Jane Lark - The Lost Love of a Soldier - A timeless Historical romance for fans of War and Peace

She shivered at the memory but her stomach growled, despite her revulsion. She’d eaten nothing since it had happened, and she’d been sick last night.

She looked at Paul. He slept, leaning against the corner of the carriage, one elbow resting on a sill beside him, so his curled fist could support his chin. His other hand now lay slack on his thigh since she’d risen. One booted foot rested on the opposite seat, with his leg bent, the other still rested on the carriage floor. His thigh had been a pillow for her head.

Every muscle and sinew in his body was honed. He was a soldier. Even in sleep he looked able to fight. Now she knew what that meant, she’d seen the aftermath of his killing.

But her heart chose him. She could not deny him now.

In his sleep he looked younger, as he’d done last night. He was merely twenty-one, just a little older than her, and yet he’d endured so much…

He needed a sanctuary and he’d chosen her. She would willingly play that role, even if at the present moment, the idea of his capability to kill scared her.

The carriage jolted and instantly his eyes opened. He sat up, his hand going to his hip, as though to grasp a sword or pistol. But then he saw her and smiled. His hand lifted instead and raked through his hair, hiding the instinct to be ready to fight.

As the image of the dead highwayman hovered, she wondered how many pictures of battlefields played through his head.

She could perhaps understand a little more of the soldier, now she knew what that meant.

She smiled.

“How are you?” he asked. “You slept well. You have been asleep nearly all night.”

“Were you awake then?”

“Yes. I did not like to sleep while it was dark, in case, well…” He did not end the sentence but she understood. He’d been nervous of more highwaymen. But he could not be worried for himself he was able to defend himself– he’d worried over her.

He looked down, lifted his fob watch from his inside pocket and flicked open the catch. “It’s nearly noon.”

She wasn’t surprised; the hunger in her stomach and the sunlight implied it. But he looked surprised he’d managed to sleep.

She wondered how much last night had disturbed him. He’d seemed cold and unemotional then, but now…

“We’d better stop soon.” He leaned over the carriage to open the hatch which let him speak to the man on the box. “Where are we?”

“Two miles from Penrith by the last marker, Captain.”

“Stop at the next coaching inn, will you?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Paul sat back again and then stretched, lifting his arms and arching his back. It showed off the lean, muscular definition of his torso and his thighs, which his uniform hugged so perfectly.

A warm sensation fluttered low in her stomach. They were nearly at Gretna. Soon she would know what it would be like to share a bed with him. She smiled, excitement and anxiety skittering through her nerves; warring love and fear. It tangled up like a muddled ball of embroidery threads within her.

“I cannot wait to stretch my legs a little,” he murmured as he dropped back against the swabs. Then he looked at her. “I admit I am sick of this carriage.”

Her smile parted her lips. “I am also.”

“Shall we take a break once we’re wed, before we travel to Portsmouth? We may find lodgings for a night. It will be our wedding night.”

His blue eyes shone

She nodded, the flutter stirring low in her stomach again – desire and disquiet. “It will be Christmas Eve too. There may be poor service at the inns. Do you feel guilty dragging our drivers away from their families?” He looked at her oddly. “Paul…”

“My apologies. I had completely forgotten about Christmas. My mind has been focused on gathering my men and then coming to fetch you ever since we had the order to sail. I’ve not known it as a time of celebration for years. My family would not expect me to be there, they’ll not miss me. But yours… You will miss your sisters?”

She nodded, her vision clouding suddenly with tears. The twelve days following Christmas were for feasting and celebration and on the twelfth night, at Pembroke Place, they always held a servants’ ball, when someone would be crowned the Lord of Misrule and order all the entertainments. Ellen and her sisters were allowed to watch for a little while.

He gripped her into a sharp, hard embrace. “I should not have mentioned them. I–”

She pulled away. “You need not apologise. It is nice to know you think of what will affect me. I do miss them. I will miss Penny most. I wish I had been able to explain to her. But I do not regret leaving with you. I will be happy with you.”

His palm rested on her hair. “You can write to your sister, when we’re married.”

“Yes. What of your family?”

He laughed, a low deep pitch. “My family are long forgotten.”

“But you came with them in the summer…”

“Yes, because I’d returned to England and sought my old self, the privileged sixth son of the Earl of Craster, but I am not that now. I am first a soldier. My family is the army, and my men. Christmas with my family would feel like living in the past.”

“You are no longer close to them?”

“As close as it is possible to be when I lead a very different life to them. They will not miss me, and I will not miss them.” His fingers gripped her chin, and then he looked into her eyes. “But you will be my family now, and I will be yours. We will be each other’s comfort and companion. That is what I wish for us.”

His words sent shivers running across her skin. “Yes, that is what I want too – to make you happy,”

“And I wish more than anything to make you happy, so we have hope, Ellen.” His head lowered and he kissed her.

The ache in her stomach swept out to her limbs – yet along with the pleasure of his warmth and gentleness came concern; his gentle hands could kill a man…

When they pulled into an inn a little while later, having driven into the town of Penrith, Paul moved immediately, letting her go so she could sit up. He climbed out of the carriage in a moment, lowered the step, and then lifted his hand to help her.

She took it and smiled as he smiled at her. “Let us go in search of refreshment.”

The cobbles of the courtyard were slippery from the snow, so they walked tentatively. He kept a hold of her hand. It was protective, –the way he had been with her ever since they’d been together.

She’d never seen her father be even slightly attentive to her mother. She’d only seen her father give orders and her mother obey and defer to his wishes. This side of Paul, the man she had first met in the summer, was precious gold in her eyes. If only there was not also the part of him that frightened her a little – the image of the highwayman lying dead in his blood still hovered in her head.

Paul ordered cured ham, cheese and freshly baked bread to break their fast, and then asked how many miles they were away from the Scottish border and how long it would take them to get there. The innkeeper implied they could make it by nightfall, if the snow neither melted nor started falling again.

By nightfall. In hours they might be wed.

They ate hurriedly, not wishing to delay. But then, watching her closely, looking into her eyes, Paul suggested they walk away from the inn, and a little way up the road, so he could stretch out before having to endure the cramped carriage again.

His long legged stride made it difficult for her to keep up, especially as the layer of snow caught on the hem of her skirt making her velvet habit heavy as it soaked up the moisture. But she liked the gentle give of the crisp snow beneath her half boots and slid her feet through it. She slipped. Her fingers gripped the firm muscle of his forearm.