Love's Strategy

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Love’s Strategy

  ISBN 9781419911606

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Love’s Strategy Copyright © 2007 Samantha Kane

  Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky.

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

  Electronic book Publication May 2007

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X – TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Brothers in Arms:

  Love’s Strategy

  Samantha Kane

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my editor Raelene Gorlinsky for discovering me, supporting me and believing in this series. She has been a true partner in bringing the brothers in arms to life.

  Thanks go to all the RWA authors and organizations that helped me with Regency research. Any errors contained herein, alas, are the sole responsibility of the author.

  This book, like all that have come before, could not have been written without the support of family and friends. So…

  …for Will, who wishes to be known from here on out as my Smokin’ Hot Big Brother (SHBB), for being a font of historical and literary knowledge, and for his interest in all aspects of writing. And of course his SHW, Kathy (sorry, ladies);

  …for my sister Jeri, who finally bought an e-book reader; and

  …for my ever-lovin’, who cooks, cleans, does the laundry and watches the hooligans so I can live the dream. He read this book approximately five hundred times, and only complained the last hundred. For that, rest assured, dear reader, he received more than a heartfelt thanks.

  Chapter One

  “Leah, there are two gentlemen here to see you.”

  Leah’s blood ran cold at her mother’s announcement. More? Were they never to leave her alone? She slowly straightened from where she was bent over tending the roses. February had been decidedly warm this year. She put a hand to the small of her back, realizing even as she did it that it wasn’t her back that was really bothering her. She was just so tired. Tired of the incessant demands of creditors, and tired of trying to make ends meet as those same creditors relieved them of everything of value.

  “Mama?” Her son Sebastian also stood up where he’d been playing soldiers with his younger sister Esme. Leah’s heart contracted at the concern on his face. Ten was too young to carry such worry. She made a deliberate effort to lighten her features as she smiled at him.

  “It’s nothing, Bastian, just my poor old back aching,” she told him lightly, making a face. “You wait here with Esme while I go see what these gentlemen want.”

  Her mother walked across the garden to join her. At Leah’s comment she put a comforting hand on her daughter’s arm. “They are not here about one of Thomas’ debts, Leah,” she said gently, and Leah’s eyes inexplicably filled with tears.

  “How do you know?” Leah was alarmed at the tremor in her voice. She had held herself together this long, now was not the time to fall apart. Although really, she thought irreverently, when was a good time to fall apart?

  Her mother got a very self-righteous look on her face, almost militant. “I asked.”

  Leah gasped in horror. “You what?”

  “I asked them,” her mother repeated, her expression mulish. “I’ll not have you bothered anymore by those rude upstarts strutting through here demanding their ill-gotten gains.”

  Leah closed her eyes in despair. “Mother, they have every right. All those debts were legitimately incurred by Thomas before his death.”

  “Gambling is hardly legitimate—” her mother began, but Leah cut her off.

  “They are legally binding debts according to the laws of England, Mother, and as his widow I am legally bound to make restitution.”

  Marjorie must have recognized the soul-deep exhaustion in Leah’s voice because for once she let the subject of Leah’s late husband drop. “My dear, let me get rid of these gentlemen. You go upstairs and rest and I’ll watch the children for a while.”

  Leah smiled at her mother. She could be a trial, but under it all Leah knew she loved her unconditionally. “No, Mother, it’s best I find out what they want. You stay here with the children, and I shall return as soon as possible.” She started to walk away backward, wagging a finger playfully at her mother. “And no more asking strange gentlemen if they are here to collect money, understood?”

  * * * * *

  Valentine stood next to the empty hearth, trying not to brood. He’d never even seen the widow, for God’s sake, and here he was about to ask for her hand in marriage. It was insane, and it was demoralizing that he and Kurt had to resort to taking advantage of a woman in desperate straits in order to have the life they wished for.

  He looked over at Kurt. Kurt glanced up and, quirking an eyebrow, curved one corner of his lips in an amused smile. “Try not to brood, Valentine,” he admonished, his German accent subtly lending a continental flavor to his upper-class British tones. He unfurled his long, lean frame from the small parlor chair in which he had been resting. “You’ll scare away the poor Widow Marleybone with that expression.”

  “I am not brooding. And it’s Marleston,” Valentine corrected with exasperation, “Widow Marleston. For God’s sake, if you’re going to make me marry her, at least get her name right.”

  Kurt shrugged. “She won’t have it for long, so it’s a moot point.”

  Valentine growled in frustration. “You don’t know she’ll say yes.”

  Kurt looked at Valentine incredulously. “Surely you jest? Based on what her mother said, she’s in sore need of a hero right now.”

