Page 8 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

Ellen woke to find the carriage flooded with natural light.

It appeared to be late morning. When she sat upright she saw a carpet of snow outside.

Everything was white. The world looked pure again, denying the memories of a man lying still on the ground beside a dark pool of blood as Paul stood over him with a sword and a pistol in his hands.

She shivered at the memory but her stomach growled, despite her revulsion. She’d eaten nothing since it had happened, and she’d been sick last night.

She looked at Paul. He slept, leaning against the corner of the carriage, one elbow resting on a sill beside him, so his curled fist could support his chin.

His other hand lay slack on his thigh. One booted foot rested on the opposite seat, with his leg bent, the other still rested on the carriage floor.

His thigh had become a pillow for her head.

Every muscle and sinew in his body was honed. He was a soldier. Even in sleep he looked ready to fight. Now she had seen the aftermath of his killing, she knew what that meant.

Her heart had chosen this man. Yes, he knew how to be violent, but he knew how to be gentle too. She could not deny him now.

In his sleep, he looked younger. Yet he was young, merely one and twenty, just a little older than her, and he had endured so much…

He needed a sanctuary and he’d chosen her. She would willingly play that role, even if at the present moment, the idea of his capability to kill frightened her.

The carriage jolted and instantly his eyes opened. He sat up, his hand going to his hip, as though to grasp a sword or pistol. But then he saw her, and smiled. His hand lifted instead and raked through his hair, hiding the instinct to be ready to fight.

As the image of the dead highwayman hovered, she wondered how many pictures of dead men on battlefields played through his head.

She could perhaps understand a little more of the soldier now she knew what that meant.

She smiled.

‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘You slept well. You have been asleep nearly all night.’

‘Were you awake then?’

‘Yes. I did not like to sleep while it was dark, in case, well…’ He did not end the sentence but she understood. He had been nervous of more highwaymen. But he could not be worried for himself as he was able to defend himself – he had worried over her.

He looked down, lifted his fob watch from his inside pocket and flicked open the catch. ‘It is nearly noon.’

She was not surprised; the hunger in her stomach and the sunlight implied it. But he looked surprised that he had slept.

She wondered how much last night had disturbed him. He’d seemed cold and unemotional then, but now…

‘We’d better stop soon.’ He leaned over the carriage to open the hatch in order to speak to the man on the box. ‘Where are we?’

‘Two miles from Penrith by the last marker, Captain.’

‘Stop at the next coaching inn, will you?’

‘Aye, Captain.’

Paul sat back again and then stretched, lifting his arms and arching his back. It showed off the lean, muscular definition of his torso and his thighs, which his uniform hugged so perfectly.

A warm sensation fluttered low in her stomach. They were nearly at Gretna. Soon she would know what it would be like to share a bed with him. She smiled, excitement and anxiety skittering through her nerves; warring love and fear. It tangled up like a muddled ball of embroidery threads within her.

‘I cannot wait to stretch my legs a little,’ he murmured as he dropped back against the swabs. Then he looked at her. ‘I admit I am sick of this carriage.’

Her smile parted her lips. ‘I am also.’

‘Shall we take a break once we are wed, before we travel to Portsmouth? We may find lodgings for a night. It will be our wedding night.’

His blue eyes shone.

She nodded, the flutter stirring low in her stomach again – desire and disquiet. ‘It will be Christmas Eve too,’ she said. ‘There may be poor service at the inns. We should feel guilty dragging our drivers away from their families during advent?’ He looked at her oddly. ‘Paul…’

‘My apologies. I had completely forgotten it was nearly Christmas Day. My mind has been focused on gathering my men and then coming to fetch you ever since we received the order to sail. I have also not celebrated this time of year for many years. My family will not expect me to be there, but yours… You will miss your sisters…’

She nodded, her vision clouding with tears.

The twelve days following Christmas were for feasting and celebration, and on the twelfth night, at Pembroke Place, they held a servants’ ball, when someone would be crowned the Lord of Misrule and order all the entertainments.

Ellen and her sisters were allowed to watch for a little while.

He pulled her into a firm embrace. ‘I should not have mentioned them. I am sorry.’

