Read Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy Online
Authors: Diane Gaston
Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (8 page)
“What are you saying?” Claude asked her in French.
She gestured for him to be quiet. “Gabriel?”
He rubbed his face. “For you, Emmaline, but only if he swears he has not been gathering information for Napoleon.”
She turned to Claude. “Have you come to Brussels for any other reason than to see me?”
He looked surprised. “
Non, Maman.
What other reason could there be?”
“To find out about the English?”
He gave her a withering glance. “I cannot learn anything in the dark. And I must return before light or be branded a deserter.” His expression reminded her of when he’d been five years old. “I wanted to see you before—before the battle.”
She grasped his hand. He averted his gaze.
She turned to Gabriel. “He only came to see me.”
Gabriel nodded. “Very well. I’ll do as you desire.”
She squeezed Claude’s hand. “Gabriel will allow you to go.”
He blinked in surprise. “Then I must leave posthaste.”
“I will pack you some food.” She rose, shaking inside at the thought of saying goodbye to her son, not knowing if he would ever return to her.
She wrapped bread and cheese in a cloth and, with tears pricking her eyes, brought it to him.
He took the package in his hand. “We must blow out the candles.”
She blew out the nearest one and started to move to the others, but Gabriel said, “I’ll do it.”
Claude walked towards the door.
“Claude.” Emmaline’s throat was tight with emotion. Her son put his arms around her and held her close. “Please be careful,” she said. “Come back to me.”
“I will,
Maman.
” His voice sounded raspy and very young. “Do not worry.” He held her even tighter.
A moment later he was gone, fading into the night like a wisp of smoke.
She covered her face with her hands.
And felt strong arms embracing her again. She turned around and let Gabriel’s embrace envelop her. “I am so afraid for him. So afraid I will lose him.” She sobbed.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
When her sobs turned to shudders, he picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs, laying her on the bed and holding her against him.
When she quieted she said, “I fear I’ll never see him again.”
“I know,” he murmured again.
Gabe rose with the first glimmer of dawn, but he’d hardly slept.
The ring remained hidden in his uniform pocket, along with all his hopes for the future. He’d lain awake most of the night, debating whether to ask her to marry him that morning. Was there any chance at all she’d say yes?
She’d defended him with her son, he’d realised, and with her aunt. That heartened him. He was certain he could convince Madame Laval that an English man could be as good for her niece as a Frenchman. And he could show Claude he was nothing like the men who’d killed his father and almost raped his mother.
If he had enough time.
But time was a commodity Gabe no longer possessed. Claude’s visit meant the French were near and were not likely to be waiting for the Allied Army and the Prussians to meet them on French soil. If the French were marching into Belgium, the battle was imminent.
He pulled on his clothing and glanced at Emmaline, looking so beautiful in sleep it took his breath away.
He understood why soldiers married on the eve of battle. Merely gazing at her made him desire to pledge his fidelity for ever. For the first time, surviving a battle really meant something to him—he wanted to survive to be with her for ever. And if it was his lot to die in battle, as his wife she would receive all his worldly goods. Either way he could provide her with a secure life.
Gabe picked up his boots and carried them below stairs so his footsteps would not wake her. In the kitchen, he lit the stove and put the kettle on. He made some of the Belgian coffee that he’d become accustomed to. He brought the coffee pot to the dining table. After pouring a cup, he leaned back in the chair, against his coat that still hung there. He reached in to the inside pocket and removed the small velvet box. Opening it, he gazed at the ring, imagining it upon Emmaline’s finger.
If he did not propose to her this morning, he might not get a second chance.
He closed his fingers around the velvet box and heard her step on the stairway. He stood and quickly shoved the box in his trouser pocket.
“You are awake already.” She sounded weary and tense. “I will make you breakfast.”
“No, sit.” He pulled out her chair. “I will serve you today.”
“
Non,
Gabriel, it is for a woman to do.” She took his arm, as if to prevent him from entering the kitchen.
He faced her, placing his hands at her waist and leaning his forehead against hers. They stood silent that way, Gabriel savouring her scent, her heat, the softness of her skin.
“Today I will cook for you,” he said again, easing her into her chair, stroking a stray lock of hair off her forehead.
He walked into the kitchen and cracked the eggs into the pan. He glanced back at her.
She sat with her elbows on the table, her face in her hands. Thinking of her son, he thought. Worrying over him. Missing him.
When Gabe had been a boy, returning from visiting his uncle on the farm, he’d sometimes wondered if his family had noticed he’d been gone. It often seemed as if they greeted him the same as they would if he’d been gone an hour.
He shook his head and attended to the eggs. This was time to think of Emmaline, not himself.
He poured her coffee and placed her eggs on a plate, adding bread, butter and jam. She looked up as he approached, putting a smile on her face. As he sat opposite her, he felt the ring in his pocket, reminding him of his decision.
Later, he would ask her, after she finished eating.
“This is very good.” She looked at him and he could tell she was trying to be cheerful.
Their conversation was forced, all the ease between them these past weeks gone. They talked mostly of the food, as if they were two strangers seated together at a dinner party. When finished, Gabe gathered the dishes and carried them back into the kitchen.
Emmaline followed him, putting her palm on his back. “I will tend to the dishes. You have done enough.” She glanced out of the window that looked over a narrow alley. “It is very light outside. I will have to open the shop soon.”
Gabe thrust his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around the velvet box. He released it and drew his hand out to touch her on her shoulders. “Come away for a moment.” He led her to the sofa and sat down with her, clasping her hand in his. “I have something to ask you.”