  “I do not in any way resemble anyone’s hero.” Valentine rolled his eyes at Kurt’s exaggeration. “To the widow I’ll more likely resemble a villain, here to take advantage of her straitened circumstances.”

  Kurt let his gaze wander slowly up and down Valentine’s tall, muscular frame, and Valentine felt his cheeks heat at the other man’s perusal. He looked guiltily at the door, hoping the Widow Marleston didn’t appear while Kurt was devouring him with his eyes.

  Kurt laughed at Valentine’s look. “Sooner, rather than later, the sweet widow will figure out we’re lovers, Valentine. I think it’s best done right away, considering I want to be her lover as well.” Before Valentine could answer Kurt continued. “As for what you look like,” he paused, his eyes moving over Valentine again, “you are ver
y desirable, hero or villain.”

  “Kurt,” was all he said in an admonishing tone. Kurt merely shrugged expansively, in that purely continental way.

  Valentine sat in one of the damned uncomfortable chairs that filled the parlor. He slumped forward and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know whether I feel like the villain or the victim, Kurt.”

  “Darling Valentine, even Stephen agrees. She is English, and you have a much more respectable English background than I. She will feel more comfortable marrying you. It is a simple thing really, and meaningless in the long run. She will be wife to us both.”

  Valentine looked up at Kurt. “And if she says no?”

  Kurt shrugged expansively again. “Then there are surely other poor widows in England who are desperate.”

  Valentine laughed. “Desperate enough to take on the two of us? I’m not so sure.”

  Kurt smiled wickedly. “Ah, liebchen, you underestimate my powers of persuasion.”

  Chapter Two

  When Leah stepped into the parlor the two men inside rose from their chairs and turned to her. They were so handsome—tall, lean, muscular, and dressed very expensively. One was dark, his hair a deep brown and his skin an olive tone. The other was quite fair with blond hair and a creamy complexion. Leah had never known men such as these—wealthy and clearly privileged. She was minor country gentry, as Thomas had been.

  The dark one stepped forward. “Mrs. Marleston?”

  “Yes,” Leah answered, wincing at the distrust in her voice that was second nature to her now.

  “I am Mr. Valentine Westridge and this is Mr. Kurt Schillig,” he said, indicating the tall blond with a sweep of his hand.

  “How do you do,” Leah said politely, never moving from the open door. “How may I help you?”

  The two men exchanged a look that Leah found hard to interpret. Mr. Westridge spoke once again. “Perhaps this letter will help,” and he pulled something from his pocket. Leah looked at it with distaste. All her late husband’s creditors appeared with “letters”.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I really haven’t anything left to pay you. All my worldly goods have been sold to pay previous debts I’m afraid. This house is not mine nor are any of its furnishings. You may choose to pursue this debt in the courts, but other than finding myself in debtors’ prison, I’m quite sure that very little will come of it.”

  The dark, enigmatic Mr. Westridge turned red, with embarrassment, Leah wondered? Then the beautiful blond Mr. Schillig stepped forward. How delightful, Leah thought irrelevantly, that this bad news was delivered by such gorgeous specimens of manhood.

  Mr. Schillig took the letter from Mr. Westridge’s hand and walked over to Leah. She automatically extended her hand to receive it, and he placed it there gently.

  “You misunderstand, Mrs…my dear,” he said quietly. His accent was quite lovely, actually. “This is a letter of introduction from a mutual friend, Mr. Stephen Matthews.”

  Leah was very confused now. “The Reverend Mr. Matthews?” she asked. Mr. Schillig nodded with a small smile. Leah was shocked to feel herself responding to that smile, responding to him as a man. She had felt dead, that way, for years now, since long before Thomas’s death.

  She took the note and began to read.

  Valentine was eternally grateful that Kurt had taken over because Valentine was struck nearly speechless by the poor Widow Marleston. She was, well, perfect. The top of her perfect head reached Kurt’s shoulder. That would put her just a little taller next to him. Her hair was a glorious shade of red gold, upswept to reveal a long, graceful neck and creamy soft skin. His mouth watered with the desire to taste that neck, just there where her pulse beat so swiftly. She was very curvaceous. It was obvious she was used to carrying more weight, however. Clearly her circumstances had taken their toll in more ways than the dark circles under her eyes.

  The suspicion in her voice and matter-of-fact recitation of her desperate financial situation nearly made him act the fool. He was willing to do anything for her, to protect her, to possess her. He’d almost blurted that out, hardly the sophisticated approach he’d been practicing. Why hadn’t Stephen prepared them? Passably pretty, he’d said with a sly grin. Valentine had taken that to mean barely tolerable. He knew now it had been Stephen’s idea of a joke.