‘You need not apologise. It is nice to know you think of what will affect me. I do miss them. I will miss Penny most. I wish I had been able to explain to her. But I do not regret leaving with you. I will be happy with you even though I will miss them.’

His palm rested on her hair. ‘You can write to your sister when we are married.’

‘Yes. What of your family?’

He laughed, a low deep pitch. ‘My family are long forgotten.’

‘But you came with them in the summer…’

‘Because I had returned to England and sought my old self, the privileged sixth son of the Earl of Craster, but I am not that now. I am first a soldier. Christmas with my family would be like living in the past. My family is the army, and my men.’

‘You are no longer close to them?’

‘As close as it is possible to be when I lead a very different life to them. They will not miss me, and I will not miss them.’ His fingers lifted her chin, and he looked into her eyes.

‘You will be my family now, and I will be yours. We will be each other’s comfort and companion. That is what I wish for us.’

His words sent shivers running across her skin. ‘That is all I want too – to make you happy and to be happy with you.’

‘As I wish more than anything to make you happy, so we have hope, Ellen.’ His head lowered and he kissed her.

The ache in her stomach swept out to her limbs – yet along with the pleasure of his warmth and gentleness came concern; his gentle hands could kill a man…

When they pulled into an inn a little while later, having driven into the town of Penrith, Paul moved immediately, letting her go so she could sit up. He climbed out of the carriage in a moment, lowered the step and then lifted his hand to help her.

She took it and smiled as he smiled at her. ‘Let us go in search of refreshment.’

The cobbles of the courtyard were slippery from the snow, so they walked tentatively. He kept a hold of her hand. It was protective – the way he had been with her ever since they’d been together.

She had never seen her father be even slightly attentive to her mother.

She had only seen him give orders and her mother obey and defer to his wishes.

This side of Paul, the man she had first met in the summer, was precious gold in her eyes.

If only there was not also the part of him that frightened her a little – the image of the highwayman lying dead in his blood lingered in her mind.

Paul ordered cured ham, cheese and freshly baked bread to break their fast, and then asked how many miles they were away from the Scottish border and how long it would take them to get there.

The innkeeper implied they could make it by nightfall, if the snow neither melted nor started falling again.

By nightfall. In hours they might be wed.

They ate hurriedly, not wishing to delay, then Paul suggested they walk away from the inn, a little way up the road, so he could stretch his legs before having to endure the cramped carriage again.

She offered his arm and she held it, but his long-legged stride made it difficult for her to keep up, especially as the layer of snow caught on the hem of her skirt, making her velvet habit heavier as it soaked up the moisture.

But she liked the gentle give of the crisp snow beneath her half boots, and she began sliding her feet through it to keep up.

She slipped, and her fingers tightened about the firm muscle of his forearm.

The solidity, his security, caught at her heart.

But his strength enabled him to kill men.

Her gaze turned to the picturesque village green on the far side of the road. Its fresh white coat looked pure and beautiful.

‘Shall we walk through it?’ Paul asked. ‘I think it is too late now to make any difference if anyone were to remember us.’

Ellen nodded, her fingers clinging to his arm more firmly, denying her thoughts of the warrior within him.

‘Come then.’ He led her over.

On the village green, his arm dropped from her grip as he bent, then he quickly grasped a handful of snow and tossed it at her, a wide smile cutting his face and laughter glimmering in his eyes.

Ellen squealed, turning away as it hit the side of her bonnet. ‘Oh, you brigand!’ She laughed.

He laughed too, stooping to gather another handful of snow.

Ellen bent and filled her hands, crushing the snow in her fingers to make it denser, then threw the snowball at him.

He threw his. It hit her breast. The snow stuck to her cloak.

The cold, the exercise and the laughter tumbled through her senses in an exhilarating rush.

He still laughed as he brushed snow from his shoulder and she ran a few steps away then turned and threw another handful at him. It nearly missed him, only brushing his ear as he ducked. She bent and filled two hands, as a missile of cold snow hit her back.

She laughed again, smiling so widely it made her cheeks begin to ache, and lifted both her hands, and the pile of snow she held. Still laughing, she ran at him. He did not try to avoid her ambush as she neared and thrust the snow at his face, he only shut his eyes and his lips.