Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (32 page)

She heard nothing else the doctor
said. Mind racing, she tried to absorb the implications of his news. A move to
Brussels was significant. Wellington's key staff would congregate in
preparation for true battle. Matthew would not leave his garrison, or his men,
for anything less.
And he was taking her with him
. As a nurse, according
to her guest, but her heart quickened at the truth.

Hallick's rising from the stool
snapped her to attention, and Kate realized by the question in his smile that
he was waiting for something, something she had missed. “I beg your pardon?”

He waved a hand around at the
garrison. “I was only saying that, if it is convenient for you, I should
appreciate being acquainted with the lay of the land, so to speak. How the
hospital is arranged, what supplies we have?”

She straightened, smiling. “Oh, of
course. Porter keeps the inventories, and a copy is always filed with the
general. Anything else, I would be happy to show you once you have settled in.”

“That would be most helpful.” He
returned the hat to its perch, tipping her a nod. “It was pleasant to meet you,
Miss Foster. Good evening.”

Kate watched his retreating back
without truly seeing. She was too deep in the enjoyment of Matthew's plan to
really notice anything. She would not spoil that pleasure with worry over the
inevitable. Instead she simply basked in his affection, and his unwillingness
to be parted.

She passed a solitary dinner in her
tent, Porter there and gone like a flash of lightening, eager to play cards
with the men of his new company. Fann's letter, now half a book, received some
attention, but Kate realized she was mostly doing the same thing: staring at
nothing from various attitudes. Snaking a hand beneath her pillow, she tugged
out Doctor Addison's watch and examined its hands. Midnight. She had been
certain Matthew would come to her, no matter the hour. Replacing the watch, she
trailed fingers over her quilt. It was surreal that only nights before, Matthew
had shared her bed. He had lain just where her hand now rested. Kate bent her
head, inhaling the scent on her blankets. Her pulse quickened, body eager,
embracing the memory of him crushed between her thighs, whispering her name hot
against her neck.

Groaning, Kate got up and put her
coat on. There would be no rest tonight, whether Matthew came or not. If he was
going to torment her in spirit, Kate decided, she would return the favor in
person.

*          *          *

His eyes ached. His writing hand
ached. There was a throbbing at his temples, partly from the strain of reading,
and mostly from the obsessive manner in which he ran through Napoleon's
divisions. Mentally he had pieced together biographies of the French generals,
unable to keep himself from working through each and every scenario which their
emperor might pursue. Preparations for his move to Brussels were hardly going
to plan, and despite McKinnon's valiant efforts there were still dispatches
left unanswered, though admittedly they were probably obsolete by now.

Matthew flipped his watch over on
the desk and sighed. The later the hour, the longer a two-paragraph message
took to compose. He had disciplined himself the whole day, promising that he
would see Kate when his work was done. He had entirely forgotten to send the
note he had planned earlier in the day. By now she had likely given up and gone
to bed. Defeated, Matthew vowed to conclude the reply in front of him and turn
in for the night.

A rustle from outside pulled him
from his work.
She was a witch.
He could hardly believe otherwise,
seeing Kate slip into the tent at his thoughts of her, as though she had been
conjured. The tension between his shoulders melted away. “Kate.”

Her hair should be worn down at all
times. Waves spilled wildly onto the shoulders of her blue coat, almost
entirely distracting him from the question of why she was dressed so warmly on
a balmy June night. “I was certain you would be sleeping by now.” He waved a
hand over the chaos of his desk. “I would have been with you in an instant, if
I could have spared myself.”

She said nothing, standing just
inside the flap, wearing a smile that was all in her eyes. The coat slid from
her arms, pooling on the floor and giving him an answer. She was clad only in a
calico-print wrapper. His body hardened with instant approval.

She padded gently across the space
between them, coming around the desk to stand at arms-length from him. Kate
claimed his hand, lifted it, hanging his fingers from the loose knot of her
belt.

