One Night with the Major Page 6

  ‘It seems Wenderly has some competition,’ Cam remarked drily to Sutton from their vantage point at the Countess of Claremont’s Richmond picnic. Caroline and the others in their group had wandered off a short distance to view the river, giving him a few minutes alone with Sutton.

  Pavia and Chatham had wandered off on their own somewhere too, he’d noted, and the thought sent a hard surge of something through him. There were only so many things two people stole away on their own to do. Hot images of their one night swam to the fore followed by a bolt of undeniable jealousy. Had Chatham kissed her yet? Did he, too, know the sensual press of her lips, how she moved her whole body into a kiss? The way her breasts felt pressed against one’s chest? Of course, she’d been naked then, naked for him. Irrationally, he wanted to be the only one she was naked for, the only one she kissed like that.

  ‘And Caroline?’ Sutton asked rather bluntly, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Does she have some competition as well?’

  Cam shot his friend a hard stare. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  Sutton chuckled. ‘It means you haven’t been able to take your eyes off Pavia Honeysett since the Banfields’ ball.’ Sutton cocked his head, considering. ‘Nor she you, I think. She watches you when you’re not looking.’ Sutton plucked an orange from the basket on the blanket and began to peel.

  She watched him? Cam schooled his features into bland neutrality, careful not to give away any reaction as to how that made him feel. A schoolboy exhilaration shot through him. He’d laugh at himself if Sutton wasn’t already doing it for him. He was twenty-eight and a soldier who’d seen the world. He was well past the crushes and infatuations of a green boy, yet here he was, fantasising about a woman he couldn’t have. ‘So, she’s decided to go to the highest bidder?’ Cam asked, definitively forgoing a response to Sutton’s question.

  ‘I think that’s what her father has decided,’ Sutton replied evasively.

  Under other circumstances, Cam would find little to dislike about Chatham. The man was an excellent horseman, a solid marksman who responsibly held his seat in the House of Lords and kept a superior wine cellar. He supposed women found the Marquis attractive in other ways. He was tall and kept a clean, well-tailored appearance. He would, indeed, be an extraordinary catch for a Cit’s daughter. She would be able to vault to the top of society’s rungs with such a marriage.

  ‘She won’t get a higher bid than that.’ Cam couldn’t keep the despondency out of his voice. He couldn’t compete with the Marquis. He’d never before felt any lack in his assets. He had a comfortable income, a small manor house in Little Trull in Somerset, which he never visited, political connections through his grandfather and opportunities to use those connections if he ever left the military. But those assets paled in comparison to what a marquis could offer, even one in financial straits. And yet she looked at him.

  Cam rose from the blanket, feeling suddenly restless. ‘I’m going for a walk.’ He needed space. Perhaps if he had a moment’s privacy he could regain perspective. He felt as if he hadn’t had a moment to breathe on his own since he’d been home. His days and his nights were filled with family and the family’s plans for him. There’d been dinners and parties, and councils with his grandfather and his father, like the one this morning before he’d set out for Richmond, only this time Caroline’s father had been there, too. It had been conducted pleasantly enough. No one was putting his thumbs to the screws. But the message was the same: It was time to make the engagement official. Caroline had waited patiently through three Seasons. It was hinted that she’d even passed on other offers.

  Cam did feel guilt over that. It was not only his future at stake, but hers. He would have a future if he married her or not. Men had choices. Women did not. Caroline was counting on him. He was stealing her best years, her best choices while he deliberately procrastinated on a marriage he didn’t want. If he was any sort of gentleman at all, he’d marry her now or cut her loose in order to give her this Season. Cam prided himself as a man who knew his own mind and acted on it. But he also prided himself on being a man of honour and responsibility. He knew and did his duty. It was something the military had instilled in him as much as his grandfather’s sense of familial loyalty had. Only now, the two were in conflict. To do his duty meant not standing up for himself. But to stand up for himself sacrificed duty and family. It was an untenable situation to be in.

