The Duke's Defiant Bride (Brides of Mayfair Book 4) Page 5

  “Yes, sir,” Pitt answered.

  Carver turned to look at Lady Blade, his beautiful, fiery prisoner. He was determined to ignore her curvaceous body and the effect it had on him, for his response to her only made him angry with himself. He was a professional soldier. He had faced far more difficult situations than guarding an enemy soldier.

  Although Lady Blade wasn’t like any other prisoner he’d ever met, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “I will not apologize for the accommodations, as you are undoubtedly used to them,” he said, finally. “I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here. The sooner we can get you traded back to the French, the better, for all concerned. I think you can see the wisdom in that.”

  As he spoke those words, he saw the spark of heated challenge in her eyes. She recognized the crackling attraction between them, as well. If she was anything like him, she would not want to be weakened by such an elemental need.

  “Remember, madam,” he warned, “I do not underestimate you. Neither should you underestimate me.”

  After leaving Lieutenant Pitt temporarily in charge of Lady Blade, Carver went to give his report to Major Nye. The spymaster was pleased with Carver’s successful mission.

  He advised Carver to keep Lady Blade under close guard in the camp. A female French prisoner would create much interest amongst the men—some with innocent curiosity, and some with much more malicious intentions.

  Nye was waiting for a dispatch from the field, but advised he would likely have new orders for Carver in the morning.

  Of course, Carver thought to himself, he had to get through the night first. He had a feeling that with the beautiful Lady Blade in his camp, he would not be getting much sleep….

  * * *

  Later, Juliet was freed from her bonds and allowed to visit Etienne in the surgical tent.

  As they walked toward it, she was acutely aware of Captain Adams’ hand on her arm, and the hard strength that emanated from him as he escorted her. She tried to ignore it, yet the heat of his touch seemed to burn through her wool jacket.

  Struggling to restrain her physical awareness of him, she steeled herself as she was led inside, and reeled from the stench of blood and festering wounds that hung in the air. Wounded men lay on the ground, some recuperating, others waiting for attention, all of them staring up at her curiously as she walked by. She kept her face calm as they approached Etienne’s wounded form, laid out under a woollen blanket at the side of the tent. The nurse who had asked for the brandy sat next to him, and she looked up from bathing his face with a cloth.

  “How d’ye do, Captain. Ma’am,” she said, nodding at Juliet. “Come to see this poor soul, have ye?”

  “We have, Susanna. How does he fare?” Adams asked.

  “Oh, the worst is over, to be sure. If we can keep infection from setting in, he’ll come through alright,” she said. “He’ll be weak as a kitten for a bit. But if he’s got a strong constitution, then he should be just fine.” Susanna dipped the cloth and wrung it out again, and wiped his pallid face. “His wife will be pleased he’s on the mend, to be sure.”

  “His wife?” Juliet asked.

  “He kept callin’ for her, so he did,” Susanna explained. “‘Juliet’ he’d say, over and over, and then some things in French, which I didn’t understand.”

  Captain Adams regarded her with an accusing stare. “Major Ganot is your husband?”

  “No—he is not my husband.”

  “Your lover, then?”

  She glared at the Englishman beside her. “Believe what you want, Captain. We are partners in this war, but not in life. There is no more to it than that.”

  “Would you like to sit with him?” Susanna asked. “I could help me father for a few moments.”

  Juliet looked at Captain Adams and waited for him to refuse, but he nodded his head in agreement. “You may look after him, while I look after you, madam.” He leaned back against the edge of a table and folded his arms across his chest.

  She knelt on the ground next to Etienne’s cot as the nurse, Susanna, hurried across the tent to assist her father with more wounded. Juliet dipped the rag in the basin, and wrung out the water, pressing it to Etienne’s cold, sweaty forehead. His hair, which was usually so wild and unruly, lay matted against his head.

  And all the while, Juliet felt the Englishman’s eyes on her as she cared for Etienne. How she wished Captain Adams wasn’t here, watching her every move.

  Etienne groaned.

