The Mercenary Major (25 page)

“Jack must be told of his inheritance,” she said to her brother.

Reluctant to the last, Dorward admitted grudgingly that Helen’s father had settled an estate of some four thousand pounds a year on her and her heirs in spite of her elopement with Tom Amberly.

“Famous, Jack,” said Reg. “Now you can get a rig of your own.”

“Or a wife,” said Bertram.

Jack cast a sharp glance at Victoria. It was plain he remembered her words in the churchyard earlier.

Other congratulations followed, keeping them all laughing while tea and cakes were consumed.

There was a general stir as cups were refilled and plates replenished, and somehow Edward Carr came to stand beside Letty. When talk had subsided once again, he claimed the attention of the whole gathering, declaring that he and Letty had an announcement to make, too.

Letty looked up at him, her light-blue eyes dancing.

“Victoria,” said her father, “Lady Letitia has agreed to become my wife. I hope you and all the Favertons will wish us well.”

Victoria rose and went to them, giving each a hug. It was odd how so much happiness could leave her hungry for still more. She glanced at Jack, and received in return a scorching look that made her stomach take a sudden dip. He took a step in her direction.

Just then Briggs appeared, coming up to Letty and informing her, “His lordship the mayor is downstairs and a Mr. Wallen with him. They are wishing to talk with the major.”

Jack and Bertram exchanged a grim look.

“Do you need me, Bandit?” Bertram asked.

Jack shook his head. “Let me see what they want first.”

“What’s this? What’s this?” asked the earl. “Shouldn’t we all go? Show of support for the boy?”

‘Thanks,
Uncle
,” said Jack, “but I think I can satisfy these gentlemen soon enough.” He cast Victoria a reassuring glance.

“Tell them the major is coming, Briggs,” said Letty.

The hall outside Victoria’s room was cold and dark. Jack felt the gooseflesh rise on his bare arms. He reached for the knob and turned it slowly. She had not locked her door. He grinned as it swung open to his touch. He stepped inside. There was a faint red line in the grate where the banked coals gave off a bit of heat, but not the heat he needed.

He moved silently toward the bed. At its head he gazed at the figure wrapped in counterpane and sheets and spoke her name. “Victoria.”

She stirred, and he sensed the moment she came fully awake and saw his shadowy form in the dark. “Jack?”

“You did not lock your door,” he answered, his voice already roughened from being near her.

The covers rustled, and he sensed her sitting up. “Did you satisfy the Lord Mayor? Did Hengrave get away? Do you want to talk?”

“Yes,” he said to everything.

“There’s a lamp on the table just by the bed,” she told him. “I . . . I will get my wrapper.” The tone of the last remark suggested a belated recognition of the impropriety of the moment.

“No,” he said, mastering his voice as best he could. That silly wrapper would be useless. He put out a hand, found her shoulder, and pushed her back. “I’m cold, and I want to warm myself in your bed.”

There was a silence, in which his breathing, already disturbed, was the loudest sound.

“Are you decent?” she asked.

“As decent as I ever was, but more to the point, I have breeches on. My toes are cold though.” They were, too. “I’ll stay under the counterpane but not the sheets, if you think that’s wiser,” he added.

“There is very little wisdom in your being here at all,” she said firmly.

“None,” he agreed. “But you came to my room.”

Again he heard her movements in the dark.

“There,” she said, “I’ve made a spot for you.”

He lifted the counterpane and climbed up onto the bed, settling himself on his left side facing her. The pillow was sweet with the scent of her, and the sheets under him were warm. He imagined she was cold now, having moved to the other side of the bed.

“Come here,” he said, reaching out and finding her hand and pulling her closer to him. “You’ll be too cold over there.”

She yielded but a few inches. “Why have you come?” she asked warily.

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” he said. The truth.

He heard the little catch in her breath and felt her stiffen.

“Did you get Hengrave off safely?” She had assumed a matter-of-fact tone.

He thought about running his hand down her side and decided it was better to wait a bit. “Yes. The sergeant sails with the tide for the Indies with the
condesa
.”

“The
condesa
?”

“She had been stealing from Lonville, among others, and he had grown suspicious.” His heiress was thinking, he could tell.

“Is she really a countess?”

“No.”

“Your paramour?”

“When I was sixteen,” he admitted. “We picked pockets together in Madrid. I rescued her from rape.” He was fairly certain his heiress would accept him knowing the whole truth of his past, but it was not easy to let her think about that particular revelation.

“Will poor Hengrave be safe with her?”

“He believes he is doing me and all of London a great favor by taking her away, and that helps his pride.”

“You seem to have solved your dilemmas rather neatly,” she said with some asperity. “Were you as successful with the Lord Mayor?”

“Wallen overheard most of what went on in his shop. He regards me and Gilling and Bertram as the ones who turned the riot from his doors. His neighbor Beckwith was not so lucky. They broke in there and shot a man.”

She was silent a moment, remembering, he thought. “Then you’re staying?”

“Yes.” She was at ease now, comfortable with him beside her in the bed, and he had to touch her. He stretched out his right hand and found her waist and pulled. This time her body came up against his without resistance.

But her mind was still holding off. “What will you do now?”

“There’s a question.” He threaded his fingers through the loose hair at the side of her face. “You’ve destroyed the Bandit.”

“Destroyed him?”

“He was a fellow who lived by strict rules,” he explained. “And I’ve broken every one of them for you.”

“What rules . . .”

He traced her brows, her cheeks, and her lips with his fingertips.
“Know when to run
. I should have run that first day when I saw you leap from Reg’s rig.”

“But you did not.” His touch had brought a low roughness to her voice.

“Fool that I am. And I should have remembered
Don’t want what you can’t have
, but I kept wanting my heiress anyway.”

“Now you can have her, can’t you?” Her hand came up and lightly touched his face, and heat flashed through him.

He slid his hand down her side to her waist and pulled her closer still. “Only if I take what I haven’t earned. Isn’t that what you suspected I was out to do, to win a fortune from the Favertons by imposture, by being the Mercenary Major?”

“He never existed, and no one will think you mercenary if you marry a woman whose fortune is a match for your own.”

He liked the way his heiress came to his defense. “Still, a man needs a career.”

“What are you thinking of?”

“I think I’d like to be Lord Mayor of London.”

“What?”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He rolled them over, pinning her under him with only the tangled covers between them. He felt the instant stiffening of her frame. He held himself still in spite of his body’s urgent message to move against her.

“This is where I want to be,” he said quietly. “Marry me.” He gave in to the need to kiss her fully, and her lips opened under his. For a few minutes he was lost.

“If I promise to marry you,” she said, “are you going to leave my bed tonight?”

He grinned. His heiress—steel and smoke.

When he did not answer, she said, “You’re grinning,” and her hand came up and traced the pucker in his cheek.

“How soon?” he asked. And it seemed to him a long time before she answered.

“How long can you wait?”

He kissed her for answer, and then he had to touch her, and finally he had to wrench himself away. The floor was icy under his feet as he stood collecting himself in the dark. He crossed to the hall door.

“Till the day after Christmas,” he told her. “Till then, my love, keep your door locked.”

Thank you for reading

We invite you to share your thoughts and reactions