  Cam took long strides into the trees bordering the picnic ground, leaving behind the white canopies on the bluff and the merry sounds of laughter and conversation. There would be silence in the trees. Maybe even solutions. If not solutions, perhaps a chance to accept what must be and come to terms with it. He wouldn’t be the first gentleman to make an arranged marriage. If only it were as simple as logic made it out to be.

  * * *

  The Marquis was the logical choice. He was taken with her, Pavia knew. He was intrigued even. He’d shown himself to be an intelligent man and a sincere one. He might not draw her eye in a room, as Camden Lithgow did, but he was not unattractive and he would fulfil all her father’s requirements. In that, the Marquis of Chatham far outstripped even Lord Wenderly. Not that she’d ever planned on marrying him. Originally, she’d thought only to buy some time, pursue these other worthy gentlemen, then simply fail to bring them up to scratch and worm off the hook. In the three weeks since she’d made that deal with her father, things had changed. She needed to marry quickly. She might be pregnant. In fact, as the days went by, she was convinced there wasn’t any ‘might’ about it.

  Pavia excused herself from the small group under her picnic pavilion, asking discreetly for a moment of privacy. The smell of ham sandwiches had not set well with her stomach and that realisation set her nerves churning. Further proof that what she’d believed had been a reliable preventative had apparently held some flaws. Her sponges had failed.

  She made it to a stand of trees before her stomach gave out. She wiped her mouth with a handkerchief and leaned against the sturdy trunk of a thick English oak. Despite her careful plans, her great attempt to escape Wenderly had gone awry in the extreme. Not only had she encountered her stranger again, she was pregnant with his child. If there was a silver lining, it was that she was beyond Wenderly now. But she was not beyond the Marquis, not if she moved quickly. They could be married by the end of June and first babies were often born early. Her father would have all he wanted and she would have escaped Wenderly, although she would not have freedom. She would still be tied to a man.

  Oh, heavens! What was she thinking? Pavia let out a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She felt sick and clammy, her pulse erratic. Not all of it was to blame on the ham sandwiches. One lie always led to another. If she trapped the Marquis in marriage, she would have to sustain the lie for ever. She would steal his right to an heir of his own blood by foisting a bastard on him, if the baby was a boy. If it was a girl, would the lie matter any less? This was despicable thinking. A life was a life and a lie was a lie. The Marquis was a good man. She’d seen the decency in him. He did not deserve to be drawn into her tangle. She could not do that to him, but if she didn’t, what became of her?

  Her mind drifted to another man and another plan, a more honest one albeit more difficult. What if she told Major Lithgow about the baby? Would he marry her? Did that help her cause? Her father would be furious, his plans entirely thwarted, but her honour and that of her child would be salvaged, perhaps even her freedom in some form. He was only here on leave. She would be on her own after that and a married woman had far more freedom than an unwed girl. But words like trap and renege came to mind. She didn’t want to trap anyone, hurt anyone, but something had to be done and soon before there were no more choices.

  She wiped her palms on her skirts, wishing for some cool water. She could speak with the Major today. He was here. He seemed to be everywhere these days, and always with the pretty blonde from the Banfields’ ball. That was an
other consideration. Who else would be hurt if she told the Major? Would she be stealing another girl’s beau? Another girl’s hopes? Her future? Marriage was serious business to the beauties of the ton.

  There was a rustle and crunch behind her. Pavia startled. Someone was in the little woods with her. She turned, a hand already attempting to smooth her hair and restore her appearance.

  ‘It’s only me, Miss Honeysett.’ Major Lithgow strode forward, his golden hair bright even under the dim canopy of the trees. His gait was easy and he was dressed immaculately in white-and-cream-striped trousers topped with a short blue-wool shooting jacket that brought out his eyes, but for all the ease in his stride, there was a disquiet about him and it touched her as it had in the room above the tavern. Suddenly, her troubles were no longer centre stage.

