One Night with the Major Read online

  ‘I see I have your attention.’

  More than his attention. His mouth was dry, his pulse was racing. ‘You don’t play fair, Pavia Lithgow.’ Cam advanced on the bed, already ripping his cravat loose, already pulling off his boots, pulling the tails of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, clothes littering the floor in the wake of his progress. He was naked by the time he reached the bed, his body on fire for her by the time he raised himself up over her, his arms bracketing her head, their corded muscles taut. ‘I meant to seduce you, but you have quite undone me.’

  ‘I play hard for what I want, fair or otherwise, and tonight that’s you.’ Pavia licked her lips in sensual invitation. ‘In bed,’ she whispered, the husk of her voice transforming the words they’d laughed over in the gig to something more seductive, more powerful.

  Gone were any thoughts of a slow seduction. He wanted her now. He moved to take her and her legs snapped shut, barring him entrance. ‘Pavia.’ His voice was a frustrated rasp of confusion. He groaned—too late he saw the price for pleasure tonight.

  She soothed him, a finger at his lips, her eyes hot on him. ‘I want nothing between us, Cam. Not secrets, not people. Promise me that.’

  He would promise her anything in those moments in order to have what she promised with her body, her touch. Her fingers caressed his jaw. ‘Let tonight be a new start for us, Cam, with nothing between us.’

  ‘Yes.’ He breathed, at the end of his leash. Wasn’t this what Conall had told him to pursue, wasn’t this the way to happiness? Why hold back? Why not give her all she asked for? He kissed her hard, trapping her wrists in his grasp, stretching her arms over her head until she wriggled beneath him, wet and hot and eager. Only then did he come into her, giving them both the release they sought: release from want, from need, from the pressures of the world around them and the pressures they created. As she climaxed beneath him, Cam’s one thought was ‘it’s over, the fight is behind us’. They’d found their way back, or perhaps down a new path altogether.

  Cam kissed her hair, drawing her close. ‘I missed this last night. You don’t know how many times I nearly climbed those stairs, ready to beg, ready to do anything to have you beside me again.’

  She laughed softly, her breath feathering across his skin. ‘I might have met you on those steps. I nearly came down. Once I even got to the door. But each time, I turned back. What would I say when I got there? I didn’t want to say I was sorry. I didn’t want to say I was wrong.’

  ‘Yes, you made that clear in the gig on the way home.’ Cam chuckled. ‘We will learn how to deal with one another and we will find our way, Pavia.’

  She sighed against him. ‘That’s what Sofia said today. She said marriages were built year by year, that we couldn’t expect perfection all at once.’ He heard her hesitate. ‘I was thinking today, if the baby was a boy, perhaps you’d like to name him Fortis?’

  The offer touched him. His hand stilled where it played with her hair. This was her olive branch, her request to be let in to the things that were important to him. This was his chance to keep the promise he’d made her a half an hour ago. He had not thought to have his word tested so soon. Perhaps he’d even hoped that promise would be forgotten or that it would manifest in a different way. ‘Perhaps as a second name.’

  Pavia raised herself up on an elbow beside him. ‘Did you have something else in mind for a first name?’ She traced a light circle around his nipple, made it stiffen excitedly. He would want her again soon at this rate. And then he’d be at her mercy once more. His temptress would extract another impossible promise from him. Cam sighed. An insatiable wife was not an onerous problem to have.

  ‘No, I hadn’t thought of names yet. I thought it was bad luck to think about names too soon. Besides, it might be a girl,’ he teased.

  ‘Why not Fortis for a boy?’ His wife was not only insatiable, but relentless, too. ‘He would love the story of his name and how he was named for his father’s best friend, a brave man who died in service for his country. A boy needs heroes.’

  He could hear Conall’s voice in his head. This was the moment of truth. If he meant to commit to this marriage, to this woman, he had to let her in. Secrets would beget more secrets, more fights, until the path back to who they wanted to be was choked with thorns of resentment. ‘It would hurt too much. It would be too vibrant a reminder.’

