Kasey Michaels - A Reckless Beauty

Rian felt his blood singing through his veins. “When? Where?”

Brede smiled, the cheroot still stuck in the corner of his mouth, and Rian was still having trouble separating the unkempt clothes from the obvious intelligence in those piercing hazel eyes. God, he looked the ruffian. Not an earl at all, at least not at all like the Earl of Uxbridge. “I’d guess Quatre Bras or Ligny, somewhere in that direction, although nobody else does. Not yet. But they will, I can only hope, once I’ve made my final report. Now, listen to me. We can none of us stop this, you understand? The Alliance won’t allow it, Napoleon can’t avoid it. But I can get you out of here.”

“Jack asked you to do that?” Rian could barely see through the bright red of his sudden fury.

Brede smiled. “No. But he holds an affection for you, and I have an affection for him. I also have enough consequence to get you reassigned to Wellington’s own staff. He needs good men, with Pakenham and so many others cut to pieces in New Orleans, damn that stupid war for the folly it was.”

Rian nodded his agreement. “My brother Spencer fought at Moraviantown. He called that battle considerably less than laudable.”

Brede brushed aside the comment. He had places to go before nightfall. “The Duke doesn’t hide, so if you’re with him, you’re not out of danger. But there’s more than one way to fight a war, Becket. With your body, thrown into the field against other bodies, or with your brains.” He extracted the cheroot from his mouth, stared at the glowing tip now that the sun was sliding toward the horizon and it was growing darker beneath the trees. “I offer this only the once, Rian Becket, and for the sake of an old friend who did me more than one good turn on the Peninsula. As you so rightly said—I’m no nursemaid.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Rian said, bowing to the man. “I would, of course, be honored.”

“Only a damn fool wouldn’t be,” Brede said, smiling once more. “Two days from now, as I have things to do, things that don’t concern you. I’ll see you on Monday, exactly here, sometime before noon, with new orders for you in my possession. You will be ready to go, or I’m leaving without you. Understood?”

Rian opened his mouth to answer, but the Earl of Brede had already turned to walk away, taking no more than ten steps back out onto the wheat field before gracefully throwing himself up onto the saddle of a sleek, dappled gray stallion whose head had been held by no less than Captain Moray.

Brede turned the horse, pulled back on the reins so that it reared up on its back legs as the Earl threw Rian a casual salute, and then he was gone, gray figure and gray horse soon fading into the equally gray twilight.

“Uxbridge isn’t the only flamboyant one,” Rian mumbled as he headed toward a grinning Captain Moray. “He merely dresses better….”

THIS WASN’T TOO TERRIBLE. The countryside was beautiful, the air not too uncomfortably warm, and the horses a grand protection. Fanny might miss her soft bed and Bumble’s fine way with a chicken, but the adventure made up for that.

And, with every mile, she drew closer to Rian.

“Who will probably attempt to box my ears for me,” Fanny muttered quietly behind the scarf she’d tied around her nose and mouth to keep out the dust raised by the horses.

She rode at the back of the troop, which meant that after the dried strip of beef she’d had for breakfast, she was having road dust for luncheon. Mentally, she added the lovely tin tub in her bedchamber at Becket Hall to the list of things she missed most.

“Private Reilly!”

Fanny rolled her eyes and straightened her slim shoulders. Honestly, the man was constantly at her; her own father didn’t guard her half so closely. Of course, if he had, she wouldn’t be riding across Belgium at the moment, would she? “Yes, Sergeant-Major!”

“We’ll be at the cantonment in another few minutes. Just around the next bend, I’m told. Now, here’s what I’m doing. You’ll see that brother you’ve come all this way to see, and then you’ll be off to Brussels with the rest of the women who had nothin’ better to do than follow along with us. No women here for much longer, Private Reilly, to help with the cookin’, the washin’. Uxbridge won’t allow it. You’ll have plenty to do, helpin’ with the wounded when the time comes, honest women’s work, and then you’ll be shipped off home, wherever that is.”

“But, Sergeant-Major—”

The Sergeant-Major shook his head, sighing in an exaggerated way. “And here she goes again, dear God, thinkin’ she has somethin’ to say to any of this. Show me an army of women, and I’ll show you pure disaster, every one of them questionin’ me, thinkin’ she knows best. ‘Oh, no, Sergeant-Major Hart, we should camp farther from the stream, it’s too damp here. We’ll catch a sniffle.’”

Fanny pulled down the scarf and grinned at the man. “When you get to heaven, Sergeant-Major, the good Queen Boadicea may have a word or two to say to you.”

For the first time since she’d encountered the Sergeant-Major, Fanny saw the man smile. “Her? She was only in a snit.”

“She raised an army against the Romans, destroyed London and was responsible for killing seventy thousand soldiers. That’s a bit more than a snit, don’t you think? And then we might discuss the Maid of Orleans, the famous Joan—”

“And they don’t know when to stifle themselves, women don’t,” the Sergeant-Major grumbled, pulling on his muttonchops. You’ll be goin’ on to Brussels, where it’s safe, you hear me?”

Fanny was fairly certain she shouldn’t ask him to say please, and simply nodded her agreement. “I was stupid, sir. I shouldn’t have come.”

The Sergeant-Major slapped his huge thigh. “Well, now, that’s what m’sister shoulda said, back in aught-six. But she chased her Bobby Finnegan all the way to the Peninsula. He didn’t thank her for it, any more than this brother of yours will be thankin’ you. Dead these eight years, the both of them.”

Fanny’s stomach clenched. “On the Peninsula?”

He nodded. “Caught a fever, like so many. Private Reilly, I’ve seen men starve. I’ve seen men drown in holes they dug to protect themselves from the enemy. I’ve seen…You do what I say. I’m not to be havin’ you on my heart along with my Maureen. I’ve no one now, no home, no family. So I take good care of you boys…you all.”

Fanny pulled up the scarf once more. “I’m sorry, Sergeant-Major, that I’ve worried you, even as I realize how fortunate I am that you’re the fine man you are. When this is over, I know my papa will want to shake your hand, want to thank you. Will you please remember this? Becket Hall, in Romney Marsh. If I could find my way here, you can find your way there. You’ll always have a welcome and a home there if you wish it, that’s a promise. Papa has a great respect for honest, brave men.”

Sergeant-Major Hart looked at her rather incredulously, but then nodded. “Becket Hall, in Romney Marsh. I’ll remember. Now, you stay with these horses, tend to them, and I’ll find your Lieutenant Becket for you. Mayhap keep him from saying what he should say. And no tears from you, Private Reilly. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir!”

He shook his head in mock dismay. “Such a simple thing, lass. Sergeant-Major.”

Fanny grinned behind her scarf as he rode back toward the head of the line. “Such an honorable man—sir.”

And then, because she knew she’d been wrong to follow him, because she knew Rian was going to tell her how wrong she’d been to follow him—and at some length—Fanny blinked away her tears and prepared to do battle with the man too stupid to know she loved him. Had always loved him.