you. I enjoyed it. Will we do it again?’
Lord… Will we do it again? The words echoed through him. ‘Yes.’ The answer came from his tongue without thought, but now it was spoken the thought followed, and yes… He wanted that. ‘I am on duty until the evening tomorrow, but the day after I will be free.’
‘Shall I meet you here at the same hour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Goodbye, then.’ She bobbed a ridiculous little curtsey at him.
‘Goodbye, Charlotte.’
She turned and walked away, hurrying once more. He watched her until she was out of sight. Then he returned to the inn to collect Obsidian.
Everything felt strange, different. Which was absurd. Sleeping with a woman changed nothing. Yet certainly he was calmer than he remembered being in a long while and his mind continually reflected on images and sensations from the time he’d spent with her, it did not recall images of war.
It had been different from any other encounter he’d had with a woman, though.
She had been… He did not even know how to describe it. Refreshing, certainly. But it was not that; it was the way she had performed, or rather not performed at all. When they had been in the bed she’d done nothing like a whore. There had been no sound, or movement, that had felt forced, acted or exaggerated. It had simply been what it was—the only honest encounter he’d ever had with a woman. And he had not even paid her, when he would have paid triple for the service she’d given him. He felt so relaxed.
Guilt pierced through his ribs with a sharp pain that resembled the sudden lance of the tip of a sword. He had not paid her. Ought he to have given her something? Yet she had not asked, nor acted as though she expected payment. But unlike the other women he had been with, she was in the constant care of one man. Kept. For Hillier’s attentions. For seven years… For seven years she had only lain with one, old, man.
The thought stirred strange emotions Harry did not care to define.
When he rode into the stable yard at the barracks, Gareth was there.
‘Hello.’ Gareth called out. ‘I have been looking out for you. Are you in the mood for a drink?’
‘Yes.’ Harry suddenly had a desperate need for a drink.
He dismounted, then walked into the huge block of stables with Gareth beside him.
‘You were a long time. You had me worried,’ Gareth stated as Harry undid the saddle’s girth strap.
Yes. He could not believe he had fallen asleep. With every other woman, when the deed had been done they had thrown him out through the door, their money earned, no matter how pleasurably.
‘I mastered a few demons,’ Harry answered. He had. Harry gave his friend a twisted smile as he took the bridle off Obsidian. He could tell Gareth, but he would not. He had a desire to continue keeping his liaisons with Charlotte a secret.
Gareth fetched a curry comb, so did Harry, and together they brushed Obsidian down as Ash watched from the corner of the stall.
Ash was at Harry’s heel when they walked back into the barracks. Harry stroked the dog’s ear. He ate in the mess room and drank with Gareth, using the liquor tonight not to blur the images of war but to blur his memories of Charlotte.
The liquor failed in its task. When he retired to his bed, thoughts and memories still flooded his mind. He saw money being set into women’s hands, by him, and recalled the tremble in Charlotte’s hands. He felt the movement of her body and heard her breaths. Then he saw her holding open the cigar box for him to take one and then he saw Colonel Hillier welcoming him into his home.
You have eyes remarkably like those of a woman I once knew…
He had probably done something foolish today.
Yet nothing in his thoughts or emotions cared if there were consequences.
He did not take Obsidian to the usual inn on the day he had agreed to meet Charlotte and nor did he hire a room at that inn. It had probably been foolish to meet her at the usual inn he used, the inn most of the officers used. He ought to keep their association more discreet—she was under the protection of another man.
Instead, once he’d met her, he walked farther along the sea front with her and then led her into a quiet, narrow street. They walked along that, talking and laughing, then turned right, into an even narrower street. In that street he took her into an inn, where he’d hired a room.
The room was smaller than at the last inn. But on this occasion he had thought to order fresh lemonade for her and some small, sweet currant buns topped with icing.
She turned and smiled at him as she took off her bonnet and then her gloves. ‘The refreshments are a very nice gesture; it was kind of you to think of that. What is the drink?’
‘Lemonade.’
‘I have never had it.’
That was a ridiculous notion. Who in the world had never tried lemonade? He crossed the room and poured some for her. Then held out the glass.
She took the glass from him and sipped from it. ‘It tastes sour and sweet all at once.’ Her expression spoke of the difference between sour and sweet too.
His lips pulled up into a smile and then he laughed before picking up an iced bun. There had been no blushes or hesitation in her movements or her conversation today.
He took a bite of the bun, then held it out to her. ‘Here, eat this, it will reduce the sourness.’
She bit into the bun as he held it, then he let go and let her hold it.
‘Mmm. That is nice.’
He picked up another and ate it, then poured himself lemonade and drank the glass down. The lemonade brought back memories of his childhood home and that sense of love that came with thoughts of his family, which then brought back the vivid images of battles and their aftermath. God he hated the shame and guilt that attacked him with the bombardment of cannon shells.
He set the empty glass down, then unbuttoned his coat, raising his eyebrows at her in a gesture to tell her that he was looking forward to what would come next. That would taste sweet too.
With a cheeky smile she started undoing the buttons of her dress, hurrying to get her clothes off as last time she had hurried to get them on before they had separated.
She stepped out of her dress as he pulled off his shirt, his braces hanging loose at his sides.
She untied the tapes of her petticoats as he took off his boots. Then she sat beside him and rolled down her stockings as he took his off too. She stood, then, and turned her back to him, so he could pull the lacing free from her corset and after he’d completed the task she stripped off her chemise while he stood to take off his trousers and underwear.
When she’d taken off her drawers, he looked at her. It was a hot day, there was no need to rush for the warmth of the bed. But there had been no need for her to do so last time, yet she had done.
She looked at him and did not move, seemingly trapped in his gaze. She had a perfectly proportioned body, small breasts, a curve to her hips and long limbs.
She took a pin out of her hair. Some of the copper spirals fell down and touched the top of one pert breast. She pulled another pin out. More hair fell. He walked forward and began taking out pins too, until all her hair had fallen.
He held her hand and tipped the pins from her palm to join those in his, then set them aside with their clothes.
When he returned to her, he looked at her hair, touching it as he’d done the other day. It was such