Diane Gaston - A Regency Gentleman's Passion

He’d almost made good his escape. Turning, he fixed his fiercest glare on the unfortunate fellow.

The man took a step back. “Ah, sir.” He bowed. “You have a caller. Waiting in the front parlour.” The footman gestured to the room and withdrew posthaste.

Gabe clenched his hand into a fist. Who did he know in London who would call upon him? Allan Landon, perhaps? He’d seen Allan a few weeks ago, but neither of them had shared their direction. He knew other officers, but they were all staying in this hotel. If they wished to waste his time, they would simply knock at his door.

He rubbed his forehead.

On the other hand, he had written countless letters trying to find a commission. Maybe his caller had an answer for him.

He entered the room, dropping his hat on a table inside the door.

The parlour looked empty at first, although the curtains were open and fresh flowers were in a vase on the mantel.

A sound came from the high-backed chair facing the fireplace. A swish of skirts and a peek of a bonnet.

A woman?

She stood before him. “Bon jour, Gabriel.”

Emmaline.

She looked even more beautiful than the image of her that inhabited his dreams at night. Her lace-lined bonnet of natural straw perfectly framed her flawless face. The dark blue of her walking dress made her eyes even more vibrant.

Good God. After two years, she still had the power to affect him.

“What are you doing here?” His tone came out more sharply than he intended.

She clasped her white-gloved hands together. “I came to see you, Gabriel.”

He shook his head. “I meant, why are you in London?”

She fingered the front of her dress. “To see you.”

She had come to see him?

Gabe had laboured hard to bury the deep wound of losing her, but now she was here. Was it possible she’d regretted sending him away? Enough to travel this long distance to find him? Enough to search for him, to discover where he lived?

Against his better judgement, a tiny seed of hope germinated.

He managed to disguise the fact. “How did you find me?”

“With luck.” She smiled wanly. “A maid at my hotel said many officers stayed here.”

He really did not care about how she had found him. Only one question truly burned inside him. “ Why did you come to see me?”

Her lips trembled before she spoke. “Oh, Gabriel. I need you.”

The hard earth he’d packed around his emotions began to crack.

She swallowed and went on, “I need your help.”

He came to his senses. “Help with what?”

She met his eye. “I need you to find Claude.”

“Claude.” The son who’d driven a wedge between them.

Of course it would be for Claude that she would travel all this way, to a foreign country that had so recently been at war with her birthplace.

She stepped closer to him. “It is so terrible. He is here in En gland.” Her gaze still managed to hold him in thrall. “Do you remember how he was so filled with hatred?”

Could he forget?

She took a breath. “He became a cuirassier to get revenge for—for what happened at Badajoz. What happened to his father. And to me. All these years Claude has not forgotten any of it. Fighting the English in the war was supposed to be the revenge, but, alors, you know what happened.”

“Why come to England, then, if he hates it so?” Wouldn’t Claude want to stay away and keep his mother away, as well?

She wrung her hands. “He remembers one name from that day—Edwin Tranville. He has come to En gland to kill him.”

Edwin Tranville. Gabe pressed his fingers against his temple. Damned Edwin Tranville. “What has this to do with me, Emmaline?”

Her eyes pleaded. “I need you to find Claude and stop him.”

What a fool he was. She’d come to England for her son, not for him.

He gave her a level look. “What makes you believe I would help you?”

She lowered her gaze so that her long dark lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. “Oh, Gabriel. Who else can help me? I cannot go to—to the gendarmerie and tell them my son wants to kill a man. I might as well send Claude to a guillotine. I came to you, because I do not know anyone else.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I know only you.”

Her emotion shook him. He paced in front of her. “Well, I cannot help you.” His response was firm. “I have my own life to attend to, Emmaline. I am waiting for a new commission. Word could come any day and, when it comes, I must be here or the position will go to someone else.”

“You are not in the army any more?” Her gaze flicked over his uniform coat and her brow creased as if in confusion.

“My regiment was disbanded. I’m on half-pay.”

“Half-pay? What is that?” Her eyes widened suddenly and her voice rose. “Do you need money, Gabriel? I can pay you money to help me.”

“I do not need money,” he snapped. What he needed she could not give him, not without forsaking her son. “The army pays half of a salary when a soldier is idled, but do not concern yourself. I have plenty of money.”

“Even so …” she fingered the front of her dress “… I will pay for your help.”

Did she think he would accept money for such a thing? It galled him that she would presume they could make some sort of business arrangement after what they’d had together.

What he thought they’d had.

“How old is Claude now?” he asked.

She looked puzzled. “He is now eighteen years.”

“I was in the army, taking care of myself when I turned eighteen. Claude is his own man now. He must act on his own and accept the consequences.”

She seized his arm. “You do not understand. He will be caught. He will hang for murder.”

Her touch radiated through him. “That is his decision.”

“ Non, non, Gabriel,” she cried. “You must stop him. He cannot hang. I cannot bear it.”

Gabe felt himself weaken. Claude was her whole world, more important to her than anything or anyone else. Gabe had carried Claude off the Waterloo battlefield for that reason—for her— even while the cries of countless other wounded men had filled his ears. He did not regret doing so, but how many times was he expected to rescue Claude for her?

He closed his hands around her arms and lifted her away from him. He must think of himself now. Not of Emmaline. “I cannot go looking for him.”

She did not relent. “Then find Edwin Tranville. Warn him. Tell him to hide himself until I find Claude. I will send word to you when Claude returns to Brussels with me.”

He blew out a breath. “I am not going to look for Edwin Tranville.” He wanted nothing to do with Edwin Tranville. “No more discussion.”

He walked to the door and opened it. If she did not leave soon, his rapidly eroding resolve might entirely wash away. “I bid you good day.”

He pictured himself holding her in his arms, inhaling her essence, feeling her warm curves against his body.

She paused to face him. “I am staying at the Bristol Hotel, if you decide differently.”

He closed the door behind her and immediately paced the room, angry at her for making this request, angrier at himself for hoping she’d come for him. He turned towards the windows and watched her step out of the building onto the pavement. She took a few steps, then stopped to look for something in her reticule. She pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

His insides twisted.

With one distraught glance toward the building she started to walk away.

But the three officers he’d run into at the War Office were approaching her, returning from the tavern, no doubt. They swayed with drink and talked so loudly he could almost hear their words. They exclaimed in pleasure when catching sight of her.