A Hero to Hold Read online

  She backed toward the doorway.

  “Wait.”

  The grim command in his voice made her pause. His hand reached out, but she whirled and broke from the alcove. She headed straight for the veranda door, wanting only to escape into the dark night until she could compose herself.

  She attracted some attention from the way she hurried, weaving her way around the revelers, but finally she gained the solitude and deep shadows of the veranda. Her chest heaved as if she’d run a footrace. The cool night air soothed her heated cheeks, but inside emptiness twisted, left her aching.

  He could have come after her, but he’d not.

  CHAPTER TWO

  David Scott clenched his hands. A strong urge to hammer his fists against his thighs arose, but he held himself rigid as anger and lust seared through him equally. Sweat broke upon his forehead.

  With a vicious curse, he damned himself and the reckless Viscountess Haliday. He hated her for filling his head with her rose and jasmine scent, her violet eyes, and the feel of her body pressed against him. Then she’d abandoned him and left him struggling to keep from impotently pounding upon his useless legs.

  He took a deep breath, willing his fists open. At least her impulsiveness had resolved one pressing fear. When she’d drawn him to her, lust pooled low in his body. In spite of his physician’s reassurance, he’d thought that part of him dead, but Lady Haliday made it clear that was not the case. The wakening of his sex brought overwhelming relief—but it brought anguish, too.

  He let his head fall back. He had nothing to offer any woman of his class. No title, no fortune, no property. With the right lady it might be possible to overcome those things, but one last issue could never be conquered.

  Get a hold of yourself, man. He looked down at his still, carefully placed legs. He’d already shed his tears, indulged in bouts of anger to vent his despair. Nothing would change what he’d finally, after months of mourning and struggle, accepted. He didn’t have an intact body to offer a prospective wife. He wasn’t paralyzed, but his crushed legs wouldn’t permit him to stand or walk.

  A flash of regimental dress drew his attention to the alcove’s arched entry. Major Lord Miles Wakefield stood there in the crimson pants and dark blue coat of David’s old regiment—the 11th Hussars, the Cherry Pickers. Even after all this time David still experienced a jolt when faced by this man. They’d been school companions, fellow officers and best friends, but their current relationship baffled him.

  “Here you are,” Wakefield said, looking about the small space as if it deserved his keenest attention. “What are you doing?”

  Wakefield needn’t know he had spent the entire evening in this alcove. David had made arrangements with Lady Elliott to arrive early so he could gain the ballroom without the benefit of watchful eyes; then he’d expected to situate himself at the outskirts of the ballroom or in the card room. Unfortunately, his wheeled chair left him feeling more conspicuous than he’d anticipated; drawing eyes because he sat in a wheeled chair was still something he wasn’t wholly comfortable with. So he’d had Boone lift him from his chair and set him on the settee in this secluded locale. He’d taken the coward’s way out. Ironic that, since he was soon to be one of the first recipients of the newly created Victoria Cross, now his nation’s highest award for valor.

  “The ballroom was a bit too much of a diversion. I thought I’d seek refuge here for awhile. The friends who knew I planned to attend have found me,” David added, “and I’ve seen any number of others who decided to seek a little quiet.”

  “Encounter anyone looking for a tête-à-tête?” Wakefield asked, flashing the dimple he trotted out with the reliability of a calling card.

  David considered telling Wakefield about the confrontation between Lady Haliday and Lady Garret. He trusted Wakefield to keep it confidential, but a strange reluctance to reveal any of what had happened held him silent. Of course, if Lady Garret spread the tale, his name would be on every lip. All of society would think he’d had an assignation with the scandalous Lady Haliday, whose supposed affair had filled the papers along with her husband’s murder by a footpad. Anger flared at the viscountess’s selfishness. He had enough complications in his life without becoming a target of silly conjecture.

  “No.”

  Wakefield sauntered over to the settee. “You’re missing the excitement. The infamous Viscountess Haliday is here. And can you believe it? Lady Garret is in attendance, too.”

  David grimaced. “Well, the world doesn’t stop, does it? Why would it? My legs may be shattered, but all that means is one less gentleman to help fill a dance card.”

  Wakefield stiffened and half-turned. His eyes went to the palms blocking dancers waltzing past outside.

  Damn! David tightened his lips to hold back the vile curse he wanted to spit out. Why had he let loose with such a self-centered, uncaring remark? He hated when he started feeling sorry for himself. He’d vowed not to do so any longer, no matter what the provocation—as if having a few people eye him at a ball qualified as provocation at all. He hadn’t thought before he spoke, and his statement couldn’t help but needle his friend. Even though David didn’t consider the man responsible for crippling him, Miles Wakefield blamed himself.

  Feeling worse than shabby, David cast about for a change of subject. “You heard of my new position?”

  Wakefield spun back with a relieved smile. “Yes, congratulations. How is it?”

  The tightness inside David eased a bit. “A welcome challenge. The charity was created two years ago, but it needs more organization. And being named chairman of the Royal Patriotic Fund Executive Committee solved my biggest problem—how to support myself so I won’t have to rely on my brother’s generosity.”

