My Favorite Major (Heroes Returned Book 1)

by Stone, Ava

  Clayworth’s less than legitimate nephew and his rather unusual sister. “What an interesting mix of personalities.”

  “Indeed. And added to the mix was Mr. Lester, who had recently returned to the area and was angling for Rose’s hand. Brendan and my brother Gregory took an immediate dislike to each other. And my mother was in the middle of one of her legendary temper tantrums.” Cordie shook her head at the memory. “I thought it quite likely Brendan might wash his hands of me and be done with it all right then and there.”

  Amelia couldn’t even imagine such a thing. “He adores you.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t met my mother.” Then she squeezed Amelia’s hands once more. “The little episode in the hallway just now does not even compare to the insanity I’ve subjected my poor husband to. But it’s all turned out for the best. And everything will turn out fine for you too. Just wait and see.”

  If only Amelia could be as certain. “Your family all gets along now?” she asked.

  Cordie winced just a bit. “Well, Brendan still can’t abide my mother, but he and Greg can be in the same room these days without shooting daggers at each other. And Rose, as you know—”

  Someone cleared his throat in threshold, immediately drawing Amelia and Cordie’s attention to the corridor. Higgins gestured to a slightly shabby looking fellow at his side. “Pardon me, my lady, but Major Moore said Mr. Kelly should await for him here with you ladies.”

  “Mr. Kelly?” Cordie asked, rising from her spot on the settee. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The shabby looking fellow glanced from Cordie to Amelia and back, then he scratched his head. “I didn’t mean ta interrupt,” he said, his Irish brogue filling the room.

  “Not at all,” Cordie continued and smiled graciously at the man who seemed as uncomfortable in the parlor as Amelia would in a dockside pub. “Would you like some tea, Mr. Kelly?”

  “Major Moore already asked for coffee,” Higgins replied. “Would you like tea as well, Lady Clayworth?”

  “Just a bit, thank you, Higgins.”

  As the butler took his leave, Mr. Kelly heaved a sigh as though he wasn’t certain what to do in this environment.

  “I’m Amelia Moore,” Amelia introduced herself, hoping to put the man more at ease. “How do you know my husband?”

  A smile lit the Irishman’s face. “One of the bravest men in all of Wellington’s army, ma’am.”

  Ah, that explained it. Kelly was a returned soldier. Though why he was in Cordie’s parlor was still a mystery. “Which regiment were you with?”

  “The 27th, Mrs. Moore.”

  “Well, Mr. Kelly,” Cordie said with a smile, “please do join us. I am always willing to hear stories of my friend’s bravery.”

  Finally Kelly smiled. “Have ya got all day, then, Lady Clayworth?”

  “How charming you are,” Cordie laughed as she settled once again beside Amelia. “Do you, by chance, know my brothers Captain and Lieutenant Avery? They served with Major Moore in the 45th.”

  Kelly sat gingerly in a seat across from the ladies as though he was afraid of sullying the high-back chair with his person. “Lieutenant Avery is the reason I’m here, milady.”

  “Indeed?” Cordie asked.

  Kelly nodded. “Byrne and me were ta make sure that Welsh bastard…” His face flamed. “Uh, I mean, we were ta make sure that Mason fella doesn’t come near Major or Mrs. Moore.”

  So she was to be guarded by this Irishman? Hopefully, Papa would never learn of the situation or he’d be furious all over again. He’d never believe Geoffrey Mason was dangerous. He’d never believe Geoffrey Mason was capable of anything nefarious.

  “Well, hasn’t Tristan been busy?” Cordie grinned in response.

  “Aye, milady.”

  “Since you’re here, perhaps you can give us the male perspective, Mr. Kelly,” Cordie continued. “We were just discussing the melding of one family with another. Are you married, by chance?”

  Kelly tugged at his collar as though he suddenly became even more uncomfortable. “No, ma’am.”

  “I cannot believe it,” the countess nodded in his direction. “Such a charming fellow, and handsome too.”

  “Aye,” Kelly agreed and a rakish smile finally lit his face. “So I’ve been told. But I cannot afford a wife.”