  ‘You can’t forget your friendship. You can’t pretend it never existed just because he’s gone.’ Pavia’s brow furrowed, misunderstanding.

  ‘That’s not it. Every time I looked at the boy, I would have to acknowledge how I failed to save my friend.’

  ‘Oh.’ Pavia sat up, her hair falling forward, shielding her face from him. ‘Were you supposed to save him?’

  ‘Conall and I have always been the level-headed ones in our foursome. Fortis and Sutton, they’ve always been adventurous, shall we say, in their own ways.’ Cam sighed and put his hands behind his head, looking straight up at the ceiling as if he could see through it right into the past. ‘Fortis was a grand soldier, a brave one, that’s all true. But he was a reckless one and he was reckless that day at Balaclava.’ He’d not told anyone this. Not Cowden, not Conall. He’d not wanted to pollute their memories. They should remember Fortis at his best.

  ‘He’d ridden past the Russian lines. We were deep in enemy territory, far too deep for good sense, but Fortis would not turn back. By the time it became imperative, it also became impossible. The Russians turned the cannons on friend and foe alike. We were slaughtered, cut down.’ Pavia’s fingers laced through his own and he knew he had to finish it. ‘I saw him fall, but we never found his body.’

  This was the hard part. He recounted for her in halting half-sentences, the dark horrors of combing a battlefield after fighting. ‘You want to find the body because it completes your task. You can go back to your tent, eat your dinner, sleep knowing your mission is accomplished. And yet, it’s a task that you don’t want to complete. Each body you turn over you hope it’s not your friend. Too often it is. I was looking for Fortis, but to find him I had to find too many of our brigade, all of them slaughtered.’ Cam felt his throat close up, the words choking his throat as images of those bodies choked his mind. ‘Men I drank with the night before, men who had saddled up next to me hours before, laughing and joking. We had wagers on as to whether or not we’d see any action. The Commander, Lord Raglan, had not used the cavalry in previous engagements. One man remarked that we were in the safest position the British army could offer. That turned out to be far from the truth.’

  ‘Did you find him?’ Pavia’s question brought him back from those memories. Too many friends had fallen that day.

  ‘No.’ He heard Pavia’s breath catch in anticipation. ‘I did not find him that day, or the days after, or the months after. I searched all the British field hospitals, I asked for permission to search the Russian hospitals. I made enquires at the Russian forts, thinking he’d been taken prisoner. Officers make for good ransom and his father is a duke even if he is, was, a third son. But there was nothing. I searched the countryside, I made forays on my own. Nothing but a few false leads and oh, how my hope would surge in those days only to plummet again when the trail proved cold. He was gone and I couldn’t even mourn him, couldn’t even bring his body back to England for a family burial.’

  ‘Oh, Cam. How horrible for you.’

  He drew a deep breath, for the rest of it, the worst of it. ‘Yes, so horrible I nearly killed myself.’ He saw her thoughts so clearly on her face. She thought he’d exhausted himself with his efforts. The only thing he’d exhausted was his sanity. ‘On purpose. With my service revolver,’ he added bluntly. ‘I was an embarrassment to the army so they sent me home under the guise of telling Fortis’s family the news.’ He waited for her to withdraw her hand. When she did not, he pressed for a verdict. ‘Are you horrified beyond words? Your husband tried to commit su
icide.’ He was supposed to be strong, but he’d been so very weak when it came to his grief.

  ‘No—oh, no. If I am silent it’s because I am horrified you were forced to bear that burden alone. But it’s not just that.’ She squeezed his hand, refusing to let go. ‘The hopelessness and despair you must have felt is the true horror. I cannot imagine the darkness of that pit, Cam. I don’t think many men could survive it—that you did is nothing short of miraculous.’

  Something akin to relief swamped him. At last, someone understood, someone could give words to what he’d felt, feelings even he hadn’t been able to accurately name. But Pavia had. That this someone was his wife nearly moved him to tears. But Pavia wasn’t done. He could hear her thinking, breathing in the darkness. Her hand was cool on his brow. ‘You haven’t stopped looking, have you? Those letters you send, they’re to contacts in the military.’

