Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

“Am I allowed inside?” Alex queried, stepping closer to her husband’s side as they walked arm in arm toward the black lacquered double front doors.

He patted her hand on his arm. “Stephen’s is mostly frequented by officers of the Guards—the Life Guards in red and the Royal Horse Guards in blue—but you, as my wife, will not be turned away. Though as the rare female among us, you will be much admired, I daresay.”

That surprised her. “Admired? Me?”

Bryce shook his head, as if she had made a poor jest. Alex wanted to call him on it, but they stepped inside the hotel and her attention was taken with the bustling activity and gentlemanly ambiance.

“You will be safe from the crush beside the stairs,” he said. “Wait there while I fight my way to the desk to claim my key.”

Feeling at sea, Alex kept her gaze trained on him while several men in uniform saluted as he made his way toward the front. She wished she could hear what he said that relaxed his subordinates and made them smile.

Closer by, a military man in the red of the Life Guards mentioned Hawksworth by name, catching her attention. “Excellent commander,” the handsome officer said. “Had the full respect of his men.” The speaker went on to say that Hawksworth was brave, forthright, and had saved his men’s hides a time or two.

One soldier shook his head, as if disbelieving. “How was it then that he was so carelessly given up for dead?”

Since awakening in his arms, Alex had wondered about that, as well.

“Hawk told me he was so near death as to be incapable of correcting the medic, dodging grapeshot, who pronounced him dead. So Hawk was painfully tossed on the body heap. Minutes or hours later, Hawk said, a peasant boy leaned over him to snatch the gold buttons from his coat and Hawk did the only thing he was capable of doing; he bit the blighter’s hand.

“The boy took him to the Waterloo Inn, but the doctors there, scrambling to save those more like to survive, said they could do nothing for Hawk. When our man was given up for dead that second time, the lad went looking for a dray and went back for him. Took Hawk home and his family nursed him back to health.”

“Good God.”

“Good lad.”

A body heap? Alex wished she had not eavesdropped, for she felt as boneless and light of head as she had at the church when she heard Hawk’s voice for the first time. But despite the dip in the room, she was determined to remain upright.

When Bryce called her name, the storyteller noticed her and must have realized what she heard, as he stepped forward, appalled, and lifted her into his arms. Despite her argument that she had not been about to swoon, the repentant officer carried her all the way up the stairs at Hawk’s direction. Mortified to have become a spectacle for the second time that day, Alex wished she could shrink from sight.

The man sat her down in a leather chair in the sitting room of a small apartment that looked very much like a gentleman’s study, while Bryce poured her a brandy. After she sipped it, while her husband stoked a fire in the hearth to “warm her and take the damp from the room,” Alex turned her attention to her rescuer. “Thank you for becoming my chariot.”

“If not for my thoughtless story,” he said, “you would not have needed a conveyance.”

“But it was a true story?”

He grimaced. “Indeed.”

Bryce looked from one of them to the other, silently questioning, but when neither of them enlightened him, he cleared his throat. “Alexandra, may I present Squadron Corporal Major Reed Gilbride of the Life Guards and a charter member of The Rogues Club. Reed, my wife.”

“Your wife? Congratulations are in order, then?” The officer bowed and kissed her hand.

Bryceson waved his friend’s congratulations away, as if their marriage meant nothing, and Alex’s heart sank. He must have removed his ring and never mentioned having a wife the whole time they served together. Alex swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “We married shortly before Bryceson joined the Guards,” she said to explain why congratulations were unnecessary, and to keep her husband from seeing her hurt. “Tell me about this Rogues Club.”

“We were bored playing at war, your grace,” her rescuer said, charming her out of countenance, for she had not been courted by a gallant for longer than she could remember. “So in our dreary tent, we formed an unofficial club.”

“But exclusive,” her husband said.

“Oh very,” her rescuer replied with a chuckle, regarding Alex. “My true identity is something of a mystery, you see, even to me.” He said it with a wink and Alex was doubly taken.

She smiled. “What must one do to become a member of this Rogues Club?”

“Why, be a rogue, of course,” Bryce said with a shrug and a wink of his own.

“He means we are all scamps,” the charmer explained, “who banded together against Boney in support of Mother England and in support of each other’s families, should the worst happen to any of us.”

“Sounds like a worthy club, then,” she said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, C.S.M. Gilbride.”

“The honor is all mine, I assure you.” He bowed. “I shall leave you to recover and hope that I may see you again in the near future.”

Alex said her goodbyes and Bryce walked his friend out, shutting the door, leaving her alone inside. When he did not return for fully fifteen minutes, she began to think he had deserted her again. But he finally returned, followed by a succession of servants bearing a table, linen, everything necessary for an intimate supper. Other servants brought up the rear with her bags, which Hawk’s man must have taken from Chesterfield’s carriage at the church.

Dinner looked and smelled divine, but Alex was in a fair way to dozing off after such a taxing day. The joint of roast pork and fried sole were simple but delicious fare. She was just too tired to eat much beyond a nibble.

Hawksworth waited until everything to do with supper had been collected before suggesting they retire early, which woke her right up. Was this then to be the first night of their marriage? Finally?

Since this was supposed to have been her wedding day, Alex thought it fitting for the wedding night denied her nearly two years before.

This man leading her into the bedroom was Bryceson, after all, her friend, first, now her husband, her love.

Hawksworth, his friends now called him. Hawk.

She liked it.

Hawk, taking the pins from her hair, turning her in circles until he found the hooks beneath the rosebuds marching down the front of her cream satin wedding gown.

Hawk, opening and sliding her wedding dress off to bare her to her stays and petticoats.

And this was Alexandra, not only allowing her husband’s intimate attention but reveling in it, flattered and amazed to have so much of his focus directed her way.

He sat her on the bed and left her then. And like a bisque doll on a nursery shelf, Alex sat unmoving, waiting to be redressed, or undressed, or dropped and shattered, at whim.

Far in the back of her mind, she knew she was acting lovesick and calf-eyed again. But at this moment, she cared not a whit.

When Hawksworth returned, he laid her portmanteau beside her on the bed and extracted the gossamer gown she was supposed to have worn for her wedding night with Judson, one of several he had dared to purchase for her.

Hawk’s brow rose as he regarded it, then he set it aside and extracted the wrap that went with it. When he was finished, he lifted her foot to his knee, removing first one cream kid slipper, then the other.

As if she floated outside her body, and watched from afar, Alexandra wondered what or who had taken over her more sensible self and why she was letting it happen. But the only answer that came was love, or lovesickness, as she thought.