Page 43 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
Quiet, he commanded his thoughts. He did not want to think of war, only Ellen. Only the body he moved within, a body which received him willingly, with soft, warm, moist reassurance.
Her fingers brushed through his hair, as if she knew his thoughts were splintered and she sought to bring him back.
He focused on her eyes, losing himself in the pale blue, and his thrusts sharpened, as the sound of yawns invaded their haven and fires being stirred up for kettles to be heated, and slopping water against metal.
Ellen became breathless, but she bit her lip to stop any sound as his strokes grew more urgent, hard and firm, and, and… Release came in a rush, flooding into him and onto him all at once. Relief. Escape. Freedom. He shut his eyes and let it fill him for a moment, resting his forehead on hers. She kissed his cheek. He rolled on to his back, and she turned to her side, holding him. They had not undressed. It was too cold and so their clothing mostly covered them as well as the blankets.
She kissed his jaw with such tenderness it made his heart ache. He was tired now. He hoped exerting this energy would not affect his stamina today. He did not normally make love to her in the morning, but today the thought of what was to come and the haunting memories of battles had brought on an intense desire to seek the safe harbour of Ellen’s body, and he had let himself indulge.
He held her close for a moment more, willing time to cease for just a little while, but the sounds outside their tent grew stronger, men speaking and washing, and the edge of kettles striking tin cups.
‘We had better rise,’ he whispered to Ellen.
She held him tighter, clearly wishing time to be held back too.
He ran his fingers through her hair, and sighed, then kissed the crown of her head. ‘We have no choice, darling.’ As he spoke he was already moving, sitting up to right his clothes. Ellen rolled to her back. He looked down at her. ‘I shall send Jennifer to you.’
She nodded.
12
Captain George Montgomery bowed over Ellen’s hand. ‘Will you dance with me, Mrs Harding?’
Ellen glanced at Paul, who smiled to give his consent. ‘Go along, have fun.’
Looking back at Paul’s best friend, she agreed. ‘Of course.’
His hold firm about her fingers, he stepped back a few paces, pulling her away from Paul. His hand lifted hers and his other arm came about her to provide the secure frame for a waltz. Her heart thundered. She had danced the waltz more than a dozen times. Paul had taught her in their rooms. It was the thing here, the rage. Everyone danced it, and at the lieutenant colonel’s parties he insisted it was the only dance.
Her heartbeat thundered as they began to move. She was not comfortable being on show in a room full of people, nor with the intimacy the waltz created with a partner as it made her feel awkward. Yet the steps were swift and there was something enchanting about being spun through the dance, so she did have fun once she forgot who she was with and where she was.
She glanced at the other couples dancing and those looking on.
Brussels was as busy as Ostend, Bruges and Ghent, or perhaps even more so. There were people everywhere. When she had imagined her role as a camp follower, she had imagined she would be one of a small number, but there were thousands of people here to support the army.
The army was not based in Brussels, though. It had been dispersed over miles around the city. Paul had told her that outside the city, there were over a hundred thousand of the Duke of Wellington’s army in makeshift camps, and even more than that in Blücher’s Prussian army that were camped about the city too. All of these men sought food and lived on depleting local resources, while their rich audience of tourists lived lavishly in the heart of the city and danced waltzs.
Paul had said the way people lived here outdid even the rash extremes of the London life he had experienced during the season last summer. She had never known anything like it. But of course, she had only lived in her father’s house, sheltered from all this.
There were balls and parties daily, picnics, and the theatre continued as if there were not two hundred and fifty thousand men camped in an arc about the city preparing for war.
During the day, these fashionable people walked about in the parks, laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Women flirted with the soldiers in the city, and men thought themselves something important because they were here, absorbing the atmosphere. But they would not be the ones who fought.
They had been here weeks, though, and there was no news of when Napoleon might come or when the army would invade France. The 52nd, Paul’s regiment, was camped five miles outside the city, in the direction of Nemur, and each day, while the hordes of novelty seekers sought entertainment, Paul rode out to his men, and Ellen waited in Brussels for his return.
He had told her his men and others had been exploring the local terrain, learning every hill and hollow so they would have the advantage if Napoleon brought the battle to them.
She felt surplus. There was nothing she could do to help him except love him, and be a companion for him when he returned, to take his mind from the preparation for war.
In the evenings, they generally avoided entertainment like this. But they did walk through the parks, along paths edged with early flowers, and a few times Paul had taken her to the theatre. They had seen the Duke of Wellington once, in a box at the theatre. Paul had pointed him out, and she had felt in awe of the nation’s hero.
She had said a prayer that night – that the Duke of Wellington would be wise. Because Paul’s life lay in his hands and the skill of his decisions.
‘It is a rare treat to have you in my arms, Mrs Harding…’
Ellen merely smiled at Captain Montgomery. He was always flirtatious.
Paul had urged her to participate more in the city’s social life, for her own sake. At the first party, the lieutenant colonel had offered his arm and walked her about the room, introducing her to everyone, as though she was something special to him. Afterwards, his guests had invited her to afternoon teas and picnics. She had not accepted. She did not think all this merriment right, and she knew Paul did not. Even though he had wanted her to attend to fill her time; she would not, because it would feel disloyal to him and his men.
