Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (36 page)

He chuckled. “Give me your verdict,
then.”

It had been a long time, no memory
readily at hand for the last time his mother had looked at him with such
gravity. “Any man who trifles with Miss Foster had better have both hands free
to manage her.”

His mother had clearly recognized
her own kind. “Sympathetic conspirator?”

Her expression did not change. “I
hardly fall into the same camp. Your father did not pay me enough mind to be
troubled by my temper.”

“And neither did I, it seems.” He
smiled to soften his words. “You were not enough of a warning to steer me from
Miss Foster's path.”

Her eyes drooped, weary and lined
with concern. “I strongly object to the two of you carrying on in the same
house, Matthew. Let Uxbridge be a caution to you in that regard.”

He had been sure of being in the
right, where Kate was concerned. Hadn't Caroline's actions justified his own?
It had not occurred to him that he was not entirely free to give himself to
Kate in the way she deserved.

It was too late for such worry now.

“I can hardly stay away from her,
mama. Duty chafes of late, when I am called away. Even sleep is an
inconvenience, robbing me of her company.”

She stroked his cheek, truly smiling
for the first time. “I think perhaps she deserves you.”

*          *          *

He led Kate onto the step, shutting
the door behind them. It was well after dark, and the grand square was empty
and still. Wet cobblestones glowed with lamplight ahead of them, bathed by a
summer shower that had come and gone while they were inside. Kate clutched her
shawl and nestled against his side. Good manners warred for a moment with his
enjoyment of how perfectly they fit together. “Would you like my coat?”

“No, thank you.” She wrapped tighter
around his arm and smiled. “You will do just fine.”

He chucked her under the chin, leading
them out into the square. “My mother would like for you to attend Lady
Richmond's soiree, as her guest.” For all her caution about his conduct with
Kate, Adelaide had been amusingly eager to offer her regard publicly.

“She was very clear about my not
meriting a ticket,” Kate smiled.

“Louisa is too fragile and frankly
too old. She will be secretly grateful at being excused. I'm not fond of mama
going either, but she refuses to see reason.”

Kate's elbow dug slightly into his
side. “Your mother knows her limitations, Matthew. And I will be there, to keep
an eye on her.”

He relaxed, both in mind and body.
Her words dissolved tension he had not realized he was carrying. Slowing their
pace, he took the longest path across the square to enjoy his time with Kate. A
damp breeze rushed over them in little bursts, the cool breath of a summer
night. It nipped her cheeks into a soft pink, tossing her hair away now and
then, affording him stolen glances of her beautiful profile in the lamplight.
She worried at her bottom lip, a gesture he had come to know so well. He
waited, letting her put her thoughts together. When they were nearly to the
other side, she spoke. “Don't you find it strange, going with me to the shops,
dining with your mother, carrying on as though we have not a care? As though
fighting is not just over your shoulder?”

“Would it not be the same, if we
were at the garrison? It is for me.” He hadn't given it much thought before.
Today had been no different than many others, waiting to wade onto the field.

Kate's head shook against his
shoulder. “Not for me. I spend every moment waiting for a report. Inventory,
preparation, triage area. Wondering if I should sleep at midday, on the chance
I could be awake for days to come. I do not understand how you carry on so
easily.”

He considered the differences a
moment. Matthew realized he had never contemplated why the days before battle
passed mostly like any others. “Some men hunker in their tents, sick with
anticipation and certain the end is nigh.” He shook his head. “There is no
shame or cowardice in that, in being acquainted with how little time you might
have left above the dirt. However, if Death rides for me, no amount of
agonizing will stop his charge. I want my final moments to be fond and warm,
the memories easing me into whatever awaits when my eyes close for the last
time.” He squeezed her fingers.

She was quiet for moment, just the
snap of their feet on the cobblestones punctuating a line of tension between
them. “I can't bear to think of it,” she whispered finally.

He hated the ragged quaver in her
voice. “Not thinking of it doesn't change the possibility, Kate.”

