems, he hadn’t given much thought to anyone other than himself. But O’Leary didn’t deserve to waste away in the River’s End.