  “Etienne?” Juliet whispered.

  His head rolled toward her and he peered through the narrow slits of his eyelids. “Juliet?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Etienne,” she replied in French. “You’ve been injured, but the doctor says you will live. It’s important that you rest, and try not to move.”

  “Have they hurt you?” he rasped.

  She forced herself to smile, and squeezed his hand, gently. “Have they hurt me? You should be asking if I’ve hurt them! You know I can take care of myself.”

  He closed his eyes and the edge of his mouth curved up. “I should know better than to worry about you.” He coughed and winced in pain. “My arm hurts like the devil. Tell me those butchers didn’t cut it off.”

  “Do you think I’d let them do that to you?” she demanded. “I’d kill anyone who tried.”

  Etienne gave a weak grin. “So you would. I can always count on you.” He murmured something else unintelligible, then turned his head to the side and slipped back into unconsciousness.

  “Your comrade needs his rest, and we should return to your quarters,” Captain Adams said. “In the meantime, one of my men will stand guard over Major Ganot. He might make a miraculous recovery and try to escape, and Major Nye intends to trade both of you for captured English officers.”

  “Do you really think that’s going to happen?” Juliet asked, standing.

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “I may not be here much longer.”

  “You would leave a wounded comrade behind?” Carver demanded.

  Juliet met his piercing stare. “To carry out my duty, Captain, I would do anything. Even something as deplorable as that.”

  “If that’s true, then you disappoint me, Miss Reed,” he said, finally. “Though we are at war, some things should remain constant, like honor, loyalty, and friendship.”

  “You don’t understand,” she fired back.

  “Oh, but I do,” Captain Adams replied. “I fear, for your sake, it is you who do not understand. If you, like so many others, let this war change who you are—then nobody wins.”

  “Do not be so bold, Captain, to even pretend to know who I am,” Juliet snapped, angrily.

  “I don’t have to pretend, Miss Reed, but it seems that you do.”

  White-hot anger flooded Juliet’s veins, making her almost dizzy with its intensity. She wanted to slap the Englishman for the audacity of his words, but all she could do was stare at him. This infuriating man—wickedly handsome though he was—spoke to her with such naked meaning it rendered her speechless.

  The young nurse returned, bustling her way around Captain Adams, squeezing down beside Juliet and laying her palm on Etienne’s forehead.

  “Me father says he don’t need me right now, ma’am. And Major Nye wants this prisoner kept alive, he says, so I’m to stay with him,” Susanna said.

  Juliet nodded. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of him, miss.”

  “He’s on the mend, mark my words.” The young nurse dabbed Etienne’s forehead.

  Captain Adams indicated that they should leave. Reluctantly, Juliet followed him outside the surgical tent.

  The sky had darkened in subtle layers, soft streaks of plum and grape stretched across the fading yellow sky. Birds chirped their twilight songs in the trees, and soldiers cleaned muskets and sharpened sabres. These were the same sounds that Juliet would hear in the French camp at Algora, only now she was hearing them as a prisoner in an enemy camp. It s
eemed absurd and yet perfectly normal.

  Except that nothing seemed normal anymore, especially since Captain Adams had entered Juliet’s life and upset everything.

  She didn’t understand it. Here she was, obediently walking beside a man who was her enemy, and, for the next little while, would have total control over her.

  Another man once ruled her—the French master spy, Colonel Arnaud. And though Arnaud thought he still controlled Juliet, the truth of the matter was far different. Arnaud believed what Juliet allowed him to believe. That was all. She would seek her revenge upon him when the time was right.

  But this Englishman, Captain Adams, was like no other man she’d ever known.

  He spoke to her as if they were intimately acquainted, and her body responded to him as if they were. In his presence, all of her trusted defences had no effect, and the carefully constructed persona of Lady Blade fell mute inside her.

  That left only her true self, Juliet Reed.

  And Juliet Reed felt an overpowering physical desire for Carver Adams. The woman inside her had suddenly been awakened by this bold English soldier.