  Valentine took several slow steps back, mentally and physically. He needed that distance to get his thoughts back in order. He came to rest in his earlier position, next to the hearth. The empty hearth now represented times the lovely widow had done without, had gone cold or hungry because she couldn’t afford the basic necessities for herself and her children. Never again, he vowed. She and hers would never want for anything ever again. He looked away from the dark, cold fireplace and directly into the widow’s eyes.

  Kurt’s heart was racing. This was not what he had planned at all, not at all. He’d planned on Valentine making a pleasant connection with a woman whom he married for the purpose of having children, and who married him for financial security. A woman they would share when the mood struck but who remained a firm outsider in relation to his and Valentine’s close attachment. Instead, Valentine was stricken with love at the first sight of the lovely widow. Kurt himself felt something stirring in his chest, in the place he thought was so full of Valentine no other could find room there. She was beautiful, obviously courageous, and she possessed a certain dignity and self-assurance. She was a woman with few equals. The kind of woman a man like Valentine searched his whole life for and, once found, lived his whole life for. Kurt had trouble breathing as he tried to imagine what would happen to him if Valentine were to turn him away, if the lovely Mrs. Marleston refused Valentine’s initial offer, refused Kurt.

  He and Valentine had been together since one fateful night during the war, when Kurt was so desperately lonely and could no longer resist the temptation of the lovely young British officer whom he’d befriended. And Valentine, equally lonely, equally desperate, had let himself be seduced by the sophisticated half-German officer. They had found in one another the tenderness and passion that the war leached out of them, filling the empty spaces that the violence and bloodshed left behind. After the war it was only natural that they stayed together. Kurt couldn’t even imagine life without Valentine.

  Now he had argued and coerced Valentine into doing the one thing that might tear them apart. He’d forced him to fall in love with a woman and marry. He’d thought to give Valentine the one thing missing in their lives, children and the respectability of a wife. Valentine longed for the quiet life of a country squire and Kurt was more than happy to share that life and that dream. Valentine insisted he didn’t need a wife and family to make him happy, that he was happy with Kurt. But Kurt knew Valentine better than he knew himself and he had set out to give him what he needed, just as he had endeavored to give Valentine everything he needed or wanted since their first night together. Old habits die hard, Kurt thought wryly as he watched Valentine watch the widow.

  Kurt turned his attention to Mrs. Marleston and he felt his cock stir. If only she would say yes the three of them together would be glorious. Not just for one night, but every night for the rest of their lives. Kurt’s eyes widened in shock. Perhaps this wasn’t just Valentine’s dream, but his as well. A dream that had taken root, he thought, when they’d heard their old friends Jason Randall and Tony Richards had taken a wife. According to Stephen, the ceremony had included all three, with Stephen presiding, and now the three were expecting a child. If they could have it all, why not Kurt and Valentine? Kurt took a deep breath, firming his resolve. Yes, indeed, why not?

  When Leah’s eyes met Mr. Westridge’s she was shocked by the intensity of his gaze. Stephen Matthews’ letter had simply said that he’d known both Mr. Westridge and Mr. Schillig during the war on the Peninsula, and they were both trustworthy gentlemen. He urged her to listen to them with an open mind and an open heart. That was all. He gave no indication of what they wanted from her. She had befri
ended the young and handsome vicar upon her arrival in Ashton on the Green, and she trusted his judgment. If he said she should listen to his friends, then she would. But what could they possibly want?

  “All right, I’ve read Mr. Matthews’ letter, and I’m more than willing to listen to whatever you have to say. But I’m rather confused. Pardon my directness, but what could two gentlemen such as you require from me?” She glanced at the two men and intercepted yet another cryptic look between them. Her suspicions grew when they both hesitated to speak.

  Suddenly Mr. Westridge stepped forward again, as if to speak. Leah gave him an encouraging smile, but the words seemed to die in his throat. Slightly exasperated, she turned to Mr. Schillig.

  He cleared his throat with a gentle cough before speaking. “We are, um, aware of your circumstances, Mrs. Marleston, and we are here to offer you an advantageous proposition.”

  Leah felt the blood drain from her face as her back went stiff. “I am not so desperate as to accept that kind of offer, Mr. Schillig. Good day.” She turned to the door, furious with Mr. Matthews and these so-called gentlemen.

  “Oh that was marvelous, Kurt. This is surely a more disastrous misunderstanding than the one I caused.” Mr. Westridge’s voice was agitated, but underlying it was amusement, and Leah whirled around to give him the dressing-down he deserved. Before she could speak Mr. Westridge held up his hands as if to ward her off. “No, no, truly you misunderstood. I, we, are not offering you…you carte blanche, Mrs. Marleston. Far from it. You can’t think Stephen would condone that, do you?”

  Leah was stopped short by his behavior and his words. No, she would not like to think the kind vicar would condone that, but she’d been dealt some harsh blows of reality in the last few years.