  ‘Are you well, Major?’ She stepped towards him, her hands outstretched.

  ‘Why would I not be?’ he answered, refusing her hands.

  ‘You seemed sad. I thought perhaps you were thinking of your friend again,’ Pavia replied honestly.

  She felt his keen gaze take her in. ‘Perhaps I should be asking you the same question. Are you well, Miss Honeysett?’

  She managed a smile. ‘I am fine now. I just needed some air.’

  ‘We’re already out of doors, Miss Honeysett. I suspect there is plenty of air at a picnic.’

  ‘I meant a moment alone, if you must know,’ Pavia snapped, more short than she’d intended. Her mind was whirling with decisions. She had him alone, now. When would that happen again? This might be her only chance to tell him.

  He gave her a short, curt bow. ‘I am sorry to have intruded then, Miss Honeysett. If you are not in need of my services, I will excuse myself.’

  She put out her hand on his arm as he passed. ‘Please, wait. I was rude, I am sorry.’ She searched his eyes for forgiveness, but found none. His body was tense, his gaze shielded. This was not the man she’d known. That man was in hiding, a reminder that the man who stood before her was still a stranger despite their intimacy. It was almost enough to dissuade her from her course.

  He halted and waited for her to go on. ‘There is something I need to discuss with you.’ His true self flickered behind the shutters of his eyes. She had his attention, she needed to make the most of it. ‘Are you committed to anyone?’ she rushed on, stalling his usual response. ‘I know you’ve told me that you are not, but I don’t think that’s true. The blonde girl, who is she?’ Her words were inadequate for the questions she really wanted to ask. What is she to you? Does she hold your heart? Do you hold hers?

  ‘What does it matter? You said you wanted no connection to me.’ He reminded her she had no right to those answers. She had no claim on him. Any claim she might have had, she’d willingly given up in the Banfield ballroom at her own behest. If she wanted to establish any claim, she’d have to make the first move without those answers. It would be a blind leap of faith.

  Pavia studied him. ‘Can I trust you, Major?’ She thought so, if for no other reason than ruining her would result in ruining himself. If he told anyone what had transpired and then refused to marry her, shame would fall on him, too. He’d survive it, though. Men always did.

  The hardness in him softened. ‘I give you my word. Whatever secrets you wish to impart will be safe with me.’ She knew it to be true, so far. He’d said nearly the same words to her on the dance floor at the Banfields’. Even so, there was a sense of checks and balances between them. He couldn’t ruin her without ruining himself. She supposed he could have blackmailed her for her wealth. He had not. At the ball, he’d simply given her what she wanted: the pretence that they’d never met, that they were strangers. Of course, she’d be naïve to assume that concession was entirely altruistic. Being strangers suited him. What she had to tell him and what she wanted from him today might not suit him as well.

  Pavia held his eyes and gathered her courage, her hand tightening on his sleeve. ‘I ask about the young lady because what I am about to tell you will affect her, too, if she has aspirations in your direction.’ She drew one more breath. ‘There has been a consequence from our night together. I am pregnant.’

  * * *

  Pregnant. With his child. The announcement blasted past the shutters of his eyes. There was no hiding the range of emotions he felt in those initial moments: confusion, disbelief, mathematical calculation, questioning—was it his? But he knew it was. The sheets had told the story, only he’d misunderstood that story until now. She’d been a virgin after all. Why would a girl with prospects do such a thing?

  Wenderly. He recalled Sutton’s words, offered in passing about Wenderly’s penchant for purity and the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, the answer to the question: why would a gently bred girl with high expectations be dancing in a tavern? He knew now. To escape an unwanted marriage to a lecher. Wenderly would not have her ruined. It was a naïve, risky plan. Had she not seen the flaws? One need not announce to Wenderly that she was ruined. Being ruined was no guarantee. There was no reason to disclose such a thing to Wenderly until it was too late for Wenderly to renege. And of course, there was this risk, too—that in escaping one marriage, she’d found herself trapped in another. And she’d trapped him as well.

