Page 87 of The Soldier
“What has that to do with anything?” St. Just asked, prepared for any answer. There was no telling where a child’s mind turned and doubled back. He’d learned that much already.
“You don’t run away,” Winnie said, meeting his eyes. “Soldiers are brave, and they stand and fight. You fought and fought and fought, longer than I have been alive, Lord Val says, because you didn’t stop fighting until old Boney was done for, did you?”
“I did not stop until we won.” St. Just smiled. He’d still fought after Waterloo, until he had to be dragged off to the stables like an old warhorse—lame, scarred, and dazed, unable to comprehend the cessation of violence.
“So I will stay with you,” Winnie said, the logic settled in her little-girl mind, “and I hope Emmie is miserable with her silly old vicar and that she wants to come home lots.”
“We might need another plan, Win. Like Miss Emmie is happy as a hog in slop with her vicar, and you can go visit her for weeks and weeks every summer. It’s very fashionable to see the Lake District in the warmer months.”
“I am not the one running away just so I can have a title and wear jewels,” Winnie said with chilling evenness. “Let her come visit me, and if Scout and I feel like it, we’ll invite her to tea.”
“I’m not too happy about her leaving, either,” he admitted, “but when I joined the army, Her Grace cried and cried and cried, and still I went. People don’t always do what you want them to.”
Winnie rolled her eyes then closed them and snuggled into his chest. She’d dropped off to sleep a few minutes later when Emmie tapped on the door and joined him in the library.
“Have you said anything to her yet?” Emmie asked, glancing anxiously at Winnie.
“Nothing specific,” he said, keeping his seat in deference to his burden. “She knows you plan to leave the area.”
Emmie just nodded, but she was glancing around the room anxiously, not meeting his eyes.
“Em?” He did get to his feet then and deposited Winnie on the sofa, draping an afghan over her sleeping form. Emmie met his gaze and began to blink, then threw herself at him.
“There’s no baby,” she murmured in a miserable whisper. His arms closed around her, not sure if she was relieved, unhappy, or just upset on general principles.
“Thank you for telling me.” He stroked her back, then her nape, while she cried in silence. “This will make your situation easier, though, I hope?”
She nodded but soaked his cravat with a fresh flood of tears. He pushed his handkerchief into her hand and waited her out, the sleeping child momentarily forgotten.
“Emmie?” He had hoped… He had so desperately, selfishly hoped… And now he was tempted, tempted to join her in her bed again, for he’d every confidence, as flustered and unsure as she’d been of late, he could seduce her into accepting further intimacies from him.
She gave a genteel sniffle then tried to step back, but he permitted her to retreat only far enough that he could see her eyes.
“You will be all right?” he asked, keeping his voice very quiet.
“I will. I just need to put this move behind me. You’re sure the governess will be here next Monday?”
“I’ve already sent her the first month’s salary. You don’t want to meet the woman?”
“We’ll meet,” Emmie said, leaning in for one more moment in his arms. “I’m sure we’ll meet at some point.”
“And Bothwell will be back next week, as well,” he said, knowing he should set her from him.
“I suppose,” Emmie muttered, burying her face against him. He gave up and cuddled her close until he felt Emmie’s lips against his skin.
“Emmie,” he chided, “you need to behave…” But she cut him off by settling her lips over his, and for just an instant, a blessed, fleeting instant, he tasted her in return.
“We agreed,” he reminded her, cradling her head against his chest. “You have to help me on this, Em. I’m not made of steel.”
“Parts of you might be,” Emmie muttered, nudging him with her hips.
“Damn it, Em.” He retreated one step, his hands on her upper arms. “No fair. Against the rules of engagement, and shame on you.” But he dropped his forehead to hers and amended his judgment. “Shame on us both.”
“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just upset.”
He said nothing, silently acknowledging the truth of her statements… nothing more. He was more than upset himself, thank you very much, and a particular steely part of him was ready to commit high treason in his breeches.
“I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets to mask the effect of her proximity. When she was safely gone, he peeked out into the corridor, and without grabbing a coat, went directly down to the stables. It was cold as hell, thank God, and certain treasonous body parts lost their steely quality in the face of the elements.