  “I’m pleased for you. Especially given the work you’ll be doing.”

  “Assisting Crimean War widows and orphans? A cause close to both our hearts,” David agreed. “Are you still stationed at the War Office? Durham’s staff?”

  Wakefield nodded. “We may be dispatched to India to give Campbell a hand. What a bloody mess that is.”

  David studied his childhood friend with curiosity. Just last week they’d gotten news of the Siege of Delhi. He had campaigned with Miles and knew what a fine officer he was, but the man held a title now and was unmarried. Wakefield had to feel some obligation to sell his commission and attend to his duties as viscount. He’d never intended to stay the course for life.

  How contrary life was, that Miles was the one still in service to the Crown. David, crippled, Peter, dead… Of the three friends, they two had wanted to make the army their life. Part of David still yearned to do just that, to lead troops and defend his country. Another part of him remembered too vividly the aftermath, the dead and wounded strewn across foreign dirt. And of course he no longer had the choice.

  David pushed his thoughts away, careful to school his expression. “You’ll let me know if you get orders?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  For a moment quiet reigned, then Wakefield cleared his throat and dropped onto the settee beside David. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “The thing is, I don’t feel the same resolve I used to.”

  A sudden unwelcome thought held David immobile. “Please don’t tell me your misplaced guilt about me has affected your ability to command.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Wakefield’s gaze turned ferocious. “Balaclava—that whole cursed debacle—changed me, David. I know it affected you, too. It changed your whole life. You lost the use of your legs, and we both lost our idealism. Now… We shouldn’t be in this mess in India.” Miles fell silent, and the sounds of the ballroom floated in. When he spoke again, his voice was a raspy whisper. “I’ve seen too many men dead who shouldn’t be.”

  Ah, yes. David dreamed about those same men. Peter was the first and dearest friend lost, but there were many.

  “What you’re feeling, Miles…I understand,” he finally said. “And so do our
comrades.” Both living and passed.

  They listened to an entire polka before either spoke again.

  Wakefield stood. “Shall I fetch your man? Is it Boone?”

  David was suddenly unbearably weary. Leaving would require maneuvering around the ballroom in his wheelchair, but by leaving early he’d be able to enter his carriage without a rash of onlookers watching. It took great effort to summon a weak smile. “Would you? Tell him I’m ready to go.”

  Wakefield nodded.

  The man’s exit brought a surfeit of relief but also an emptiness that invaded David’s very bones. The ache spread, twisting fingers of numbness turning warm flesh to cold. It seemed so long ago that he’d stood alongside Wakefield at the front, easy in their friendship and in his own physicality. At the time he hadn’t valued his body’s effortless strength, the energy that could sustain him for days on the battlefield. He’d taken it for granted, accepted it as his God-given right. Now that joy he’d never fully appreciated was lost to him.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and tried to regain his equilibrium. He’d contemplated this evening with anticipation, planning to renew old acquaintances and make fresh ones. Those looking for a few moments of peace or quiet conversation had regularly appeared in his alcove, and until the arrival of Lady Haliday he’d managed to forget his initial discomfort and enjoy himself. He’d even managed to make a decent number of contacts for the Fund. With work to sustain him, and having figured out a way to get himself in and out of his coach, he was moving about London and beginning to think he would be able to fashion a satisfactory life for himself. He might not be able to stand, but he could certainly take his place in society as a capable and independent gentleman. Yet Lady Haliday’s kiss had revealed how very far from satisfied he really was.

  Was it possible he still smelled her scent? He took a deep breath, and the lingering odor of rose and jasmine caused a resurgence of the lust that had been such a surprise and great relief. If only his newly forged confidence hadn’t been wrested from him so quickly and easily when she fled and he was unable to pursue her.

  Would he see Lady Haliday again as he left? He dropped his head against the back of the divan and sighed. His first society gathering since his injury, and he’d been faced with a woman who seemed to represent everything that was now outside his reach.

  Why his manhood had roared back to vigorous life now, and with this particular lady, he didn’t know, but he supposed the event was welcome. It had been nearly two years since he’d lain with a woman, and right now he thought just such an act might go a long way toward making him feel like himself again. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt the urge, but it hadn’t been strong enough before to risk the complications and embarrassment he knew he’d encounter. Even a high-priced bawdy house, which repelled his every sensibility, would need a bedroom on the ground floor. Any other would necessitate Boone and Pickett carrying him upstairs and depositing him in the lightskirt’s bed, and he’d be damned if he’d be carried in and presented for service. He also supposed he must do the deed without removing his trousers. He’d not expose his legs, even to a whore.

  His other option was to set himself up with a mistress, but how was he to find one? Was he to pursue an actress and join the queue backstage? Even then, how exactly how was he to persuade one of those ladies to accept his protection? He hadn’t money enough to set such a lady up in the kind of circumstances that were typical of such liaisons. What he needed was a poor widow.

  His Patriotic Fund work, he suddenly realized, would soon make him acquainted with any number of poor widows.

