Page 17 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

Paul carefully closed the door to their chamber, trying not to wake Ellen, who lay sleeping in the bed.

She had left a candle burning for him.

Quietly he slipped off his greatcoat and laid it over the arm of a chair.

His heart thumped hard. It had been doing so all day.

The news still shocked him. Napoleon had escaped when they had thought that battle won.

It should be over. He had spent enough years starving and exhausted, battling his own men to keep them fighting when at times they would have rather turned and run, as well as battling the French and their allies.

Memories of the horrors of war had been spinning through his head all day, the sounds of imaginary cannons deafening him at times.

He did not want to go back, and yet he would not allow that damned tyrant to have his way. The whole regiment was angry and ready to fight again to put the man back in his jail. But it was galling that they had to, though. Napoleon had already been defeated.

Paul’s fingers slipped the brass buttons of his military coat free.

He just wanted to be in bed with his wife, and feel her softness. She was his safe harbour, his sanctuary. His sanity. All he lived for now. Just as he had known she would be from the first moment he had seen her at her father’s house.

When he set his coat aside, exhaustion hit him. He ran his fingers through his hair. It had been a long day, but there would be many more long days in the next months. Napoleon was gathering an army to return to Paris. The message had said hundreds of men.

Paul pulled his shirt over his head and let that fall on top of his military coat. Then he unbuttoned his falls, watching Ellen in the bed they had shared for weeks.

Her dark hair rested across her shoulder in a braid and her breaths lifted it a little, as her bosom rose, lifting the sheets too. She looked so young.

He slipped off his pantaloons, underwear and stockings all in one.

She did not only look young, she was young.

Perhaps too young to face the conditions on the Continent.

They’d been bled dry by the previous years of war.

But he had been her age when he had first left England – he had survived and trained recruits younger than him.

They had to walk into battles, kill men and risk being killed.

She would cope. She was strong. He said the words to reassure himself. But still there was a fear low in his stomach that he had never known before; a fear for her, not for himself. It accused him of being juvenile himself, and therefore incapable.

When he moved across the room, he was careful not to let the floorboards creak.

He blew out the candle, casting the room into darkness, before climbing into bed beside her.

The sheets were cold at the edge of the bed, but near Ellen they were warm, so he moved closer.

She lay on her side. He shaped his body to hers and gently rested his arm about her. She did not wake.

When he woke in the morning, Ellen turned beneath his outstretched arm, and as he opened his eyes, he faced the very pale blue of hers.

Her gaze was warm and welcoming. ‘Good morning,’ she whispered.

‘Good morning.’

‘What hour did you return?’

‘Past ten.’

Her fingers brushed across the stubble on his jaw. ‘As I have said before, you need not feel guilty for doing your duty.’

He smiled, his hand embracing the curve of her waist, beneath the sheets. ‘Things will become hard over the next few months.’

‘I know.’

‘And you will cope?’ he asked.

‘I will cope, because I am with you.’

Again, there was that clasp of fear, low in his stomach, the one he had never known until he met her.

It did not trust his judgement, or his ability to keep her safe.

But he was not the only man in the army and she would be in a camp away from the battle.

There would be hundreds of men between her and danger – she would be safe.

For now, though, he needed to feel her security. The light in the room implied it was a little past dawn; there was time. ‘Let me love you,’ he said, already moving over her. Perhaps it was selfish to press straight into her when she opened her thighs, and yet it was what he needed.

The weight of her arms rested on his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, her fingers brushing his back. The rock of his hips as he moved slowly rocked her body too, making her breasts stir.

He adored her. There was a blissful intensity when they did this.

Because it was lovemaking, it was nothing like any encounters he had known with whores.

This was his wife he honoured, and she was warm and wet for his invasion.

Little sighs left her lips, as colour scored her cheekbones.

Her eyes had been open, looking up into his, but now they closed, dark lashes settling on her pale skin, and she bit her lip to keep her silence.

