Once a Soldier (Rogues Redeemed) (7 page)

She took a deep breath. “I have no official authority here, but nonetheless, on behalf of San Gabriel, I accept! How long do you think it will take to contact Mr. Ballard and get a response?”

“Perhaps a week? Porto is much closer than Toulouse and I suspect there are many men in the city who are eager for work. Plus, Justin is very efficient.” Will’s brow furrowed. “I just had another thought. Does your river run down into the Douro? I’m no expert, but to me the wine tastes very like the expensive wines from the upper Douro.”

“Yes, the San Gabriel River is a tributary of the Douro and the soil and climate here are much the same.”

“Have the local wines ever been sent down to Porto for export? When the vineyards are restored, that could be profitable if transportation is practical.”

“The river isn’t navigable and the land route over the mountains into Portugal is too difficult for large-scale shipping. Gabrileño wine is consumed locally or sent east into Spain.” She split the last of the wine between them, corked the bottle, and stashed it in her saddlebag. “It’s a pity there’s no reasonable transportation. Our wines keep well so they’d be ideal for export. On good years, there are sizable surpluses so the vintners add brandy to the excess and it keeps even longer.”

“Could the river channel be improved to become navigable?” Will asked. “It used to be impossible to sail up the Douro farther than the Cachão da Valeira Gorge, but the waterfall and overhangs were blasted open twenty years ago so boats could continue up the river. Now there are vineyards almost all the way to Spain and wine production has increased dramatically. Perhaps the same could be done for San Gabriel River.”

“Uncle Carlos may have considered improving the river, though if he did, I heard nothing about it,” Athena said thoughtfully. “San Gabriel has been a sleepy, isolated, and content little country for a very long time. But Uncle Carlos realized that the world is changing, and his country must also. That’s a major reason he sent troops to fight Bonaparte. The young men who return will have new ideas and know a broader world.” Her voice broke for a moment. “Now he’ll never see that.”

“It’s too soon to assume that he and his son are dead,” Will said quietly. “But if they are, San Gabriel will go on, so the future must be considered.”

“You’re right, of course. Will you have time to survey the river to see if improvements can be made without it being prohibitively expensive? If work could be started soon, perhaps the river could be sailed about the time the vineyards are reestablished.”

“I’ll ask Ballard if he has time to come up here himself,” Will replied. “He can take a look at the river channel. His family was involved in improving the Douro so he would know something about what is involved.” Will lifted his glass in an informal toast. “Plus, I’m sure he’d be interested in your wines. If the storage caves can be opened up and the wine is still good, you might be able to sell some sooner rather than later if the shipping problems can be solved.”

“What a wonderful possibility! Bless you, Will.” With the first optimism she’d felt in months, Athena leaned over to brush a light kiss on his cheek, but he turned his head and her lips landed on his. He tasted of wine and sunshine, warmth and kindness—and something much deeper and more dangerous.

The kiss deepened, and her world turned upside down.

Chapter 9

A
thena’s wineglass tumbled to the grass as shock and desire flooded her senses. She felt Will’s large hand behind her head, cradling her neck and drawing her closer. She surrendered to the moment, hungry for his warmth and tenderness. As the kiss deepened, his arms came around her in an embrace that fitted her against his broad chest. It would be easy, so easy, to fall into this man and lose herself and her fears and worries....

Will shifted, murmuring, “You are so lovely. . . .”

His words broke the spell and Athena pulled away, angry with herself and her lack of control. “I won’t be your mistress,” she said tightly. “Or is that the price of the aid you’ve offered?”

He looked as startled as if she’d slapped him. Then he began to laugh. “And here I was trying so hard to behave like a gentleman. I suppose it wasn’t very gentlemanly to kiss you, though you started it, you know.”

“So I did.” She wiped damp palms on her riding skirt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did. Unless you actually do want me to lie with you in return for your aid to San Gabriel?”

“What would you say if the two things were linked?” he asked with interest. He turned toward her, his chest looking impossibly broad in his scarlet army coat. A wave of brown hair fell over his forehead and one arm stretched along the back of the bench. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was acutely aware of his physical presence and nearness. Mere inches away....

She edged back as far away as the bench would permit, which wasn’t very far. Though smoky desire had dissipated, a sense of connection remained. Which was absurd, since twenty-four hours earlier, they hadn’t even met.

Wanting to put more emotional distance between them, she said ironically, “An intriguing question, Major Masterson. Would I sacrifice my honor to help my adopted country? But since I was born in dishonor, it might not be a fair question.”

His dark brows arched. “Nonsense. You know my views on what is considered legitimacy. Let me add that I have no desire to acquire an unwilling mistress.”