  And he desired her, as well. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt the surface of her skin prickle with heat when he came near. If she was smart, Juliet would use Adams’ own masculinity against him to work the oldest trick in the book.

  It was risky, however. For if Juliet attempted to seduce her handsome captor, she might find herself walking into a trap of her own making. She might truly fall for the dangerous English Captain.

  If that happened, Juliet Reed—and her alter ego, Lady Blade—might be lost forever.

  Chapter 6

  They reached the tent, and the darkening sky above revealed tiny, twinkling stars, like diamonds on a blue velvet ball gown.

  Carver glanced at Lady Blade as she stood next to him, her beautiful face illuminated in the firelight of the camp. The warm light made her skin glow, accentuating the curve of her cheekbone and the fullness of her mouth.

  It was just a trick of the light, Carver told himself. The firelight would often play upon the steel of his sword as he polished it in front of his tent, but the next day, the edge was just as sharp.

  Beautiful as she was, Lady Blade was rumored to be a shrewd, merciless killer. He wondered about her past—about what had turned her into one of Napoleon’s most dangerous spies. In another life, she might have been mother to a brood of spirited children, spending her days overseeing their education, running her household, and hosting glittering parties with local nobles.

  Then again, in another life, Carver himself would be home in England, serving as agent for his cousin, the Duke of Hawksmoor, on his sprawling estate. Carver would be building a family of his own. Yet, here he and Lady Blade both were, fighting a war neither of them were likely to escape.

  His mood darkened once again.

  Perhaps it was his own anger at himself as he realized how much he desired this woman. Perhaps it was anger at the war that surrounded them, and would make any liaison between them both dangerous and forbidden.

  “Here are your quarters,” Carver said, his tone harsh and commanding. He glared down at her, trying to instil the fear of God into her. “I warn you, it would be unwise of you to attempt an escape. In that regard, you shall join us by the fire for the time being so I can keep an eye on you. Sit down, there.”

  He took her by the arm and shoved her to a sitting position on the ground.

  Her eyes blazed up at him. “What are you so angry about? Are you afraid of the challenge I present?”

  “If I’m angry, Miss Reed, it’s because of you,” he said. “If you and your party had simply avoided us that first day, you wouldn’t be here right now, and I wouldn’t be saddled with a female prisoner. But you chose to engage us. And now, like it or not, here we are together.”

  “All of this is my fault, is it?” she scoffed.

  “Yes,” he growled. “It is.”

  Juliet glared up at him. “How typical of a man to blame a woman for his own inadequacies, whatever they may be. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been scouting that far north, where you knew you might run into a French contingent. Perhaps you should have stayed out of our way. For believe me, Captain, I would rather be anywhere but sitting here as your prisoner.”

  Carver marveled at the courage of this woman. Her stubborn haughtiness should have been enough to quell his desire for her, but it had the opposite effect.

  As if on cue, Sergeant Hackett arrived, his musket slung over his shoulder. He stopped and saluted Carver as usual, then turned and saluted Lady Blade. “Sergeant William Hackett, ma’am, at your service. Our supper will be arriving directly. Mrs. Madgers will be favorin’ us with some o’ her lovely stew.”

  Hackett was behaving quite formally, for Lady Blade’s benefit. No doubt all of Carver’s men would be. A beautiful new woman in camp would have them all knocking into one another as they craned their necks to see her.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Carver said. “You and I will be guarding the prisoner, tonight.”

  “I would be honored, sir.” Hackett peered more closely at Carver, and asked quietly, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, Sergeant,” Carver snapped. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

  Hackett’s eyebrows raised in slight surprise as he glanced at Carver, and then, Lady Blade. “If you say so,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

  Carver wondered how honored Hackett would feel if Lady Blade tried to escape on their watch. But that was why he wanted Hackett. The man was a crack shot, and always put his duty to the King before anyone or anything.

  Mrs. Madgers appeared from behind a tent, hauling a heavy pot of steaming stew, the hot handle wrapped in someone’s old woollen scarf.

