Page 1 of An Enchanting Kiss (Captivating Kisses #5)

“M ajor! Major!”

Rupert Cummings slowed his stride and turned, seeing a soldier chase after him.

It surprised him that the lad had recognized him since he wore civilian clothing similar to what a French peasant would wear, and a beard now covered his usually clean-shaven face.

His latest spy mission had lasted almost four months, and he was eager to rid himself of the itchy beard, as well as have his hair trimmed to a respectable length.

“What is it?” he asked.

“For you.” The soldier handed a letter to him. “Good day to you, Major.”

He looked at the letter, his name scrawled across it, having no idea who might have written to him. In his eight years serving in His Majesty’s army, this was the first piece of correspondence Rupert had ever received.

Flipping it over, he broke the seal, only to find a single line in the message.

Sell your commission. Return home at once.

Cressley

His blood began to boil. Why on earth would his brother demand that he resign from the army and return home? To what? Second sons were destined for the army for life. Nothing awaited Rupert. He had no intention of obeying a command from a man he was, for all intents and purposes, estranged from.

They had never been close, even before he had taken up his commission.

Perceval was fifteen years his senior. The only thing they had in common was a father who had been cold to them both, and a mother whom Rupert had never known.

She had died giving birth to him. He was raised by servants and could count on one hand the times he had even spoken to his brother.

Their father had died during Rupert’s first year at university.

No one had thought to inform him, and he only learned of the death when he came home at the end of the first term.

He remained year-round at Oxford after that, not wishing to be alone in an empty house at Crestbrook.

Perceval preferred town to country and was never in residence at his country estate in Cumberland.

He also had never invited Rupert to visit him in London.

His anger simmered as he jammed the note into his pocket and headed to his commanding officer’s tent.

The sentry took a moment to study him, and Rupert quickly gave his name and rank.

Only after hearing his voice did the sentry seem to relax, allowing him to pass.

Grime still clung to him, thanks to weeks without a decent bath, but he knew Bond would want a full report immediately.

His commanding officer had become not only a mentor, but also the kind of older brother Rupert had always hoped to have, and he did everything he could to please the man.

That had meant going on one dangerous assignment after another, but the information he brought back was vital to Britain’s war effort.

He stepped inside the tent, where another sentry stood, and he nodded to the soldier. Bond was deep in thought, focused on what he wrote, and Rupert held back until the officer set down his quill. Only then did he step forward.

“Lieutenant-General Bond.” He saluted the officer, and Bond returned the salute. The older man looked to the sentry and nodded curtly, causing him to step out of the tent .

“You look a bit haggard, Major Cummings,” Bond observed.

“I am sorry I did not pretty myself up for you, but I do have news.”

For the next half-hour, Rupert gave his report, Bond taking copious notes as Rupert did so.

This would be the written record of his most recent espionage activities.

For his safety, he never committed anything to paper, relying on his keen memory.

The decision to do so had saved his hide on more than one occasion, along with his excellent command of French and exceptional forged papers.

Bond asked him several clarifying questions, and then he sat back, looking satisfied.

“It is as I feared, Major,” his superior confided.

“Britain held Bonaparte off at Trafalgar two years ago, and that lulled us into a false sense of security, thinking our superior navy would protect us from invasion. Bonaparte is far from finished with us—or the rest of Europe. The information you gleaned in your recent mission tells me as much.”

The lieutenant-general shook his head sadly. “I fear from other reports we have received, ones which have been shared at the highest of levels, that we are in for many more years at war.”

Rupert believed the same, which led him to remember Perceval’s note. He withdrew it and said, “Might I ask some advice of you, Lieutenant-General?”

He handed over the folded page, watching as Bond opened it and read the sparse message within. Then their gazes met.

“I assume Cressley is the brother whom you have mentioned to me.”

“It is. We have had no communication in all my years serving in the military. I saw Cressley the day he authorized my commission to be purchased through the family solicitor. There has been no contact since them. Until this.” Frustrated, he asked, “Why should I act upon some order from someone who is practically a stranger to me?”

