A Reckless Beauty (8 page)

“And you have?” she asked him, blinking back tears as she looked into his beautiful face. His kind eyes. Didn’t he know that he was her world?

“I’ve been to London. Twice,” he pointed out, avoiding her eyes. “All right, I grant you, only for a few days each time. But at least I’ve been out of Romney Marsh, seen that there is a world out there—out here. You only know us, Fanny. You can’t know what you want.
Who
you want.”

“I want you to come home, Rian,” she said brokenly, a single huge tear spilling down her cheek. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t bear to lose you.”

“Ah, Fanny-panny,” Rian said, gathering her close against his chest. “I’m coming home. Just as soon as we send those Frenchies to hell. I promise.”

“Lieutenant Becket? Perhaps I misunderstood. Weren’t you ordered to ride to La Haye Sainte and bring word from our forward parties reporting there?”

“Yes, my lord,” Rian said, putting his hands on Fanny’s arms and gently pushing her away from him. “It’s just that…my sister—I’m on my way, sir!”

“Oh, no, Lieutenant,” the Earl of Brede drawled. “There’s no need to rush off. I’m sure his grace will understand any delay. Why, I’m convinced your sister will be more than happy to explain to the man that it’s more important for the two of you to have a lovely coze out here in the sunlight than it is to bring him his information.”

Fanny turned about, swiping at her moist eyes as she glared up at him, once against clad in his filthy gray clothes. “Oh, cut line, my lord. Anyone would think you’re in love with the sound of your own voice.”

“Fanny! My lord, I must apologize—”

Fanny whirled on him. “I can speak for myself, Rian,” she told him warningly.

“Yes, you can,” he shot back at her. “And you do, don’t you? Even when any sane person would know to shut her mouth.” Rian sighed, caught between anger and a grudging respect for his sister’s tenacity. “Please, Fanny, be good. I know you can, if you apply yourself.” He bent and kissed her cheek, hugged her against him for a moment, and then bowed to the Earl and mounted Jupiter. “Behave yourself. For me, Fanny,” he said quietly, looking down at her, and then he turned the horse and walked him toward the southern perimeter of the camp.

Fanny watched him go, wondering when she’d see him again, and then straightened her shoulders, feeling as if the Earl of Brede was boring a hole in the center of her back with those strange hazel eyes of his. She began counting, wondering how long it would take before he gave in to his own meanness and said something cutting to her.

“He’s as safe as I could get him, Fanny,” Brede said after a moment, his tone kind and sympathetic. “But, like all of us in these next days and weeks, nothing can be certain. I’m sorry.”

She kept her back to him as she nodded, biting her bottom lip to hold back a sob. He was being nice to her. How dare he? She was angry with the Earl, angry with her brother. Men were so stupid, finding joy in risking their lives.

“I know,” she said at last, turning to face him, her eyes dry. “He’s so happy. How dare he be so happy?”

Brede smiled, shook his head. “He’s young.”

“He’s six and twenty, old enough to know that war is not a game. After what we’ve—” She closed her mouth with a snap, knowing she’d been about to say
after what we’ve seen.
“Rian said he saw a hole in that atrocious cloak of yours. Was he correct?”

“There is?” Brede slipped the cloak from his shoulders and held it up in front of him. “Well, fancy that. And your brother would be incorrect. There appear to be two holes in this atrocious cloak of mine. The French are notoriously bad shots, thank God.”

Fanny looked past the cloak, to the man. Who was smiling!

“You’re all alike,” she all but spat at him, her frustration rising up to nearly choke her with its fury. “And you all
disgust
me.”

She picked up her skirts and ran down the long hill, straight to where Lucie’s carriage was surrounded by eager young men in their scarlet uniforms.

Fanny tugged at elbows and stepped on toes, fighting her way through to the low door, pulling it open and plopping herself down next to Lucie, crowding her terribly. “We can leave now, Lucie,” she said, her gaze concentrated on the blue sky filled with small white clouds—a beautiful summer day. The sky didn’t know what it and the sun and the stars would be looking down on in a few days or weeks. The blood, the carnage. The
waste.

“Oh, but don’t be silly, Fanny,” Lucie said, fanning herself as Frances held the parasol over her mistress’s head, “I’m having a most delightful time!”

