Two Turtledoves (18 page)

It looked like "one more day" had just become "one
day too long."

For a moment, Dev wondered whether Honor would be
safer within the ranks of his comrades, then dismissed the notion.
Nor would taking Honor to join the retreating wagons keep her
secure if anything happened to him.

He'd hand Honor into his batman's protection before
he left camp this morning. As a local man, Phillipe's vast
organisation of contacts could arrange for Honor's safe passage
across Spain and into France. Not an easy journey under any
circumstances. Add in the combination of Napoleon and Joseph
Bonapartes' armies plus rogue or deserting soldiers filling the
roads or trying to escape, it would be fraught with even more
danger.

* * * *

"There you are, Dev." Keeping her tone light and
carefree, she held out her hands when he joined her. The way Dev's
gaze slid away confirmed her instinct that it wasn't going to be a
normal day.

Just one day…

A shiver ran down her spine.

He revealed his soul in his eyes, and as she looked
into them now, Honor detected the tumult of emotions stirring
within them.

His face lit up when he saw her coming, and he opened
his arms to welcome her, wrapping them around her tightly. For a
moment he rested his forehead on hers, inhaling the scent of her,
enjoying her warmth and softness before stepping back.

"What an age you have been. I do declare I began to
wonder if Wellington sent you off without giving you a chance to
say 'goodbye'." She angled her head for his kiss, letting it fall
on her cheek. She wanted to grab hold of Dev and drag him back to
their little tent.

His smile vanished. He glanced round at the general
mêlée
of movement and pulled her to one side.

Taking her hand he kissed her palm before holding her
gaze. Without preamble he held her still when she went to embrace
him. "Listen to me, Honor."

She wanted to reach up and trace her finger over his
lips. Instead she fisted her free hand at her side to prevent
herself giving in to temptation.

"When I agreed to let you come with me to Europe you
gave me a promise. Do you remember?"

All desire to caress Devlin vanished. Unable to get
any words passed the constriction in her throat, she nodded.

"It is time."

"But—" they came thick and fast now. "You said… we're
going home… you said…" Her words fell off her personal cliff of
fear and tumbled to the ground between them, along with hope. What
was that saying?
Tomorrow never comes.
Was Dev implying
their future was an illusion? Her heart plummeted, and the pain in
her chest was sharp as a knife.

"I will join you tomorrow," he said.

The look in his eyes stopped her protest from
tumbling out. She'd promised to be strong. For him, for her.

Now, it seemed, the moment had arrived to make good
on that promise.

This time she didn't resist her urge to touch him.
She caught the lapels of his red jacket and pulled him to her. She
stood on tip toe and pressed her lips to his.

"I love you, Dev."

His eyes darkened, and for a second she wondered
whether she'd made a mistake, added to his emotional burden. He
needed a clear mind free from a sense of personal obligation to do
his work, but the words slipped out before she could check
them.

His hand came up to cover one of hers. "I know, and I
love you too. You are my life." He leaned down and deepened the
kiss, then stepped back with a sigh.

"I will take you to Phillipe. In the name of your
promise to me, do what he says without question. Your safety, and
his, will depend upon it."

Once more words failed her; once more a nod was all
she could give him.

He took her hand and kept it close to his heart for
several seconds. When he pulled on it she followed him as they made
their way to the perimeter of the camp beyond the commander's tent.
A minute later Dev placed it in Phillipe's; she recognised the
understanding in the Spaniard's eyes, saw the gleam of admiration
when she nodded to him and stepped away from Dev.

It was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"I have to go." He looked over to where a soldier
stood beside his waiting horse.

"I have to go," he said again, then placed his hands
on her face and pulled her close. To Honor, his kiss stopped time.
Whether it lasted a second or a lifetime, she didn't know. The cool
air on her cheeks brought her back to the present. To a separation
she feared might last forever.

The next hardest thing was to keep a smile on her
lips when Dev stole another brief kiss before striding away.

"Phillipe, I promised Dev I would follow your
instructions without question, and I will, but please just this
once, may I stay here until Dev leaves?" If he agreed she vowed
she'd never ask him for any more favours.

She held her breath when he hesitated and released it
with a whoosh when he acquiesced.

They stood side by side in the brightening daylight
as Dev strode over to another officer, nodded after a moment's
discussion, then mounted his waiting horse. He didn't look back.
Had she expected him to? At a gentle trot, Dev headed for the
outskirts of the camp where he was joined by three other
soldiers.

When Phillipe gripped her arm, she cast a puzzled
glance at him. She read the horror in his eyes and swung round in
time to witness one of the men swing his sword in an arc and bring
it down on Dev's head, then the others closed in to haul his
unconscious body from the horse. She wanted to scream, but
Phillipe's hand over her mouth prevented any sound from escaping.
She wanted to rush to Dev's rescue, and found herself restrained by
the Spaniard's other arm clamped her waist.

She wanted to deny what she seen but couldn't take
her eyes of the unfolding horror.

Where were his friends? She fought Phillipe's
insistence they move away until the men, with Dev, disappeared from
view. Where were the men taking her husband? Who were they and why
hadn't anyone gone to her husband's rescue?

"What's going on?" she demanded when Phillipe remove
his hand from her mouth. "I want to go to him," she insisted, but
Phillipe shook his head and began dragging her in the opposite
direction. She wanted to curl up and die.