This is what she had learned from the time they had made love on the ship – to always be silent. He did not encourage her to be more vocal. There would be many times they must be silent. It was better she had this skill.

The heat between her legs increased as he worked harder, pulling out and pressing in, captured by the primal call of her body. Three. Four more strokes. And then… Oh . He firmed the muscles in his arms to stop his whole body from falling onto her, as her gentle fingers ran over his hair.

She was so beautiful.

* * *

Paul eased out of the bed as carefully as he could, trying not to wake Ellen.

As he moved, she rolled to her back and stretched her arms, her sleepy eyes opening and looking up at him, the pale blue slightly misty.

Her skin was reddened in places from the heat of his embrace and the brush of his stubble.

When she lay in bed looking like this, with her hair only loosely braided and escaping about her face, he loved her more – the imperfect, approachable, Ellen.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead, longing to return to the bed but knowing he could not; he had things to do. ‘Be ready in case we are to sail today, I shall send word as soon as I know.’

She nodded.

As he washed and dressed, she sat upright in bed, watching him, her arms lying over the covers.

He kept occasionally smiling at her in the mirror.

They would be well. They would be happy.

And he would keep her safe. He would accept no other conclusion.

But even as he assured himself, his mind threw images of dead and dying men at him.

When he looked at her, and walked back to the bedside, she looked at him with the awe he had seen in her eyes in the summer.

The look spoke to his heart as it had done then, stealing away all the memories of war.

He bent and kissed her forehead. ‘Goodbye, Ellen. I doubt I shall return for luncheon, not unless we are to sail. But I shall send word.’

She nodded again then said, ‘Good day.’

As he turned away, there was the sensation low in his stomach.

Fear; for her. He hated the feeling. She was a quiet woman, she often withdrew into her thoughts rather than join a conversation, yet despite her shyness, his men adored her, because she would speak to them in the same way she spoke to the officers.

Of course, the other officers were enamoured too – though most had expressed shock over her decision to follow the drum. He had not told them she had no choice.

Perhaps that was why he felt concern – because it had not been her choice. She had chosen only to be his wife, the outcome of that had been decided for her.

Casting that thought aside, he left the room. It was too late to worry over such things. Their course was set.

* * *

When a soldier arrived, almost bursting into the small parlour, dressed in the scarlet coat and blue-grey pantaloons of Paul’s regiment, Ellen stood, setting aside her sewing without thought. Jennifer stood too.

‘Madam.’ He bowed deeply.

‘Tell me your news. I presume my husband sent you?’

‘Ma’am.’ He bowed again. ‘The captain did. He asked me to inform you that the regiment is to sail on the high tide at six this evening.’

It was today then. ‘Very well. Did he say how our things are to be taken to the dock?’

‘Some of the men will come with the captain after four and bring a cart to take your items, ma’am.’

Ellen nodded. That was it then. The end of the peace they had known here.

‘And there are these, ma’am.’ He held out two letters.

‘Letters from my husband?’

‘No, ma’am, they came with the regimental mail.’

She took them from his outstretched hand and turned one over. The coat of arms imprinted in the seal was one she’d known all her life… her father’s. She recognised the writing on the other, Penny’s.

Ellen’s heart leapt, then pounded as she looked at the young soldier. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice came out much quieter than she had expected and a little shakily with the emotions gripping in her chest. She urged more strength into it. ‘I am grateful. Please tell Captain Harding I shall be ready.’

The soldier bowed again, with a stiff posture, then walked from the room.

‘Jennifer, would you fetch us some tea?’

As soon as Jennifer had gone, Ellen broke the seal on her father’s letter. It was short.

I did not, and do not, welcome your letters. They have all been destroyed and you are not to contact your mother or your sisters. Do you understand? I do not wish to hear from a disobedient child, and I shall not have your ill behaviour reflect on the others.

You have made your choice, now live it, and be done.

The Duke of Pembroke

‘The Duke of Pembroke…’ The title escaped from her mouth. ‘You are my father, Papa.’