“Don't ask me to be rational,
Matthew. Until you, Ty and Porter were the only people I had to lose, and they
are not the same. Not now. I'm heartsick at the thought of you taking the
field.” She didn't look at him, but he caught the tell-tale sniff at the end of
her words.

“There will be time enough to spend
your worry later. Here.” He dug inside his breast pocket for a small bundle of
tissue. “I found something while we were out earlier. It was impossible to hide
anything larger from you, and I imagine you find jewelry impractical.”

She pulled away smiling, pressing
the heel of her hand to each eye. “You know me so well. Fann does justice to sparkles
and trinkets, but I only feel like an over-garnished holiday roast. Here, here
is an emerald to put on your ham!” Kate brushed a hand at the air. “Wasted, and
utterly out of place.”

He chuckled. “Then I will not have
disappointed you.” They were in front of their own door now, and Matthew pulled
the ribbon out of its paper, holding it up under the lamplight. “You will not
be able to see the color properly out here.” It was not gray enough to be
indigo. Softer and a little too blue. “This shade puts me in mind of you,
though I can hardly say why.” He had almost missed it, all that was left on the
rack, at the shop when Kate ducked in to buy Fann's gift. The color could
hardly be called vibrant, but it was
constant
, a warm, faithful blue.

He dangled it before her, and Kate
ran fingers down its length. “Matthew, I don't know what to say. You could not
have chosen more perfectly.” She bit her lip in a gesture he found entirely
desirable.

Looping it behind her head, he
lifted her hair, feeling her skin tense. She shivered beneath his fingers, and
his body twitched just as eagerly at their contact. He laced the ends together,
tugging the ribbon into a bow at her throat.

Kate's mouth quirked up at one side.
“Who could have guessed, all those months ago?”

“I should have, from our first
meeting. There was no hope fighting you.”

“Were you so distressed by me?” Kate
laughed, shaking her head. “You didn't show it.”

“I was
terrified
of you!”

“Me! Why?” Kate's hand flew to cover
a grin.

He stared across the street a moment,
without really seeing anything. “I've never gone into battle assured of
anything but victory. Even when it was not certain, my stubbornness, the
strength of the men around me buoyed my confidence.” He tugged her up the steps
and opened the door to let Kate pass inside. He waited until the door was
closed, and she had turned back to him before taking her hands and finishing.
“When you set me straight that very first night outside Addison's tent, gave me
the lay of the land with you in no uncertain terms...” He shrugged. “You had
already won. I was lost to you, Kate. It was just a matter of how long, and
when I surrendered.” He felt a little foolish, that his feelings for Kate had
boiled over as if taking him by surprise. If he had been honest, they were
there from the beginning

Kate relaxed against the wall at the
foot of the stairs and brushed the knuckle of her thumb hypnotically over her
bottom lip. “I'm not sure I know when it happened for me. When you came to me,
made love to me in my quarters...I shouldn't have been surprised. I loved you
then, even if I hadn't named it, but when did it happen?” Kate smiled and
shrugged.

He clutched his chest. “No lightning
bolt? No sudden blaze of passion? You wound me, Miss Foster.”

Kate looked him over, head to toe,
before meeting his eyes. “Only a slow burn from the inside.”

How did she manage it every time?
One glance, the barest touch and she cost him his sanity. He braced arms
against the wall on either side of Kate, the tip of his nose tracing the curve
of her cheek. The fabric of his shirt and waistcoat absorbed her heat when she
raised into him.

“I would give you anything, Kate.”
Matthew fought to catch his breath. “Ask it of me. I would lay Paris at your
feet. Tell me what you want.”

Her face crumpled against his chest,
arms making a desperate knot behind his neck. “I want you to come back to me.
There is nothing else, Matthew.”

He crushed her against him, grabbing
fistfuls of the blue muslin to hold her. “I love you, Kate. More than England
or the goddamn, scum-filled British army, if that is even possible. If I fell
tomorrow on the battlefield, I would carry you in my soul. One way or another,
I will
always
come back to you.”