“It is terse,” Bond agreed. “Ironically, to me, that speaks volumes.” He paused, collecting his thoughts for a moment. “If your brother wishes for you to sell out, there is good reason for you to do so. My gut tells me Cressley is dying—and needs you at home.”

Rupert’s thoughts had only been concerned with himself and how he resented the notion of being told to sell out. He had taken Cressley’s note literally, not reading anything into it. He had learned, however, that Bond’s gut feelings proved accurate a majority of the time.

“How old are your brother’s children now?” Bond asked.

He shrugged. “How should I know? When I joined the army, I had no idea if Cressley had ever wed, much less had children. That is how little I knew about him even then.”

“In my opinion, a man does not write this kind of note unless he is desperate. I believe your brother is dying, Major Cummings, and it is your duty to go home and become the guardian to his children. Run his country estate. Manage his holdings until his heir is of legal age to do so himself.”

Ire filled him. “Why should I have to give up the life I have built for myself for someone I have only seen a handful of times?”

“Because he is family—and he is asking for you to do so. We cannot choose our family, Major. We can, however, act as men of honor when called upon.”

Bond rose and began pacing about the tent. Rupert had never seen his commanding officer agitated.

“Your report is one of several we have gathered over the last few months. The war is going to accelerate considerably, as early as next year. Englishmen will die by the thousands until this conflict is over. The Little Corporal is a greedy bastard. He is not satisfied with what he has already taken.”

Bond returned to his seat. “I share this with you in confidence. Intelligence we have received has caused a decision to be made. The bulk of the British army will soon travel to Spain. ”

“Spain? Why Spain?”

“The Spanish government is headed for disaster. Our reports tell of immense corruption, and King CharlesIV’s leadership is questionable, at best. All indications point to Bonaparte’s plans to remove the Spanish king and his son and install his brother Joseph on the throne.

Naturally, this will lead to civil unrest. Even war.

Britain will not stand for this. The battles will be bloody.

Frankly, your brother’s message may be a blessing in disguise. ”

“But I want to fight for my king and country,” he insisted.

Bond shook his head sadly. “That is no longer possible. You are an honorable man, Major Cummings. It seems your brother’s character is less than exemplary.

If you can guide the family in the right fashion and assist his sons in developing integrity, you will make your mark on the next generation of Englishmen.

” He smiled. “Not to mention the fact that you could wed and start a family of your own.”

The idea of marriage and children seemed foreign to him. He had known, going into the army as a second son, that this would be his adult life.

“I can handle the sale of your commission for you if you would like me to do so. Give me the name of your family’s solicitor and his address, and I will see the funds from the sale sent to him. Arrange for transportation for yourself to leave camp as soon as possible.”

Bond rose and came to him. Rupert also stood as the older man offered his hand.

“It has been a pleasure serving with you, Major Cummings. I wish you all the best.” Bond paused.

“I would ask that you write to me. Not when you reach home and learn of the situation. Wait a year and then write to me. By then, you will have settled into whatever role has been designated for you. I would like to know where you land and how you are. Will you do this for me?”

His throat swelled with emotion, and he swallowed it down. “I will do so, sir. Thank you. For everything. Your leadership and guidance have been inspiring. I hope I can emulate the lessons you have passed on to me.”

Rupert left the tent, the life he had known and loved abruptly coming to an end. He returned to his quarters to pack and knew he would need to seek transportation to London, all the while wondering what his future might hold.

*

He left the bustling London docks and decided to stretch his legs for a few minutes before hailing a hansom cab.

As he walked, it struck him that he did not even know where his brother’s townhouse was located.

His father had never brought him to town.

The only time he had visited London was when he had come to meet his brother at Mr. Ousley’s offices.

The solicitor had handled the purchase of Rupert’s commission.

He supposed he would go there now and discover the lay of the land and ask for his brother’s address.