“A surprising number of men lack your scruples,” she said dryly. “But it’s clear I overreacted. All you wanted was a kiss, not a mistress.”

“Did I say that?” he said with a slow smile that lit his whole face. “I’m neither blind nor stupid, so of course I would love to lie with you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we met. But anything that might be between us is separate from what must be done in San Gabriel.”

Her return smile was sad. “How can there be anything between us when you’ll be gone so soon? You’re anxious to return home, while I am committed to staying here indefinitely. I’m no innocent just emerged from the schoolroom, but I’m nowhere near reckless and worldly enough to lie with a virtual stranger. We haven’t the time for more than the first levels of friendship.”

“That is . . . not necessarily true.” His gaze held hers, his gray eyes turning serious. “Though I yearn for my home, some things are more important. Becoming better acquainted with you is one such thing.”

She stared at him. “You’re a most unusual man, Major Masterson.”

“I’ve been told that before,” he said sadly. “It’s never a compliment.”

She had to smile. “Now I know you’re teasing.”

“Possibly,” he agreed; his expression sober, but his eyes amused. “If I’m forgiven for the kiss, will you call me Will again? I prefer to be on first name terms with you.”

“Very well, Will.” She preferred that as well. “For whatever time you’re here, we can be friends. After you leave . . .” She shrugged. “In my experience, men are not such good letter writers as women, and it’s a long way from San Gabriel to Oxfordshire.”

“I’m a rather decent letter writer, actually.” His gaze intensified. “Friends. And who knows? Perhaps we can become more than friends.”

She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. He could not possibly mean what he seemed to be implying. Returning to irony, she said, “What are the relationship possibilities?” She held up her left hand and ticked off one finger. “Friendship is the broadest category and can range from mild acquaintance to deep, enduring loyalty. I think we are already mild friends?”

“If we weren’t more than mild friends already, we wouldn’t be having this extremely interesting discussion,” he agreed.

She ticked off another finger. “We could become enemies.”

“I will
not
allow that,” he said firmly. “I have had enough of enemies.”

“One does not always have a choice.” She tapped her middle finger. “The opposite of love or hate, which is indifference.”

“It is much too late for indifference,” Will said seriously. “I believe I mentioned my immediate interest in kissing you.”

“Do you always want to kiss women who aim rifles at you?” she asked curiously.

“No, you’re the only one,” he said. “Though if the truth be known, women seldom greet me with weaponry.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She studied her hand. “Two fingers left for listing relationships, and those remaining are deeply implausible.”

“But these are the most interesting possibilities!” he exclaimed.

“‘Interesting’ doesn’t mean
good.
” She ticked her ring finger. “We could have an affair. That will not happen for any number of reasons, most of which you can imagine.”

“Which leaves another possibility,” he said, his voice soft.

She closed her hand into a fist. “You can’t possibly be interested in marriage! You scarcely know me.”

“That’s true, as is the reverse. If we get to know each other better, one or both of us might decide we’d never suit.”

She stared at him, feeling as if time had stopped. She was sharply aware of the sweeping valley and mild breeze, the sunshine warming them both, his tanned complexion.

The bleak impossibility of what he was saying. “Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding, but are you actually proposing courtship?”

“Indeed I am. A courtship of two wary but wise adults.” He hesitated before continuing, “It’s possible I am too old and jaded to ever be fit for marriage again.”

“You’re not that old,” she said firmly.

He smiled a little. “Perhaps not. But I have seen too much of the world and made too many mistakes.”

“I often feel the same,” she said. “Perhaps that is why I interest you?”

“Very likely. I have trouble imagining myself making conversation with the typical well-bred young lady back in England.”

“No more than I could converse with an English country gentleman, the sort who cherishes delicate females,” she said wryly. “Which is one of several reasons I’ve sworn never to marry.”

“‘Never’ is a very long time. We change with age. Things that seemed implausible can come to seem desirable.”

“True in theory, but I’m settling happily into eccentric spinsterhood,” she retorted. “I doubt I’d change my mind.”

“But you do concede the possibility of changing your mind.” He smiled. “I can work with that.”

She couldn’t resist smiling back. “You’re very persistent, Will. But you haven’t much time to change my mind.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you willing to experiment? My brother’s wife is full of interesting thoughts and theories. She said that courting couples meet under such artificial circumstances and see so little of each other that it’s far too easy to choose one’s life partner very badly.”

“Was she mistaken in your brother?” Athena asked, surprised.

“No, but they didn’t meet under artificial social conditions,” Will explained. “Kiri met Mac after she’d narrowly escaped engaging herself to a man she met conventionally. It would have been a very bad match for her, so she now advocates avoiding conventional courtships.”