"I don't understand. Why have our own men attacked
him, and why did no one go to his aid?"

"Those men are not members of Wellington's army."

Phillipe's certainty had her spinning round. "Not our
soldiers? They wear our uniforms."

"Not correctly, which means they are from either one
of Marmont's divisions or partisans in captured uniforms."

When Phillipe tugged on her arm, she wrenched out of
his grip. Why go anywhere with anyone if she'd never see Dev again,
and then his words came back to her.
"Remember your
promise…"

She remembered, and straightening her shoulders,
nodded at Phillipe before following him when he walked them through
the mud at a steady pace and in the opposite direction.

Chapter One

Henry Westmoreland, the new Duke of Salle, had
returned to England.

The servants had whispered about it all day. Emma
tried to ignore them, but the guilty way they jumped apart from
each other every time she happened upon a group of them didn't make
it easy. After running into gossiping servants in the kitchen, the
dining room, and the drawing room, she finally took a novel and
found a quiet corner in the library.

However, she soon found that while she could escape
the household's mutterings, she could not escape her own
thoughts.

"Foolishness," she admonished herself. "He didn't
return for you. You wouldn't want him if he did."

With a self-satisfied nod of her head, she turned her
attention back to her book, and reread the page in front of her for
the eighth time. After the tenth time, she put the novel aside with
a heavy sigh. Perhaps she should go for a walk.

"Lady Emmaline," the butler said from the doorway.
"You have a caller."

A caller? She hadn't had a caller in over five years.
Not since
he
left.

She stood and tried to cover her excitement. "Who is
it?"

"His grace, the Duke of Salle."

Her knees grew weak. Henry? Here? At her home? Her
heart raced as she imagined what he wanted.

From the doorway, the servant watched her with barely
concealed curiosity. Summoning all the inner strength she had, Emma
sat back down.

"Oh." She took her book off the table and opened it
to a random page. "Please inform his grace I am indisposed."

"My humblest apologies, my lady, but he has already
conversed with your mother."

"Of course he has," she muttered under her breath.
Whatever he was, Henry wasn't a fool. He knew the quickest way to a
single woman was through a desperate mother. Looking up at the
butler, she replied, "Very well. Tell his grace I will be in
shortly."

She walked to the morning room, her mind occupied
with deciding upon a plan. She would welcome him back to England.
She would murmur niceties about the weather and how delighted she
was to see him again. Then she would be overcome with a headache
and excuse herself. She would not stare at him. She would not let
his smile wipe every bit of sense out of her head. Most
importantly, she would not forgive him.

He was talking with her mother, his back to the door,
when she entered. Her presence remained unnoticed until her mother
spied her over his shoulder.

"Emmaline. Do come in."

Henry turned and their eyes met for the first time in
over five years. Those years had been kind to him. He had grown
into a man. Gone was the gangly boyishness she remembered. His eyes
searched hers and she wondered what he saw. How she appeared to him
since the last time they were in each other's company.

He approached her, running a hand through his tousled
blond hair, and an unsure smile on his face. His voice was thick
and coarse when he spoke, nothing at all as she remembered him
sounding. "Lady Emmaline."

She dropped into a curtsy. "Your grace." Her voice
sounded calm to her ears and she lifted a silent prayer of thanks.
She waved in the general direction of the couches. "Would you care
to sit?"

"Yes, thank you."

He followed and sat down once she did. Emma saw from
the corner of her eye that her mother had taken a seat near the
door to sew.

"Welcome back to England, your grace," Emma said.

Over the last five years, she had played over and
over in her mind what would happen if Henry ever returned from the
Continent and they found themselves together. Now that it was
actually happening, all her memorized lines flew straight out of
her head. The only things remaining were nonsensical
pleasantries.

"Thank you. It's nice to be back."

He had grown into an imposing man. Now that she saw
him more fully, she could tell. With broad shoulders, wide chest,
and head held high, he was every inch a duke.

"I was sorry to hear of your father's passing." She
felt certain if his father hadn't died, Henry would have remained
far away from England.

"He lived a full life."

They had become strangers over the last five years.
She no longer knew him. This man who had once been her close
confidant, and later her downfall, was now a stranger. It was
rather sad if she thought about it long enough.

"Pleasant weather today," she said.

"Yes, quite."

A silence followed, so complete she thought if she
listened hard enough, she could hear her mother's needle push
through the cloth.

It wasn't just sad, though, it was painful. Sitting
with him, so close yet so distant, was a mockery of all she had
lost.

They spoke at the same time.

"Your grace–"

"Emmaline–"

She waved at him. "You go."

Uncertainty crossed his expression and she wondered
if he felt guilty. "I wanted to… I suppose 'apologize' is an
understatement. I came to see how you fared. How life has been for
you."

She narrowed her eyes. The ever-present anger at her
situation, the anger she usually kept under lock and key, buried
deep inside her soul, started to boil.

"How do you think I fared? Was there any doubt in
your mind how life has been for me?" She leaned closer, spoke low
so her mother wouldn't hear. "I am most well, your grace. As you
noticed when you entered this morning, I am not sure what to do
with myself, what with all these suitors hanging around. I receive
so many party and ball invitations, I'm busy every night of the
week. Of course, once there, my dance card is always filled. You
mustn't concern yourself with how I've been."