  At that Cordie laughed and Amelia bit back a grin. “Certainly we’re not all so expensive,” Amelia teased.

  Kelly heaved a sigh, though his green eyes twinkled. “Me sister costs more than I’ve got as it is, Mrs. Moore.”

  “Your sister?” Cordie echoed.

  Kelly nodded and his visage took on a serious glint. “It’s on account of Bridget I’m in London as it is. Better payin’ jobs here than in Dublin. I send back what I can.”

  “I’m certain she’s lucky to have you,” Amelia replied. Mr. Kelly adored his sister, no matter how much she cost him; Amelia could see it in his expression as he spoke about her. And the image made Alan’s face flash in her mind. “Very lucky,” she muttered, missing her brother anew.

  At that moment, two footmen entered the parlor with both a tea tray and a pot of coffee. Cordie excused herself to pour, and Mr. Kelly finally settled back in his chair as though he had grown more comfortable in his seat.

  After Cordie handed the Irishman his cup, Mr. Kelly lifted his drink in a toast. “I understand congratulations are in order, Mrs. Moore.”

  Amelia’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Mr. Kelly.”

  “Aren’t newlyweds adorable?” Cordie replied. Then a wicked glint sparkled in her eyes. “Now, Mr. Kelly, as you are here and my brothers are not, you must tell me anything scandalous you know about either of them.”

  The Irishman choked on his coffee. Then he sat up a little straighter. “I fought with them in war, milady. Brothers in arms.”

  “Meaning you won’t divulge any secrets?” Cordie pressed.

  “Meanin’ Captain Avery would have me head. He’s not a man I’d like ta cross.”

  Cordie dissolved into a peal of laughter. “Just what I suspected, Mr. Kelly. Tristan is an angel and Russell is…not.”

  The Irishman agreed with a nod of his head. “Heaven help me if Bridget ever meets ya, milady. I think I would be in trouble every day of me life.”

  But Cordie shook her head, her brown curl swaying back and forth in protest. “On the contrary, my dear Mr. Kelly, if you have nothing to hide from your sister, you have nothing to fear.”

  A knock sounded at the door; all three of them turned their attention to the threshold where Amelia’s mother now stood. Every ounce of lightheartedness that had enveloped the parlor drained away in that instant.

  “Amelia,” her mother said sternly. “A word, if you don’t mind.”

  As Amelia followed her mother into the corridor, her heart filled with dread. Mama gripped her elbow roughly and dragged her into the now empty breakfast room. “Ouch!” Amelia complained, retrieving her arm and clutching her ill-used elbow.

  “You’ve married an arrogant liar, and now you’re cavorting with Irishmen?”

  Amelia’s mouth dropped open. “Mama!” she admonished. She wasn’t even certain where to begin. “Philip is not a liar.” He might be a touch arrogant however, so she thought the better of addressing that bit. “And Mr. Kelly is a friend of my husband’s and Lady Clayworth’s brothers. He served in the Peninsular Wars.”

  “I don’t particularly care about Irish rabble, whether they fought in the wars or not.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “But your husband is most certainly a liar. How could you stand there and let him malign Mr. Mason in such a way? Your father is in an awful state thanks to that…man.”

  Amelia took a deep breath. Papa couldn’t take the truth, but her mother was a different story. If she could just make her see reason. “He’s not lying, Mama,” she said softly.

  Her mother scoffed. “And he’s poisoned your mind against Mr. Mason? How abominable! I just knew when we got that letter from Lord Clayworth a
bout your betrothal that we should dissuade you before you made the biggest mistake of your life.”

  Up ‘til now, Mama had claimed Amelia’s biggest mistake was crying off from her engagement to Geoffrey Mason. Amelia shook her head. “Mama, I know you think highly of Mr. Mason, but…”

  “And so did you. Once. You’ve known him your entire life, Amelia. He’s the most noble—”

  “I think he killed Alan,” Amelia blurted out before she could stop herself. When the color drained from her mother’s face, Amelia stepped closer to her and continued, “That’s why I couldn’t marry him, Mama. That’s why I begged Papa to let me cry off.”

