Page 90 of The General's Gift
“You will stay in my service. Full pay. You will captain the reserves and the greens I’m leaving behind. And you will guard Lady Cecilia. With your life.”
Tears shimmered in the older man’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
When Graves left the room, Hawk stood alone in the flickering candlelight, his hands limp at his sides.
Don’t thank me, he thought. Thank that girl dressed in tulle with promise-colored eyes.
For the first time in his life, Hawk wished he could find the same way out.
“Ithought you loved the general,” Prue said, wringing her hands.
“Love?” Celeste’s laugh was so bitter, it grated on her own ears. “I never loved him. Not even for a second.”
Her heart pounded violently against her ribcage, as if demanding a retraction. But she didn’t flinch. She welcomed the ache. Let it hollow her out.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shoved a pair of slippers into the overstuffed canvas bag. One hit the edge and flopped out again, like a limp rejection.
“I refuse to be the tragic heroine, Prue.” Her voice shook. “Of all the wretched ways a woman may wound herself, none is worse than falling at the feet of a man who’d rather polish his boots than look at her.”
She yanked at the drawstrings with hands that were no longer steady. “He can keep his brooding discipline and his blasted duty. I’ll go back to Covent Garden.”
At least there she could be pathetic with dignity. She could weep in Louise’s lap and forget his name entirely. “I’m done. Itried everything. May lightning strike me down if I ever look at him again, let alone offer him my heart on a silver platter so he can frown and ask Captain Graves to remove it.”
Prue clutched her rosary. “But, my lady, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Excellent. The moon shall light my path.”
“The roads are full of ruffians.”
“I hope they brought snacks.” Celeste swallowed hard. “I’m famished.”
“It’s not safe for a woman alone!”
Celeste spun toward her. “I have a dog, a canvas bag, and rage in my soul. Let them dare.”
Her skin was hot all over. She would go. Even if her legs trembled. Even if her heart was still in that ballroom, waiting like a fool.
Prue threw herself bodily in front of the door, arms outstretched like a tragic heroine about to be sacrificed to the gods. “You shall have to walk over me to reach that carriage!”
“Prue,” Celeste said gently, “this is the door to the bathing chamber.”
Prue blinked, confused. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh.”
Celeste sighed, already leaving. “The exit is that way.”
“The regiment will march tomorrow. Surely you will want to stay to see the parade? Thomas said it is a wondrous sight.”
Celeste turned slowly. “What did you say?”
“The 13th has been ordered to ships. The Duke of York brought the order. They will leave at dawn.”
Dawn. That word struck like a thunderclap in her ears.
“Hawk will go as well?”
But Prue didn’t need to answer. Of course he would. Wherever the 13th went, their master led. He would not remain behind, not when his men marched to danger. Her heart seemed to stop. Then beat again—all wrong.
The canvas bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud. Her lungs seized, her throat closing with something hot and thick and rising. The image of Hawk’s body flashed in her mind, drenched in blood, dragged from the mud, limp and pale beneath foreign skies.
