Page 8 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
‘Would it be easier if I ride behind you?’ Her voice ran with uncertainty. She was giving up everything to come with him.
‘Do what feels comfortable for you, Ellen.’
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. ‘I would prefer to ride pillion.’
‘Then you shall.’ He softened his voice, hoping to ease her discomfort.
Turning to the horse, he slipped one foot in the stirrup, then pulled himself up. ‘Did you have any difficulty leaving the house?’
‘No, the servants’ hall was quiet, and the grooms had all retired.’
He rested her bag across his thighs, then held a hand out to her. ‘Set your foot on mine and take my hand. I will pull you up.’ He watched her lift the skirt of her dark habit, and then the weight of her small foot pressed on his, as her gloved fingers held his. She was light, but the grip of her hand and the pressure of her foot made that something clasp tight in his chest, and the emotion stayed clenched as her fingers embraced his waist over his greatcoat.
He shifted in the saddle, his groin tightening too. A few more days. Just days. He had been waiting months. As he turned the horse, Ellen’s cheek pressed against his shoulder.
‘Did you tell anyone you were leaving? Your sister? Or your maid?’
‘No. I did not want them to have to face Papa knowing the truth. He would know they had lied, and then who knows what he might do.’ Paul urged the mare into a trot as Ellen continued. ‘He made me spend the day on my knees reading the Commandments because I refused to marry the Duke of Argyle.’
‘Today?’ He wished to look back at her but he could not turn in the saddle with her behind him. Her father had been diabolical to Paul, sneering as though Paul were nothing when he had done the decent thing and spoken to him to offer for her. He could imagine the way Pembroke treated his girls. He had to get Ellen to Gretna before her father caught them, so she never had to come back and face his retribution.
He stirred the mare into a canter as Ellen’s arms wrapped about his waist, firmly hanging on to him.
‘Yes, today,’ she said, to his ear. ‘He came to my room this morning, to ask if I was repentant.’
If she was repentant?She’d done nothing wrong, as far as her father was aware. He’d not told her father they’d been communicating since the summer. He’d expected to be refused, and he’d not wished their pathway of communication closed. All she had been guilty of, as far as her father knew, was that her presence and her company in the summer had attracted a man her father deemed unworthy. She bore no guilt for being beautiful and charming.
God, how had Pembroke brought up this untouched, unscarred girl? ‘Did you tell him you repented?’
She laughed; a low soft sound he hadn’t heard before. ‘No.’
He smiled. It had taken him so long to make his offer because he had wanted to feel sure she had the strength to follow the drum. She had it. She had a core of iron. She would survive. He would make sure she did; though he didn’t doubt his way of life was going to come as a shock to her. He had tried to warn her in letters, preparing her, but he could tell from her responses it was all whimsical rather than real. It would soon become real.
He stopped the horse suddenly, and strained to look over his shoulder, as it restlessly side-stepped. ‘You’re sure of this, Ellen? I mean, if you are not, I can take you back.’
In answer, her fingers pressed into his midriff, holding firm, stirring pain in his chest and his groin. ‘I am sure.’
I am sure too.
‘Then let us hurry.’ He kicked his heels and set the horse off at a canter, his mind on the treacherous tracks they were likely to encounter on their journey north. This was a race now.
The ground was hardened by frost, and slippery. The horse’s breath, and theirs, rose into the cold air in plumes.
They had a few hours’ lead, but?—
‘Papa said I was to have nothing to eat either. I told Pippa not to bring me any food.’
Then perhaps, if no one was to speak to her, their head start would be longer. It could be twelve hours to a day before they realised she was missing. Even so it was the wrong time of year for haste. He hoped the cold weather and frost would hold. Better that than rain and mud bound routes when carts, horses and men became bogged down. His head had begun planning their flight like a bloody military campaign.
‘The coach is waiting for us at the inn. It will be ready. I’ve hired a yellow bounder.’
‘A coach and four?’
He smiled at the tone of excitement in her voice. ‘Yes. You sound as if you fancy driving them?’
She laughed again, that low heart-wrenching beautiful sound. ‘No, I would not have a clue, I have never even ridden in a fast carriage. It sounds exhilarating.’
Exhilarating? This girl was so wonderfully innocent. But that was another thing that had drawn him to her, her naivety, it was such a contrast to his own knowledge of the world; she knew nothing of the horrors he’d lived through, though he was only a little older than her. She was here to wash his soul clean of war and brutality.