“How
delightful
would this time be if I were to stand up in this carriage and begin screaming?” Fanny threatened, her voice low. “Obscenities. I believe I’d like to scream obscenities. I’ve never done it before, but I do know some
extremely
vile words. Shocking words.”

Lucie looked at Fanny’s chalk-white face. Looked at the dashing Captain of the Guards, who was in the middle of asking her to reserve a dance for him at Lady Richmond’s ball. Looked to Fanny. To the Captain of the Guards.

“Oh, my stars! Driver!” she called out just as Fanny opened her mouth, took a deep breath. “Take us home!”

T
HE
E
ARL OF
B
REDE
found Fanny in the small garden tucked behind the house his sister had rented at her own expense rather than being “forced to cohabitate with
you,
Valentine, you
bear.
”

Fanny didn’t hear his footsteps, but just sat on an uncomfortable-looking iron bench, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, looking up intently at the star-dotted sky.

Her profile was amazing, her chin cut so cleanly, proudly, above her long, slender neck, her straight nose lending her the profile of some ancient Greek goddess. Even her butchered hair had been salvaged by some genius with a scissors, and had been pulled back severely from her forehead, a mass of fat curls secured at her nape, all of it shining almost silver in the moonlight.

She was so very young, so obviously pure. Clearly outside his touch. He could only destroy that innocence, dampen that glorious, courageous spirit. She was youth and beauty; he felt as old as time itself.

She didn’t fear him, wasn’t cowed by him, dared to stand toe-to-toe with him, give as good as she got. She didn’t simper, but he was sure she would, if it suited her purposes. She’d risk most anything to get what she wanted, what she believed necessary to her.

He could dismiss her as a child, if it weren’t for those deep green eyes of hers, century-old eyes that peered from that young, pure face. Those eyes were full of mystery, full of knowledge, bright with intelligence. And yet shadowed. Eyes that had seen bad things, and recognized what was going on around her now as if she had somehow experienced it all before. Or at least the pain of it.

As if, like him, she had seen war, knew the consequences.

Which, of course, was ridiculous.

Her brother’s eyes held no such shadows. Rian Becket was a young man like so many young men, primed and eager for excitement, for adventure…for cannon fodder. He’d seen young men like Rian before, hot and ready on the eve of a battle, recognized his younger self in them. He ached for them, longed to shake them, make them realize that the glory they sought to clasp tight in their hands would only sift through their fingers, like ashes gathered from a funeral pyre.

Fanny Becket seemed to already know that. How, Valentine did not know. He’d think it was a matter of her sex, that all females recognized the horror of war, but then what would explain his sister, and all the women gathered here in Brussels, laughing, dancing, eager for excitement?

No, Fanny wasn’t like those women.

She lifted her slim shoulders, let out her breath on a sigh. Valentine stepped closer, almost involuntarily, thinking to comfort her. But he’d already tried that, earlier, at the Duke’s headquarters, and been rebuffed for his show of sympathy. Fanny Becket, he believed, did not care to be considered an object of pity. His most especially.

“Ah, there you are,” he said jovially, watching her body jump slightly as he interrupted her quiet contemplation. “Lucille told me I might find you here. Plotting another escape, are you?”

Fanny turned on the bench to see the Earl clad once more in well-fitting evening clothes, his overlong sandy hair combed severely back from his face, that face wearing one of his mocking half smiles. He wore civilized clothes, but he was far from civilized, no matter his fine manners.

She wondered how he would look in an unguarded moment. Except the man seemed always on his guard, whether dressed in the height of fashion or like a ragman, a vagabond.

“I didn’t escape this afternoon, my lord,” she told him tightly. “I merely…rearranged my location. And only so that I could see Rian, who couldn’t come to me.”

“Really? Is he wearing a leg shackle I missed? All of Wellington’s staff have town privileges in the evenings. I know this because they clog up every fine restaurant and then crowd the dance floors at every ridiculous party.”

Fanny averted her eyes for a moment, so her hurt wouldn’t show in them, before glaring up at him. “Rian didn’t know where I am, that I’ve moved to your sister’s house.”

“Yes, and I tarried behind that move long enough to cut out Wiggins’s tongue, so that he couldn’t give your brother Lucille’s direction.”

“Why?” Fanny asked, unable to resist his taunt. “Why must you point out that Rian doesn’t want to see me? Does it delight you somehow? He’s made it obvious enough, himself.”