“In what unconventional way did she meet your brother?” Athena asked curiously.

“He rescued her after she’d been kidnapped by smugglers.” Will grinned. “So they skipped superficial chat and went straight to deeper issues.”

“Kidnapped by smugglers. Of
course
! I should have remembered that’s the very best way to meet a husband,” Athena said with mock seriousness. “She sounds like an interesting woman.”

“You’ll like her,” Will promised as if a future meeting was inevitable. “But the two relationships, the wrong one and then the right one, inspired Kiri’s theory of how to quickly learn a great deal about a potential partner.”

“What is her suggested method?” Athena asked, reluctantly interested.

“To ask each other difficult questions, the kind that makes one reveal oneself,” he explained. “It isn’t easy, but the process is far more useful than exchanging pleasantries over tea and cakes or trying to converse in a noisy ballroom.”

She frowned. “That sounds deucedly uncomfortable. What if one party flatly refuses to participate?”

“Doesn’t that tell you something important right there?”

“It says that the prospective mate is uncomfortable with emotion and intimacy,” Athena said thoughtfully. “Most people are uncomfortable with revealing too much, of course, but one would hope for more from a possible mate.”

“Are you game for a few questions now?” he asked, his gaze intent. “If we don’t immediately alienate each other, we can continue to ask a question or two a day.”

She studied Will’s strong, honest face. She’d long since given up the idea that she’d ever marry and she doubted she’d change her mind, no matter how persuasive he might be. Even though he was the most appealing man she’d met in years. “I don’t think you’ll change my mind, Will. Is it worth the effort when I’m such a recalcitrant female?”

“I won’t regret the effort if you’re willing to try,” he said seriously. “I
will
regret it if you flatly refuse to make the attempt.”

When she hesitated, he continued, “It’s also a good way to build a deeper friendship, and we’re already on our way to achieving that.”

“What if a question is something one of us can’t bear to discuss?”

“Then it doesn’t get answered,” he said promptly. “This is all voluntary. A tool to improve our acquaintance, not a bludgeon.”

“Very well, I’ll try.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ve always had far too much curiosity. I’ll ask the first question so you can be the one alarmed and discomforted.”

“That’s only fair. Ask away!” he replied. “I suspect that any one question will probably lead into related questions. We’ll see.”

Where to start? Not with anything too difficult, she decided. “You identified yourself as from Oxfordshire as soon as we met, so your home is important to you. Tell me about it, not just what your home looks like, but how you feel about it.”

“Describing the house is easy. The oldest section of Hayden Hall goes back to Tudor times and bits and pieces have been added ever since. An architectural purist would shudder, but I find it—welcoming. As eccentric and charming as a favorite aunt.” He smiled with fond reminiscence. “Oxfordshire is lovely, with rolling hills and streams and fertile fields. It’s not far to Oxford, one of the most beautiful little cities in Europe. And London is also convenient when one is in the mood for city life.”

“You were a farmer, a landed gentleman, before you entered the army?”

He nodded. “I’ll have much to learn when I return, but I have a good and patient steward to teach me. I look forward to it. There is something very sane about growing crops and raising livestock.”

Beginning to understand the value of this exercise, she asked, “Why did you leave a comfortable life in a home you love? Was it youthful restlessness?”

A shadow crossed his face and he looked away from her. “I couldn’t bear to stay there after Lily died,” he said haltingly. “Whenever I entered a room, I felt as if she’d just stepped out, and if I looked hard enough, I’d find her. It was madness. I . . . I felt that if I stayed, I’d end up shooting myself.”

Yes, this kind of questioning was not easy. “So you chose to let the French do the shooting,” she said quietly.

“I thought at least I’d die doing something worthwhile.” He grimaced. “I didn’t realize that soldiers are more likely to die of fevers than bullets.”

“Will you still be haunted by Lily when you return home?” she asked, knowing this was one of those uncomfortable questions.

His brow furrowed as he thought about it. “I don’t think so. The memories of her are happy and . . . distant.”

“Do you love her still?” Athena asked softly.

Will sighed. “The young man I was then loved her deeply, but he didn’t survive all those muddy fields on the Peninsula. I’m not that young man anymore.” He raised his eyes and studied her face. “Now it’s time for me to ask a question and make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s only fair,” she said without enthusiasm. “Ask away.”

“Tell me about Lady Delilah.”

She caught her breath, realizing that such a question was inevitable. Her mother had been such an important part of Athena’s life that she must be discussed.

But dear Lord, how could she possibly explain her mother?