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  Amelia shook her head. “It’s true. And when Mr. Mason learned that I intended to marry Philip, he shot my husband in the back.”

  Mama’s lips began to tremble, and her colorless face heated until she was nearly as red as a regimental jacket. “How dare you!” she spat.

  This was hardly going well. Amelia hastened to explain, “I didn’t tell you because I don’t have any proof, but—”

  “Of course you don’t!” Mama took a step away from Amelia and she swiped at tears that were beginning to trail down her cheeks. “Because my son died an honorable death on the battlefield. How dare you try to take that away from Alan!”

  Amelia wasn’t trying to take anything away from Alan. Mason had done that. Still, her heart ached to see her mother in so much pain because she’d bungled her explanations. “That’s not what I—”

  “I don’t want to hear another word from you.” Her mother held up her hand to stop anything else Amelia had to say. “And don’t you dare utter a word of this to your father.”

  “Mama—” she tried again.

  “I don’t know who you are anymore, but I’m certain I don’t like who you’ve become.” Then she took her leave, abandoning Amelia to herself.

  Numbly, Amelia dropped into a seat at the breakfast table as though she was in daze. Her mother didn’t like her. Her own mother didn’t like her. If her mother had plunged a knife in her heart, it would have hurt less.

  “Are you all right?” Cordie asked from the doorway.

  Amelia shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. If she willed words from her mouth, she’d dissolve in a puddle of tears.

  “It’ll turn out all right,” the countess promised.

  But her words fell on deaf ears as Amelia paid her very little attention. “Um,” her voice came out as a croak. “I believe I’ll retire to my chambers for a while.” And then she brushed past Cordie and somehow managed to make it up the steps and down the corridor all the way to her set of rooms, before she collapsed in a piteous heap.

  It was no wonder the Irish were known for their charm. After spending only half an hour with the 27th's former Corporal Sean Byrne, Philip discovered his mood had completely turned around. He wasn’t certain he should take all of the Irishman’s marital advice, but the tales Byrne spun would have done the one-time loquacious inhabitants of Blarney Castle proud. And now that Clayworth House was in sight, he found he couldn’t wait to see his wife and unruffle any feathers that were necessary.

  Once inside the Hertford Street home, Philip gestured Byrne into Cordie’s green parlor where they found former Private Kelly sitting all by himself, sipping a cup of coffee. That was strange. Had the man frightened both Amelia and Cordie away?

  “Kelly,” Philip greeted the one-time soldier, “have you seen my wife?”

  Kelly rose from his seat, sloshing a bit of coffee on his drab coat in the process. “Aye, sir. Delightful lady, she is,” he said as he dabbed at the wet spot on his coat with his bare fingers.

  Philip agreed with a nod. “Indeed. Do you by chance know her whereabouts?”

  Kelly frowned as he looked back at Philip. “Her ladyship said Mrs. Moore retired to her room.”

  In their room? Well, there was no time like the present to smooth things over with his wife, was there? “I see,” he replied. Then he slapped Byrne’s shoulder, promised Higgins would be along soon with a cup of coffee, and carefully climbed the stairs.

  He leaned heavily on his cane as his leg had begun to ache after his stroll through Mayfair. Then, standing before his door, he took a steadying breath before entering the chambers. “Amelia,” he began, but she wasn’t there.

  Philip’s mouth fell open. Where the devil was she? Kelly had said she had gone to their room, hadn’t he? Dread settled in Philip’s belly. No. He’d said her room. Not his, not the room they’d shared since even before their marriage. She must be angrier than he’d suspected.

  He lumbered back into the corridor, wondering which room belonged to his wife. He certainly didn’t want to find the one her parents occupied by mistake. Fortunately, he spotted a chambermaid at the end of the hallway and he gestured her forward. “Which room belongs to Mrs. Moore?” What a dolt he must sound like, not knowing the answer to the question himself.

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and pointed to a room a few doors down on the left. “That one, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded, then stepped past the servant and made his way down the corridor to stand at his wife’s door. He knocked. “Amelia?”