Valentine indicated the space beside her and, at her grudging nod, split his coattails and sat down on the hard bench. “Because, dear girl, you don’t
listen
to the boy. He’s caught up in his own dream at the moment, and has no time to think about anything but the moment he’s in, and then the next moment after that. Don’t distract him, Fanny. He needs to be doing just as he’s doing.”

Fanny nodded, her heart still aching. “I know that. A part of me knows that. But I keep thinking of things I want to tell him. To keep his head down. To be sure Jupiter is properly shod. To sleep when he can and eat well whenever possible. To not let his socks become damp. To remember that…that people love him.”

Valentine rubbed a hand back and forth across his mouth, a thought that had struck him longing to be said, even as he knew he shouldn’t say it. But the urge was too strong. “Your brother is a lucky young man. A lifetime ago, when I left for the Peninsula, my father spared a moment from reading his newspaper to tell me to, for God’s sake, not disgrace the family escutcheon.”

Fanny impulsively laid a hand on his arm. “Perhaps…perhaps he didn’t know what else to say?”

“Perhaps,” Valentine told her, very aware of the slight pressure of her hand. “He died while I was gone, so I have no way of knowing.” He smiled once more. “Although I am fairly certain a fatted calf wouldn’t have been butchered for my return. A very proper man, my late father. I was a sad disappointment to him, choosing to serve the way I did—anonymously—rather than openly leading men into battle. He called me furtive, and that wasn’t a compliment.”

Fanny spoke without thinking. “Goodness, Brede. If you were a sad disappointment to the man’s sense of consequence, what was Lucie? The final nail in his coffin?”

Valentine looked at her for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then he threw back his head and laughed out loud. “My God, I never thought about that. Lucie was still in the nursery when he died. If she ever got to slip her feet beneath the family dining table and actually
speak
to the man, he probably would have had an apoplexy. A mind filled with feathers—that’s what he’d say about females like poor Lucille. And, bless her, not without reason in her case, I suppose.”

“But you love her,” Fanny said, retracting her hand. He had such a nice smile, one that lit up his eyes. And his laugh was deep and unaffected, although perhaps a bit rusty, as if he didn’t laugh often. “She told me how good you are to her. Giving her a quarterly allowance, maintaining her estate and house in London.”

“That’s only to be expected,” Valentine said, unconsciously rubbing at his forearm, missing her casual touch. “She is my sister, and her husband left her not only penniless but deeply in debt. I could hardly have her locked up for debt, dropping a basket down through the bars of her cell, angling for farthings from passersby on the street.”

Fanny hid a smile. “Yes. That would be bad for
your
consequence. And she’d probably lose her grip on the string and hit some poor innocent on the head with the basket, and end up being hanged for murder. Considering all the possibilities, I suppose you did the only possible thing to protect yourself, and can’t be credited at all.”

“Exactly,” Valentine said, more than willing to add to the nonsense. “It was completely a selfish decision, as are all my decisions.”

“Including helping Rian and me?”

He looked at her sharply. “I owed Jack a favor. In fact, I owe him my life, twice over, for services he did me years ago on the Peninsula when I was discovered somewhere I should not have been. However, when I consider what I have endured these past days, and what I surely will endure until I can get you home to your Romney Marsh, I believe the two of us are now even.”

“I haven’t been that much of a problem to you,” Fanny told him, her temper rising. “And my father will repay you for any expenses you incurred.
You
were the one who wrote to Jack to say that you’re my
guardian
now, that I’m your ward. Which is just the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t need a guardian. I didn’t need a guardian to get myself here, now did I?”

Valentine shifted on the bench so that he was facing her. “No, you didn’t. What you needed, Fanny, was a
keeper
to make sure you didn’t get yourself here. But,” he said, raising a hand to keep her from responding, “now that you’re here, we’ll make the best of things. Lucille outdid herself, you know. You look more than presentable, and I’ll be proud to escort you to Lady Richmond’s ball tomorrow night.”

“Yes? Well, I’m not going,” Fanny said, turning to face him, their bodies now only inches apart. “If Rian doesn’t want to see me, I most certainly am not going to
impose
myself on him.”

“Really? And here I had just begun to convince myself that you aren’t a child.”

Fanny’s palm itched to slap his smiling face. “No wonder Lucie hides from you whenever possible.”