  Hackett came to her assistance, hooking the pot into the iron tripod above the fire.

  “Evening, Mrs. Madgers,” Carver said, trying to push away his dark mood.

  “Evenin’, Captain Adams… Sergeant Hackett,” the woman replied amiably. She crouched down to stir the stew, clutching her plaid shawl around her shoulders. “I’ll ’ave the stew ready in a moment. I knows ye men must be hungry—the lady, too.”

  Hackett proudly made the introductions. “Molly Madgers, may I present Miss Juliet Reed, also known as Lady Blade, of Napoleon Bonaparte’s Imperial Army.”

  “Of Napoleon’s Army?” Molly said, looking impressed. “That’s quite a thing! Pleased to meet ye, my lady.”

  “You don’t have to call me that, Mrs. Madgers,” Juliet replied, offering her hand. “Miss Reed will suffice.”

  “Ye speaks right good English, ma’am,” she remarked. “Don’t sound like a Frenchie at all, to me. But why is she sittin’ on the ground? Bring her a stool, William, at least.”

  Juliet’s haughtiness seemed to diminish in Mrs. Madgers’ presence. The burly Sergeant Hackett, with his easy-going nature and open grin also had a calming effect. He did as Mrs. Madgers suggested and ducked into his own tent, procuring a folding canvas stool for Juliet to sit on while she ate.

  Carver accepted his own bowl of hearty stew, and took a mouthful. He watched Juliet, silently. There was a real, flesh and blood woman lurking beneath the mask she showed the world. That thought, dangerous as it was, intrigued him more than he wanted to admit.

  As a child, one of Carver’s favorite toys was a wooden puzzle box his father had crafted for him. It had taken him a long time to solve the puzzle, but when he did, he found the secret chamber inside, lined with velvet, holding a beautiful stone in the shape of a heart.

  Juliet Reed reminded him of that puzzle box. Though he knew it was a fool’s mission, part of him wanted nothing more than to solve the riddle of this enigmatic spy.

  However, if he allowed himself to become obsessed with her, Carver could be endangering much more than his mission…he could be risking his own, war-torn soul.

  That was something he had never done before, and he had no intention of doing it now. But if that was true, why
did Lady Blade unsettle him as much as she did?

  * * *

  Juliet spun around and around the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers bathing the room in a burnished amber glow. The violins sang, and the dancers turned to the swell of the waltz. The heady perfume of fresh flowers floated in the air, mixing with the scent of wine and brandy.

  Her flowing golden silk skirts billowed around her feet as her partner swung her, as light as a feather, in the steps of the dance. She looked up to see who it was, and saw Etienne’s cobalt-blue eyes smiling down at her in the honey-hued candle light. They whirled around again, but when they stopped twirling, she looked up into heated green eyes.

  But Etienne had blue eyes.

  She looked again, and saw the red jacket, the green eyes, and hair the color of goldenrod in the first weeks of fall.

  Captain Adams looked down at her, his arm circling her waist. He held her close and lowered his head toward hers. She did nothing to stop him. Her stomach fluttered and heat suffused her skin. His face hovered only inches from hers for what seemed an eternity. She was entranced by his raw masculinity, the earthy smell of his skin, the shape of his mouth, and the unmistakeable desire that burned solely for her.

  His gaze held an unsettling intimacy, as if he knew all her secrets with just one look. This was a man she couldn’t fool…. perhaps for once, didn’t want to fool.

  His mouth covered hers, slowly, possessively, and Juliet’s world tilted on its axis.

  Because she wanted him.

  Suddenly, the war became a distant memory. All that mattered now was the passion that burned in her veins, and the fact that she desired this man as she had never desired another.

  He broke the kiss and gazed down at her.

  “Please…,” she whispered.

  She had never begged a man for anything, but Juliet wasn’t asking this man to stop. She was asking him for more.

  Her body jolted awake and she heard her rapid breathing in the empty, dark tent. She sat up and looked about, seeing the familiar glow of a fire outside the canvas walls.