  ‘Some are about Fortis, yes. But there’s been no news and news is slow this far away from the Crimea.’ He hated his weakness. He could hear the ridiculous hope in his voice.

  ‘It is all right to hope, Cam.’ She kissed him softly. ‘You never have to be alone again. I need you to know that. I am here. I am beside you in all ways and through all things. You can believe in me.’

  Her words undid him. When had anyone ever offered to be his partner? Emotionally? Physically? Not even Fortis had offered that. He and Fortis, like most men, kept their emotions hidden even from each other, best friends. Once again, she overwhelmed him, this woman whom he had not meant to love. His throat tightened, his own words failed him, but his body answered, rousing past his sorrow and fears. He took his wife beneath him, his gaze holding hers, as if he could see into the very goodness of her soul. What had he done to earn such an incredible woman?

  ‘What are you thinking, Cam?’

  ‘I’m thinking I should tell you my secrets more often.’

  ‘Yes.’ She pulled him close for a kiss. ‘You definitely should.’

  * * *

  Cam surprised her at breakfast by announcing he was staying home for the day. ‘I thought you might want to have a garden space like Sofia’s, a place where you could sew and the baby could play on hot days. There’s a patch of shade beneath the tree in the back that would work. There’s an old bench in the hayloft I could repair.’

  Pavia smiled, not only because of the offer, but because the man making it wanted so desperately to please her. ‘That would be lovely. I can help you weed.’ They could spend the day together, working on a project like they had during their honeymoon. She would have raked muck if it meant they were together.

  Cam gave her a questioning look. ‘Should you be doing such work in your condition? Promise me you’ll stop if you get tired.’

  ‘I promise. I’ll sit in the sun and watch you slave away.’ Pavia laughed. Life was good this morning. She felt as if she and Cam had turned a corner. Their quarrel had passed, but that wasn’t truly it. Her real joy came from knowing he had shared with her, opened himself to her in a way he had not before. She understood who he wrote to and why. It was not just facts he’d shared with her last night, but his heart. She understood, as well, the dilemma facing him as August loomed on the calendar, one final hurdle for them to overcome. Would Cam choose her and the baby over the military, his career, his men and the search for his friend? If he chose the latter, how could she begrudge him that choice after all he’d endured?

  She didn’t envy him the decision. She knew how she wanted him to decide. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him safe, with her. But the cost would be high for them both. She might resent that decision some day and so would he. He would hate her for taking him away from his friend. What if Fortis was still out there? Lost? Hurt? Needing Cam? But she needed Cam, too.

  Pavia pushed back from the dining table and stood. Perhaps too fast. A sharp twinge caused her to flinch. She put a hand to her back and stretched to alleviate it.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cam shot her a worried glance.

  ‘I’m fine. I think I slept wrong on my back last night. It feels a little tight. Let me get an apron and I’ll meet you by the tree.’ She smiled, this time to assure him.

  They spent a pleasant morning weeding the patch of grass and clearing away stones. Cam used the stones to make a border around their little space. Mrs Bran brought out lunch and they made a picnic of it on an old blanket, Cam’s head in her lap as she fed him apple slices. ‘This reminds me of our picnic in the fairy glen.’ Pavia held an apple slice for him to bite. ‘It seems like ages ago.’

  ‘We should go back, then,’ Cam offered, taking a chomp from the slice. ‘Maybe the day after tomorrow? The garden will be done and the weather’s fair. Meanwhile, you can take the afternoon off. There’s not much more you can do. I’m going to drag out the bench and work on it.’

  Usually, she would have protested but she did feel tired. A rest sounded refreshing. ‘If my back wasn’t bothering me, I’d nap out here on the blanket while you worked.’ Pavia stifled a yawn and fed Cam the last piece of apple before he insisted on seeing her upstairs. He helped her out of her skirts and saw her settled on the bed.

  ‘Sleep well, Wife.’ He left her with a kiss and a promise to wake her in two hours. But her nap didn’t last that long.