Touched, he realized she was
asking
.
Kate had come to him knowing the gravity of the work before him. She was
offering herself, while making clear that it was his decision if she stayed or
went. He could not have denied himself were he drafting orders mid-battle.
Their first night's memories meshed with a need for the comfort only she could
give, and he was lost.

With a palm he pressed her hip,
pushing Kate gently until she was between his knees. Lifting her onto the desk,
he ignored the sharp crease of papers under her backside. Hypnotized fingers
clutched the belt, hooking through a loop in the knot with one sound yank. The
robe came loose, but did not fall open, instead hanging free between her
breasts and down to her belly. He had been mistaken; it was not the only thing
she wore. Blue stockings of sensible light wool caressed her to the knee. The
manner in which she was
employing
them, however, was anything but
sensible.

Hooking thumbs into her neckline, he
raked them down her breasts, across taught nipples before pulling back her
nightclothes. She gasped with a little 'ah', arching against his hands. The
wrapper fell away, sliding to her elbows where it came to rest, checked by the
slant of her arms braced on the desk.

He did nothing but enjoy her,
indulging himself in the same way she had with his tattoo. He moved eyes slowly
over the hair flirting with her brow, down the dusky flesh of her breasts,
before tracing the undeniably feminine curve of her hips. He plucked at the
pewter buckle of a garter, starting to tug down her stocking. She swatted him
away, shaking her head.

Kate reached out, playing with the
hair at his temple, smoothing her hand over his jaw and stroking an earlobe
roughly with the pad of her thumb. Her lips were pressed together, and it
occurred that she had been entirely silent since the moment she set foot in the
tent. Her fingers pressed beneath his chin, raising his eyes to hers. It was a
challenge, and an invitation:
Last chance for surrender, General Webb.

He got up slowly in answer, forcing
Kate to lean farther onto his desk, her blue eyes full of mischief. Amber
lamplight spilled warm like honey over her skin, making his fingers itch. His
hand worked between the robe and her back, brushing her spine, pressing her closer.
His other palm braced atop the papers, gripping her naked thigh. It steadied
him as Kate's mouth claimed his.

He was powerless.
Matthew
realized it as she pulled his lower lip suggestively over her own. She had come
armed for seduction, just as he had their first night. If at any point tonight
he had believed he was in control, beyond inviting her to stay, that illusion
was broken now. Kate ducked his effort to ply her with his tongue, pulling away
and redoubling the aggression of her kiss. Groaning, he surrendered. He could
admit when he was out-flanked.

He lowered his head to her breast,
teasing a nipple for as long as she would allow. Kate's palms flattened against
his shoulders, forcing space between them. Her fingers danced at his waistband,
torturing him with slow deliberate pinches to free his shirt-tail. He was
cradled between her knees, and as she worked, she twined legs around his back,
pulling him close enough to feel her heat through the wool of his trousers.

Panting, Matthew wondered briefly if
he would last until he was inside her. Everything ached, from his gut to his
knees. “Kate, I cannot –” Her hands left his breeches, and her ankles slipped
lower at the backs of his thighs. He could have sworn she was letting go.
Matthew stood frozen, silent over her, puzzling over what had just happened.
Fingernails raked his sides. Off went his shirt, landing out of sight behind
him. Straining against the fall-front of his pants went from uncomfortable to
agonizing. “Dear God, I have to...”

Again her hands left him, body going
slack. When he met her eyes this time, Kate pressed her lips together and
winked.
So that was her game
.

He worked at a button in clumsy
haste. Kate snatched at his hands, and, in his desperation, he almost would
have fought her, except she popped the little pewter disc through its grommet
with easy skill. Her deft fingers felled each button double-quick. Panting, he
wrestled down the waistband.

Slender fingers grasped him and Kate
chuckled throaty approval as he thrust eagerly into her palm. Losing the
support of his knees, he arched over the desk and over Kate, biting her
shoulder and licking off the sweat. He was already near the brink, aching
thighs warning they might give way at any moment. The demanding brush of her
hand was driving him feral, and he twisted fingers into the thick silken hair
at her nape and drew his hips back. Cautioning, he raked lips against her ear.
“No more of that, love.”