She met his gaze with interest, but only as much as if he were preparing to ask her what she would like him to purchase for their dinner.
He glanced down at her hand, imagining the ring on her long, graceful fingers.
“We have had a short time together,” he began.
She nodded, her expression turning wary. “You are going to say goodbye to me.”
He squeezed her hand. “I am going to propose that I never say goodbye to you.”
Her brows rose.
“Emmaline, I am asking you to marry me. I want you—want to be with you for ever.”
She paled. “Marry me?”
“I know the timing is ill. With Napoleon’s army so near, there must be a battle soon. But maybe we can marry quickly. I will find out the rules, see if it is possible—”
She pulled her hand away. “We cannot marry!”
His heart was pounding fast. “Maybe not before the battle, but afterwards, then.”
She jumped to her feet. “
Non,
Gabriel. How can I marry you? You are a British soldier.”
“I can sell my commission. After the battle.”
Her eyes flashed. “After the battle? Do you think that will make a difference?”
His face stung as if she’d slapped him. “Have I not shown you in every possible way the sort of man I am? Have we not been happy together?”
She looked away. “It is not the sort of happiness that can last.”
“Has it not been, Emmaline?” Gabe rubbed his hand against the outside of his pocket, feeling the box through the cloth. “I have experienced enjoyment that is meant to be fleeting. I know the difference. You cannot pretend this was a mere diversion for you.”
She could not meet his eye. “Of course I have enjoyed being with you, but I do not want to marry you.”
He leaned towards her. “Why?”
She took a breath. “My son despises you—”
“He does not know me. When the war is over, there will be time—”
She lifted her hand for him to stop. “The war will never be over for Claude. Do you not see? It will never be settled in his heart. I have tried—” Her voice cracked with emotion. She looked into his eyes. “I am all Claude has. He has lost too much. He has endured too much. I cannot abandon him.”
“I do not wish you to abandon him. He is a part of you. I want you both.” Gabriel’s insides felt as if they’d turned to stone. He knew even as he spoke the words that he’d lost her, that, if she believed she must choose between them, she must choose her son.
She lowered her gaze and her long lashes made shadows on her cheeks. “No, Gabriel. I cannot turn away from my son. Not even for you.”
He felt as if he’d had the breath knocked out of him. His very reason to exist had simply vanished like smoke into thin air.
He turned away and retrieved his coat.
Emmaline’s chest constricted as she watched him put on his coat, his back to her. Never had it occurred to her that he might want to marry her. How could he have thought of this time as anything but a brief affair? Soldiers were always having liaisons in whatever place they were billeted. She’d seen it herself and, of course, Remy had threatened her with it when she had balked at going to Spain with him.
But Gabriel had said the word
marriage,
and all she could see was the hurt and anger and betrayal in Claude’s eyes from the night before.
She wanted more than anything to believe their days and nights could continue as they had done, full of passion and pleasure and companionship, but she knew better. He could promise her anything, but he could not promise to heal Claude’s wounds. Once, long ago, she’d chosen a husband’s wishes above what she’d known was best for her son. She would not do so again.
Or Claude might be lost for ever.
Gabriel, his back still to her, buttoned his coat, his scarlet uniform coat, the coat he would wear in the battle when the Allied forces met Napoleon’s army, when this man who had given her so much happiness would face her son, who knew nothing of what it was to fight in a battle.
Men died in battle.
For the thousandth time she prayed that God would spare Claude’s life. She prayed for Gabriel, as well.
Even though she would never see him again.
He walked to the door without looking at her. Her legs trembled and the room seemed to close in on her.
He opened the door, but turned to her. “Goodbye, Emmaline.” His voice was so soft she could hardly hear him.
A moment later he was gone.
Wanting to sink to the floor in a miserable heap, Emmaline instead forced herself to square her shoulders, to tackle the chores that needed finishing before she opened the shop. She started for the kitchen to wash the dishes, but something on the dining table caught her eye.
A small black-velvet box.
Chapter Five
G
abe made his way back to his hotel as if wearing blinders, noticing no one and nothing, not even the weather. On previous mornings, he’d savoured this same walk, enjoying all the sights and sounds, savouring the fresh morning air. This morning his mind was as mechanical as an automaton, turning it over and over that Emmaline was lost to him.
Back in his room at the Hôtel de Flandre Gabe shaved and changed. He would regain control of his emotions, he told himself. There were plenty of women in the world besides Emmaline, women with whom to share brief moments of pleasure. It would be enough. No longer would he dream of a home, a wife, a family. He would remain in the army where he belonged.
Conjuring up visions of another life had been a momentary lapse of sanity.
As a soldier he had one duty now. For Emmaline he had compromised that duty, delaying the report that the French were near, but he would delay no longer.
Gabe went straight to the Allied Army headquarters. As he entered the white-stone building, the two men he least desired to encounter walked towards him: Edwin Tranville, the man who’d tried to rape Emmaline, and his father, General Lord Tranville. The general had managed to inherit a title since Gabe had last seen him.
“What are you doing here, Deane?” the general barked. As a greeting, it was one of Tranville’s most cordial. His son, whose face bore a scar from his temple to his mouth, created by Emmaline’s knife, did not even bother to acknowledge him.
“Sir.” Gabe bowed to the general, a respect the man did not deserve. “I need to see Wellington or one of his aides-de-camp.”
“You?” Tranville’s brows rose. “What reason could you possibly have to see the Duke or his aides?”