“She hid well enough to elope with Whalley,” he told her. “And lived to regret it. Don’t live to regret not seeing Rian when you could. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you tomorrow night. He would not be delighted to see you chasing him down at Wellington’s headquarters again. You do appreciate the difference, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I won’t drive out there again, I promise.” Having apologized, which hurt tremendously, Fanny then changed the subject. “You saw the French today?”

“Early this morning, yes,” he told her, then debated with himself for a moment, deciding to tell her the rest. “They’re still some distance away, but moving faster than anyone would suppose, I’m afraid. We’ve sent word to Blücher that a forced march might be necessary if he’s to get his troops here in time.”

“For the battle,” Fanny said, making things clear in her mind. “So it will come soon? You’d said weeks, didn’t you?”

“Days or weeks,” Valentine reminded her. “Our Russian and Austrian allies will never arrive in time to do more than either congratulate us or bury us, and we can only pray the Prussians will be faster. Fanny, I want you to promise me something.”

He was looking at her so intently, seemed to be measuring her. “I will, if I can,” she told him, hoping only to ease the worry evident in his eyes.

He smiled. “Now, there’s a woman’s answer. Very well. If, and I’m not saying this will happen, if you hear cannonfire, if the battle comes that close to the city, I want you to take Lucille and head straight to Wiggins. He already knows what to do.”

Fanny moistened her lips, wishing her mouth hadn’t suddenly gone dry. “And what does Wiggins know to do?”

“Get you and Lucille the hell out of Brussels, to my yacht moored at Ostend, and back to England.”

“No.”

“Fanny,” Valentine said dangerously, taking her hands in his. “Rian needs to know you’re safe. If things go badly, he needs to be able to concentrate on himself, on his orders, and not be worried that his sister could become a casualty, or a prisoner of the French. I need to know that, too.”

“About Lucie. Yes, I understand that. But Wiggins will take care of her, surely. You said he knows what to do.”

“Not just Lucille,” he said, squeezing her fingers in his. “You’re also my responsibility, remember?”

“I didn’t ask to be,” she told him, attempting to free herself from his grasp. “And I can take care of myself.”

“No,” Valentine said, his eyes searching her face. “That’s not good enough. I need your promise.”

“And you’re not getting it!” Fanny pulled free of his grip and got to her feet, her back turned to him. “Besides, Wellington will be victorious. He’s always victorious. That’s what he does. He’ll send Bonaparte scurrying back to France, his tail between his legs.”

Valentine got to his feet slowly, feeling every bit of the day and night he’d spent in the saddle, not once but twice having to push Shadow into a hard gallop to avoid French patrols. “Murat has come to Bonaparte, and Ney, both of them brilliant generals who also know that to fail will be to be tried and executed by the Alliance. He’s got most of his Old Guard, men well-seasoned, obedient and more than competent. We’ve got a hastily assembled army lacking some of Wellington’s finest and most trusted aides, and the Russians and Austrians still on the march, nowhere near to close enough to join us. Wellington has hunted on this land, but has never fought on it. The advantages are all in Bonaparte’s favor.”

She whirled to face him, saying accusingly, “You think we’re going to lose.”

“No, Fanny, I’m considering the consequences of losing, even as I work and pray for victory. So is Wellington. And the damnable thing is, he also has to think of all his countrymen and women who have come to Brussels thinking they’ll be part of some grand spectacle. God, the man has been hosting balls every week, deliberately keeping his tone light, confident, as we pray for more time. If he has to manage a retreat, it will be with coaches and wagons filled with those men and women clogging the road in front of him, hindering that retreat. To be trapped here, in this city, protecting those who couldn’t flee in time, would lead to the worst fighting, the most casualties, the greatest danger.”

“I…I didn’t think of that.” She lifted her chin. “But we’ll win. I know we will.”

“So speaks youth. And you condemn your brother for his eagerness to fight? Fanny, promise me. I’m not ordering you, I’m asking you. If you sense things going badly for us, take Lucie and go to Wiggins.”

Fanny looked down at the bricks at her feet, blinking back tears. Then she lifted her head and looked straight into Valentine’s eyes. Those steady, weary, mesmerizing eyes. “Yes. I’ll take Lucie to Wiggins. I promise.”

She was being qualified in her promise, and he knew it. But he also knew she wouldn’t give another inch. When the time came, if the time came, he would only have to hope that she’d finally see the sense of his command.