  ‘You used me,’ Cam ground out once the flurry of pieces in his mind settled. ‘And now you want marriage? I assume that’s why you’re telling me?’ Marriage. The word could put a pit in his stomach faster than anything else. There’d already been one discussion of marriage today. He wasn’t ready to marry. There were things he still needed to do, wanted to do, such as return to the Crimea and his work there, his search for Fortis. Marriage and the military could not co-exist. His grandfather expected marriage to be the end of his military career, that he would come home and turn to a life of politics, serving the family interests. Pavia Honeysett would expect no different. She would want a father for her child, someone who wasn’t a continent away being shot at on a foreign battlefield.

  Her chin went up in a show of brave defiance. ‘I am telling you because you are the child’s father and you have a right to know. What you do about it is entirely up to you.’ Marriage meant giving up for good on Fortis. Marriage meant choosing between Fortis and a wife. That decision had been easier when the wife in question had been Caroline Beaufort. But now, standing in the glade with beautiful, defiant and, yes, scared Pavia Honeysett, a woman who stirred him, a woman who carried his child, the decision was not an easy one. This was not only about marriage. It was beyond marriage. He was going to be a father. The kind of father he’d be started right here, right now with the decision he made. His mind made all nature of rationalisations in those few seconds. Perhaps there was a way to have them both; perhaps she could come to the Crimea with him. Some officers’ wives did. He didn’t let his mind move on to think about the logistics of moving a wife and a baby into a war zone. Perhaps she’d prefer to stay behind and raise the baby at his home in Little Trull. But those were questions for another time. He had to move forward, believing those details would sort themselves out as he and Pavia decided what their marriage would look like. All that was certain for now was that he would not abandon his child.

  Cam reached for her hand. It was cold in his grip and it occurred to him how frightened she must have been, not just today, but for some time now as the reality of her situation settled on her and how alone she must have felt. ‘You needn’t worry, Pavia. I am no cad. I will marry you, of course. My child will have a father, a name, and you will have a husband.’ He felt her fingers curl into his and saw the faintest of smiles on her lush mouth and knew he’d brought her relief. ‘I will speak to your father tomorrow. I can obtain a special licence. We will be wed as soon as possible.’ With luck, she was no more than six weeks along. An early arrival would be easy to explain if they wed soon enough.

  ‘You are generous and kind. It is more than I deserve and less than what you deserve.’ Pavi
a looked down at their hands, joined together. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen. I took precautions, but they failed.’ Cam understood. She wanted to give him absolution. ‘None of this is your fault, it’s mine. All mine. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.’

  ‘And yet it has. Now I am the only one who can do anything about it.’ He gave a short bark of laughter. ‘I came into the woods wishing for solutions. I did not expect to find them in this manner, but I’ve found them none the less. The questions I came seeking answers for have been settled and yours have, too.’

  ‘Yes, my questions have been settled, but at great expense. I have upended your life. The girl you were with, will she be disappointed?’ The comment touched him. It spoked well of Pavia that she showed concern about another even in the midst of her own crisis.

  ‘Caroline Beaufort? I imagine she will. But she is pretty and wealthy. She will recover,’ he answered directly. ‘You will have to give up the Marquis.’

  She met his eyes and nodded. ‘There was nothing decided in that quarter.’ But the fact remained that they were both giving up a lot. They were trading arranged marriages to partners hand-picked by their families for a marriage of convenience to a stranger neither barely knew except for one night of madness. The thought would be overwhelming if one dwelt on it, so Cam opted for more practical manoeuvres—action.

  He took Pavia by the arm. ‘Now that’s settled, we need to get you cleaned up. There’s a stream nearby, where we can wash your face. Were you ill? Is that why you came into the woods?’