She sighed, playing at the corners
of his mouth with an assault of small kisses. Her hand stopped, and one foot
worked into the band of his trousers, helping them down as far as his knees.
Papers slid and something tore as Kate rearranged hands behind her. Wrapping
him with her legs in earnest, she jerked him close with a hitch of her knees,
arching her back in primitive, unmistakable invitation.

Matthew rooted himself in Kate,
swallowing her gasp with an urgent kiss. He stilled a long moment, panting
hotly through his nose, gathering himself against her heat. It was a physical
struggle not to drive himself inside until they were no longer two people.
Being with Kate was like the first time making love; the raw intensity of every
sensation, fighting to keep control at nothing more than a groan, the brush of
lips, warring to please one another with unchecked enthusiasm.

He caressed her ribs in imitation of
her hands gliding up and down his back. His palm cradled her breast, working
against a taught nipple, earning the bite of fingernails along his shoulders.
He tensed inside her at their sharp sting.

Eyes shut, her breath came faster,
hot against his shoulder. It was not enough. He wanted to hear her, to nip
until she cried out, press her thighs until his name tore from her throat.
Smoothing hands over the silken skin of her back, he pushed slow and
relentless, until he was sure of being at her very center. “Kate,” he murmured
into her hair. “
Kate
.” When she finally gasped, he withdrew and
redoubled the effort.

It was his turn to chuckle. Her
hands kneaded the muscles along his buttocks, palms pressing in an effort to
draw him deeper. He hung somewhere between pleasure and the pain of
self-denial, wanting to go on forever as much as spend himself to find relief.

She was impatient, too. He felt it
as she arched up, sinking him forcefully deeper. It was a reminder that he was
not truly the one in control. He would have continued their slow build just to
tease her, but Kate's ankles locked hard behind him, stockings scratching the
flesh at his back. Her hips lifted insistently, not satisfied by his tame
attention. Happy to oblige, he grasped her backside, jerking Kate to the edge
of the desk in a waterfall of papers. She buried a cry in his neck, claiming
him fully inside.

Something stilled in him, passion
and lust simmering at the sudden sense of being complete. It was entirely new
territory where lovemaking was concerned. Rather than give him pause, Matthew
found it pushing him over the edge, breaching the last of his self-control. Two
days apart had been too long for any sort of measure.

One hand behind Kate, he raked
fingers down her hip, clutching her thigh where it clung damp against his side.
Her pressure urged his rhythm and her knees bit his sides with demand. Matthew
leaned farther over her, pressing Kate almost to the top of the desk, wrapping
trembling fingers around its edge for leverage.

He went mindless inside her, save
for an instinctive ear, listening with each thrust to her gasps and soft cries,
until he was certain she was on the edge. She raised her hips, catching his
momentum till they jarred the desk. Tension coiled deep in his gut exploded.
Kate's cries filled his mouth, and he stole her breath with ragged groans.

Half-collapsing over her, his papers
gave way beneath her palms and she slid backward. Matthew caught her shoulders
and hauled her against his chest, their arms and legs lacing easily into an
embrace. He realized he was crushing her when she giggled against his chest,
wriggling free of his arms. He couldn't help it; even inside her, he still was
not close enough. There
was
no amount of holding her, kissing her which
could satisfy his need. It was a need he felt all the way to his soul.

Wrapping an arm around her back, he
scooped Kate from the desk, taking her with him and dropping onto his chair. It
creaked in protest and Matthew held his breath while they fitted themselves
back together. Blessedly, the old wood held and he gave silent thanks. Kate
leaned forward, cheek pressed to his shoulder, urgent breaths cooling his damp
skin.

For the first time since leaving her
Wednesday morning, Matthew felt peace. He wanted to tell her something, words
he had felt but not realized for weeks now. He had known it by name, lying
beside her in the stillness of her tent, unable to fathom any part of his
future which did not include her.