He had never spoken anything like
it, not to anyone. Caroline would have laughed in his face. Matthew felt
drained inside, now that the words were out. Not an absence, but satisfied,
like the conclusion of something profound.

She shivered against him, drawing a
ragged breath, and Matthew wrenched himself away. “We could go on in this fashion
until we're both too morose for anything but stewing miserably. That is not the
night I imagined when we set out today.”

“What
did
you imagine for our
night, then?” she murmured.

He rested fingers on her arm, at the
border of her sleeve, tracing warm skin all the way to her thumb. She slipped
her hand around his, and Matthew gave her a tug, pulling her away from the wall
and to the stairs.

*          *          *

While Matthew searched for matches
and lit a lamp at her bedside, Kate stood at the door, unsure what to do with
herself. Should she cross the room or let Matthew make the first overture? They
had never begun things with such easy anticipation, out from under the pressure
and urgency of the garrison.

At a loss, she sat down in the pink
arm chair and settled for taking off her shoes. Matthew seated himself across
from her, on the edge of the bed, giving two or three telling little bounces.
“Can I confess that this bed has occupied my thoughts half the day?”

“Shocking.” She bit back a grin and
shook her head. It was possible that she had entertained the same idea, but
Kate was not sure she could have said so out loud.

Matthew leaned forward, pretending
to strain at seeing her in the dim light. “Miss Foster, are you suddenly shy?”

The smile escaped her efforts. “Yes,
in fact, I am.” Kate traced every inch of him with her eyes, forcing slow
breaths against a heart fluttering at the cage of her ribs. “It feels as though
it's our first night together. We're in a house. A room! All the day's wanting,
anticipating, and here we sit.” She studied her toes, then worked up the nerve
to meet his eyes again.

Matthew's head cocked, mouth turning
up. “You look so very innocent, when you peek up at me like that, and for a
moment I almost feel guilty. As though I have no business trespassing with
someone so much younger.”

“And then?”

“Then I recall that, on occasion,
you have caused
me
to blush.”

She groaned, pressing a hand to her
mouth, and turned her face away. It was hardly fair, holding against her
anything she said, or did, in his arms. “I am sorry.”

Matthew chuckled. “I did not say I
was bothered by it. More than once beneath the sheet I've invoked a colorful
oath in your name.”

Her face burned at the memory. She
stared at Matthew, staring back, knowing what he was thinking as sure as if she
could read his mind. For every bite, caress, gasp and moan she was reliving, he
was doing the same.

“Come here, Kate.” His order was
husky.

Heart pounding, her body rose from
the chair under his spell, bringing her a step between his knees. It was not
her doing. There had been no conscious decision to stand, just the pull of
magnetism in his command.

Cradling her hips, he turned her
until she faced away from him. Fingers brushing now and then at the skin of her
neck and back, his hand moved downward, working free the buttons of her dress.
For a moment, she watched their shadows play on the wall, then gave in to his
touch and closed her eyes with a shiver.

Matthew took his time, every
movement deliberate, clearly enjoying their new-found privacy as much as she.
He stripped her dress, wrestling it over her petticoats until it pooled at her
feet. Her stays were next; Kate felt his insistent tugging on the laces, then
the sharp zip-zip as cord pulled through the grommets. He worked them off over
her head, and they landed in the chair a moment later. She was nude to the
waist, cool air whispering over bare breasts.

His fingertips started at her
shoulders, dragging down her back in ragged lines to the waistband of her
skirts. A thumb worried at a spot above her right hip, where he had found her
scar, a mark nearly identical to the one on his left side. Then his lips
pressed to it, and she sucked in a breath. He was getting revenge, she decided,
for the way she had tormented him their last night in camp. Finally, he turned
her around.

He pressed a palm flat against her
belly, gaze moving up over her breasts, her throat until he met her eyes. “Let
your hair down for me?”

She nodded, not realizing until she
had worked the second pin free exactly what the position was doing for her
breasts. Ever the tactician. “You're the devil,” she teased.

He chuckled as she plucked the last
hairpin, tossing her hair and rocking back just in time to cheat Matthew out of
stroking a nipple.