  * * *

  Mrs Bran knocked on the bedroom door an hour later, dragging her out of sound sleep.

  ‘Mrs Lithgow, you have a guest.’

  A guest? Pavia sat up, thinking quickly. She wasn’t expecting anyone today. Cam would be in the back garden, sweating, perhaps shirtless, and in no condition to receive anyone. Mrs Bran must have deduced that as well. She tried to clear her mind and put her thoughts in order. ‘Put them in the front parlour, I’ll be right there,’ she called out, already rolling out of the bed, her back twinging sharply from the sudden movement. ‘And put on a pot of tea!’

  Pavia dressed in a loose, clean dress of white muslin and hastily repinned her hair. A glance in the mirror confirmed, though, that she still looked as if she’d come straight from bed. Well, so be it. That’s what happened when someone called unannounced. It served them right if she looked abruptly awakened.

  Pavia pasted on a smile and headed downstairs. She could be civil. After all, this was her first guest. She tried to guess who it might be. Letty? One of the ladies from the sewing circle? Betty Danson, perhaps? She was wrong on all accounts. Pavia reached the front parlour and froze. Her guest was not a woman, but a man. A tall, dark-haired man. He rose from the sofa and turned to her; hat in hand, clothes of the first stare of fashion, eyes hard as black diamonds. Dear God, her father was here. For a moment there was elation. If Father was here, Mother would be, too. But she wasn’t. There was only him and that filled Pavia with fear.

  ‘Father, what are you doing here? Where’s Mother?’ An awful thought came to her. ‘Is Mother all right?’ Surely, he hadn’t come to tell her bad news, news so bad it couldn’t be sent in a telegram or so urgent it couldn’t be sent in a letter.

  ‘Your mother’s fine.’ He looked about the little room, refusing to hide his disdain, and she saw the place for the first time through his eyes, the eyes of a man who commanded more wealth than he could spend, a man who never thought twice about waiting for something. He could have it all, the very best, at the snap of his fingers. He would not think much of her faded sofa or the thin carpet, or the worn, but polished, oak chair rail. ‘I came to see if you were fine, if you had tired of playing house in the middle of nowhere with your misbegotten husband. You’ve survived months of this—I’m surprised. It’s nowhere near the opulence you’re used to at your uncle’s court or at home in London.’ His disapproval for her house, for her husband, were evident in his voice.

  ‘We are very happy here,’ Pavia answered tersely. ‘This is our home. It was his great-aunt’s. He has good memories here and we hope to make even more.’

  ‘It’s a cottage,’ he sc
offed. Her father stepped out into the hall and snapped his fingers at a woman hovering by the kitchen. ‘Margaret, make yourself useful and go upstairs. Hurry now.’

  ‘Margaret?’ Pavia followed him out. ‘What’s my maid doing here?’

  ‘I’ve brought her to pack your things, my dear girl. I am taking you home and not a moment too soon from the looks of it.’

  ‘I am married, Father. I belong with my husband. What about the baby?’ She rested her hand on the tiny swell at her waist, wishing it was larger. ‘I need my husband. There will be talk if we’re living apart.’ Her father hated scandal more than anything, except perhaps a woman with an opinion.

  ‘No one will notice, least of all your husband. I think he’ll be glad enough to forget you. We have it all worked out, the Earl and I.’

  ‘The Earl?’ Pavia gripped the door frame for support against the words and against the pain in her back. It was worse now and on the move, to her hips, her waist.

  ‘Yes. You will go to India and have the baby there. You can spend a few years in your uncle’s court, just as you like. You’ve talked of nothing but going back there since we left it. You’ve never made any secret about preferring your uncle’s palace to London. Then you can come back and we’ll try again. You’ll only be twenty-two at most, still young enough to attract the title we want.’

  ‘The title you want. I already have a husband.’ She didn’t like where this was going.

  ‘The Earl and I will have the marriage annulled, declared invalid.’

  He must love saying that—‘the Earl and I’. How long had her father coveted such a relationship with a peer of the realm? And now she’d provided him one, albeit under very different circumstances than either of them had imagined.