  But no reply came from within. What he did hear, however, sounded like muffled crying. Crying? He’d reduced his sweet wife, who’d sat by his sick bed for weeks on end, to tears. Bloody perfect. He was no better than his damned father. How lowering that was to realize.

  “Amelia,” he said softly, but when she still didn’t answer, he turned the handle and stepped inside her chambers, prepared to do whatever it took to keep her from shedding one more tear.

  She lay across her bed, crying into her pillow. Philip’s heart constricted at the sight that reminded him so much of how he’d often found his own mother when he was a boy. Of course, no one had been around to comfort Mother in those days, not the way she needed. It would never be like that with Amelia. It couldn’t. She deserved so much better. Philip heaved a sigh, then crossed the room to his wife’s four-poster.

  “Amelia,” he said again, and this time her head jerked up as though she’d been startled by the sound of his voice.

  Her cheeks were tear-stained and her pretty blue eyes were rimmed red. “My mother hates me.” Her lips trembled.

  “Impossible.” Philip sat on the bed beside her. “No one could hate you.” He caressed one of her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, smoothing away the tears he found there.

  Amelia shook her head. “She does. She hates me, Philip.”

  Then Mrs. Pritchard was a bigger fool than Philip had suspected, though he thought better of saying as much about his mother-in-law at the moment with Amelia so upset. He let his cane drop to the floor and he leaned back on Amelia’s bed. “Come here, love.” He patted his chest.

  She did as he bade her and leaned her head on his chest. Philip wrapped his arms around his wife and simply held her as she cried. He wasn’t sure what to say to make the situation better, to make her hurt less, but he would have done anything in that moment to alleviate her pain. So he smoothed his hand down her back and whispered how wonderful she was, how kind, how devoted, how beautiful.

  Amelia choked back her tears and pushed up on her hands to look at him. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  He’d show her how beautiful she was. It might be just the thing to soothe her pain, as well as assuage the nearly incessant need he’d had for her since before he’d been shot. The memory of tasting her beautiful breast in Cordie’s green parlor echoed in his mind, and Philip’s course of action was as clear as any battle plan he’d ever seen.

  Amelia blinked at her husband when his very serious expression transformed to a roguish smile. “Have I not told you often enough, Amelia, how beautiful you are?”

  How could he find her beautiful with splotchy cheeks and red eyes? Before she could say as much, he drew her closer and pressed his warm lips to hers. Amelia’s eyes fluttered closed and tingles raced across her skin.


  “What a bad husband I’ve been,” he muttered across her lips. “Neglectful.”

  A watery laugh escaped Amelia. “You have been recovering from a gun shot wound.”

  “I’m all recovered,” he growled, then he captured her lips once more, this time harder, more insistent.

  Was he recovered? He seemed to be doing better, but Amelia wasn’t so sure he should be exerting so much strength. Philip sucked on her bottom lip, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, he delved inside, deepening their kiss, which melted her insides to mush and jumbled all the thoughts in her mind.

  He pulled back a bit and smiled as his fingers brushed her lips with the softest touch, then they trailed down her neck to settle at her bodice. “So beautiful.”

  Philip nibbled her neck and moaned as one of his hands cupped her breast. Heat shot to Amelia’s core and she pressed herself closer to him. One of his fingers swept beneath her décolletage, and Amelia thought she might expire on the spot when he caressed her now peaked nipple.

  “Philip!” she gasped as his other hand made quick work of her buttons.

  Before she knew how it happened, Philip tugged her dress over her head, leaving her in only her chemise. He sat up and shrugged out of his jacket, then tossed his waistcoat aside as well. “I think it’s high time for you to become my wife in more than just name.”

  Amelia’s heart pounded and her mouth went dry. This was the very last thing she’d expected when she woke this morning, but she found she now wanted it more than anything.

  Philip yanked his boots from his feet, letting both drop to the floor with dull thunks.

  Amelia gulped when his now heated gaze settled on her. A desire she didn’t quite understand washed over her, settling deeper in her core.

  Philip slid the buttons on his trousers through their holes, one by one. And she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight. Each time he slid another button home, he exposed a bit more flesh, and her breath caught a little more in her chest. She was bound to be lightheaded and pass out from lack of air at any moment.