  Disgust filled David. Just the thought of using his position in such a way was abhorrent. He rubbed the back of his neck. Every possibility was intolerable. Worst of all, while a bedding might satisfy his body, he wasn’t sure that any other woman would obliterate his desire for the beautiful Lady Haliday’s lips.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As soon as Charlotte returned from the veranda she saw Jane Todd, now Lady Etherton, a few yards away with her husband. Charlotte could have dropped to her knees and given thanks.

  Tonight Jane wore a fashionable pale green gown. Violets swirled through the fabric of the skirt, and the bodice and sleeves displayed intricate purple embroidery. Since her marriage, Jane’s elegance, regal bearing, and confidence had won society’s admiration, but in spite of her social success Charlotte knew that Jane was inside the same serious young girl who’d been the only person at Mrs. Brewster’s School for Gentlewomen to befriend a frightened, untitled, and lost, if supremely wealthy, girl. Most of Charlotte’s other schoolmates hadn’t liked her father purchasing her entrée to society.

  “Jane.” She reached out for her friend’s hand and pulled her aside. Etherton followed along behind.

  Jane started to speak but abruptly stopped and lifted her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

  Turmoil whirled like a spinning top inside Charlotte’s chest. Her emotions quivered, ready to splinter apart. The kiss in the alcove was in large part responsible for her agitation, but she couldn’t imagine talking about it here. In fact, she might never want to share that event, not even with Jane. She needed to get home where she could think about what had happened.

  “Lady Garret and I…exchanged words. The entire night has been harder than I expected, and I’m exhausted,” she said. “I’m going home.”

  From behind her spectacles, Jane’s concerned golden-brown eyes studied her. “Are you all right, Charlotte? Where’s your father?” Jane shot her husband a look. He turned, put his back to them, and surveyed the dancers. His broad shoulders effectively shielded them from prying eyes.

  “Father’s in the card room.”

  “Phillip will get him.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “He left me alone the entire night, Jane. The first time I’ve been out in society since Haliday was murdered, and he left me alone amidst the whispers and stares.”

  “Oh, your father!” Jane’s brows bunched in a ferocious frown, transforming her delicate features. She gave her glossy, brown-haired head a shake. “I’ll never understand how such a hard-hearted man as Matthew Shelby sired such a wonderful daughter.”

  Yes, he should have stayed by her side tonight and lent his support, Charlotte agreed, but as usual her father had left her to make her own way. He browbeat his way through life, manipulating people in order to achieve his ends, and whether or not they found the manipulation unpleasant or contrary to their own desires was none of his concern, not even when the person in question was his daughter. Charlotte had never been anything more to him than another asset for obtaining what he wanted, so right now she’d do anything to avoid her father’s usual inquisition. She’d take his coach home and then send it back to await him.

  Charlotte smiled and gave Jane’s hand a squeeze. Her friend’s concern and support had chased away some of her tension, as it always did. “I’d just as soon leave without him. He’d only want a report of every conversation and dance partner.”

  “Why don’t Phillip and I see you home?” Jane raised her voice a bit, and her handsome, black-haired husband turned at the sound of his name and joined them.

  Charlotte shook her head. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary.”

  “Jane wanted to be home early,” Etherton said. “This is a good time to leave, and it will give the two of you an opportunity to talk.”

  Of course Jane wanted to leave early. The past several days she’d devoted herself to comforting their youngest daughter. She’d sent a note explaining that two-year-old Nora was fussy with an earache, crying and clinging, and even though the girl had improved her mother would want to be home with her.

  Jane touched Charlotte’s arm. “You’ve been in London three days, and this is the first opportunity we’ve had to see each other.”

  After being rocked to her toes by Lady Garret and that kiss, being with Jane was like wrapping up in a warm velvet cloak. Charlotte steadied. The little quivers vibrating deep inside h
er stilled.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “Good,” Etherton said. “I’ll have my carriage brought ’round, find Shelby, and tell him you’re leaving.”

  Charlotte gave the earl a grateful smile. Since his marriage to Jane, Etherton had become her friend. When the storm of gossip and notoriety surrounding her became a tempest, his support and friendship had been as steady as his wife’s.

  Charlotte and Jane found Lady Elliott and said their goodbyes. Once they reached the entry, Jane led Charlotte to a corner distant from the footmen stationed at the door, and away from the press of people more of Charlotte’s tension eased. It wasn’t until she no longer needed to guard herself that she realized what a heavy burden her emotional shield was. After tonight, she was uncertain she’d done the right thing in returning to London. Except, Jane was here.

  “I’m glad Nora’s feeling better,” she remarked.

  Jane spread her hand over her heart. “Much better, thank goodness. My poor girl was miserable.” Her hand dropped, and her upper body leaned toward Charlotte. “Now tell me what happened.”

  “Lady Garret chased me down, accused me of sneering at my husband’s memory, and threatened to publish another novelette about me.”

  Jane huffed. Her narrowed eyes glittered. “The little baggage. She still wants to torment you? It’s been eighteen months since Haliday died. How can her intense jealousy have persisted?”

  “She loved him.” Charlotte shrugged. “I never understood it. She held Haliday’s heart, not I. She had no reason to be jealous.” Charlotte had been the one with the right to feel envious, but the infidelity never caused that. It just broke her heart.