Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love Read online

  Freddy felt a stab of unreasonable jealousy. “Yes, well now you’ve hurt me.”

  Brett looked bleakly at him then. “By God, I’m having an exemplary day. I’ve hurt the two people in the world I’d least like to harm, it seems. Perhaps if I’m lucky I’ll find a puppy or two to kick on the way back to the Park.”

  Freddy was again amused in spite of himself. “If I’m lucky we’ll find a puppy or two to kick you.”

  * * * * *

  Late that night in her bed Anne turned onto her right side again, the move jerky with frustration. She’d been tossing and turning for hours.

  Her mother had known something was wrong the minute she came in the door this afternoon, but said nothing. She could convey more with silence than others could with a thousand words. Anne skipped dinner and went to bed early. She added guilt over not confiding in her mother to the list of things keeping her awake.

  He was here. At this moment he slept at Ashton Park. She could walk over to the Park and stand beneath his window right now. Well, if she knew in which of the many bedrooms he’d been housed. And what would she do there, she wondered with a self-deprecating snort as she lifted her head and punched her pillow down. Stand beneath his window and low like a lovesick calf? She fell onto her back with a thump against the mattress. An ignorant cow, more likely. Anne viciously yanked the pillow from under her head and covered her face with it. She hit him. With all her strength, meager though it was. And then she’d run, like a childish little ninny.

  He was so unbelievably handsome. Even more so than she’d imagined, and she’d imagined him countless times. But in her dreams he’d never looked as he did today. Thick, wavy dark hair, a devilish smile accented with a deep dimple in his chin, and dark, seductive eyes. And those shoulders! Even with the limp his legs had been long and well-muscled. Anne felt more than her face heating. She’d offered herself to him like the basest strumpet. What must he think of her? No more than she deserved certainly.

  How could she have hit him? He had every right to enjoy the company of any woman who offered. She had no claim on him whatsoever. He’d made that plain five years ago when he hadn’t responded to her letter inviting him here. What a fool she’d been to even offer. As if he had nowhere else to go. He was with Freddy, after all.

  The thought of Freddy made her uncomfortable. Her reaction to him made her uncomfortable. He was no longer that awkward boy who’d followed her and Bertie around like a stray pup when he managed to escape his tutor and his mama. He was every inch the duke now, a tall, handsome duke with a shock of dark red hair. And yet he was still Freddy, still Bertie’s sweet younger brother, and that connection pulled her to him.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of dear Bertie. How she missed him! He had been her best friend. Everyone assumed he was the love of her life—that she had never married because she still loved him. The truth was she had never loved him like that. He had been the best friend she ever had. They had shared everything, every secret. They had dared everything too, including sex. When she became curious about it, who better than her best friend to satisfy that curiosity? But then Bertie had insisted on marriage, and she’d only been able to put him off when it was apparent she was not with child. She’d always planned to tell him after he came back from the Peninsula. But she’d never had the chance.

  And now here was young Freddy, all grown up into the powerful duke. Anne had heard stories around the neighborhood, of course. He and Brett had been in Ashton on the Green just a few months ago. But she’d believed the stories were a result of Freddy’s title and the power and influence that came with it. She saw now that they were not. He was as handsome and commanding as everyone claimed. Even her friend Leah Westridge had been charmed by both men, and other than Leah’s husband and their friend Mr. Schillig, Leah did not like men in general.

  The thought of Leah and her husband and Mr. Schillig, and what the three were to one another, had Anne getting warm all over again. She pulled the pillow from her face with a gasp as, unbidden, an image of herself and Brett and Freddy locked in an embrace flashed through her mind. Good Lord! What could she be thinking? Brett would never even speak to her now, she was sure. And Freddy? He was the duke now. No matter how infatuated he’d been with her as a youth, he couldn’t afford a liaison with a woman like Anne, a woman with a less than sterling reputation. And she was several years older than him. He surely had beautiful girls in the flush of youth chasing after him, and not just for his title.

  Anne sighed and rolled over again. She had to accept the truth of the situation. Both men were out of her reach because of the choices she’d made after Bertie’s death, after Brett never came. She’d been so lonely. She hardly remembered some of the men now, strangers visiting here or just passing through. Anne was honest enough to admit she had a certain charm and more than passable looks that made the gentlemen notice her. She’d used it to her advantage on several occasions. And it had only taken one rumor about one of those encounters to ruin her reputation.

  Anne yawned. Yes, she would let her fantasies of Brett and Freddy go. She had an actual offer of courtship from a gentleman new to the area, Mr. Gideon North. She’d be smart to focus on that. But first she would go to Ashton Park in the morning and apologize for her behavior. She would walk to the Park at an unfashionably early hour and leave a note of apology. She needn’t even see them, really. Then she would stay here near the cottage until they left Ashton Park. Surely they wouldn’t stay long. Freddy never stayed long.

  Chapter Two

  June 5, 1810

  My Dearest Anne,

  I switched the vicar’s water for wine yesterday. Well, gin actually. Young Mr. Matthews nearly had an apoplexy after he took a healthy swallow, and so did I, I was laughing so hard. He was a good sport, but North put me on guard duty for it again. Brett just shook his head as he pounded poor Mr. Matthews on the back. Afterwards he made me promise no more pranks on the vicar, who is an earnest, well-meaning fellow, just trying to help. Mr. Matthews reminds me so much of your father, right down to his forgiving nature.

  I still miss the Goode Vicar, Anne, though it’s been almost two years since he and Father died. I miss those summer days when you and I used to run wild across the countryside all day like the unruly children we were, only to return to the parsonage at night, to your parents and Father. We’d have one of Mrs. Tilton’s excellent meals, and then Father would bring me back to Ashton Park and Reeves. Then he’d return to the parsonage and play chess with Mr. Goode until dawn, and I would steal back to see all of you the next day.

  Brett is rereading your last letter even now as I write this. He has no mail of his own. He was at Talavera, though he will not talk of it. We’ve seen some action, but I fear my first major battle. I could tell no one that but you.

  Jerome told me in his last letter that you “were looking rather fine these days.” You must wait for me, Anne. Do not run off with some handsome Captain of the Guard while your soldier pines for you here in the heat of a Portuguese summer.

  Brett sends his regards. He says I don’t deserve you. I think perhaps he is right.

  Your Devoted Servant,

  Bertie

  * * * * *

  “Anne, my dear, you’ll never guess who’s come to call.”

  Anne turned at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the doorway. Anne was standing at the sideboard where she’d been pouring a cup of weak tea. She nearly dropped the cup when she saw who stood behind her mother.

  “How do you do, Miss Goode?” The Duke of Ashland sketched a light bow, his smile polite. Only the twinkle in his eye reminded her of the young Freddy who had gazed at her with adoration when they were both much younger. The twinkle in his eye may have reminded her of days gone by, but his fashionable attire and full lower lip reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him yesterday. She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that was not altogether unpleasant but entirely inappropriate. It took a moment
for his formal greeting to register. So they were going to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, were they?

  He held out a hand to indicate the man standing off to his side and just behind him. “May I introduce Mr. Brett Haversham?”

  With yesterday’s scene at the pond uppermost in her mind, Anne dragged her gaze over to the man who was stepping forward into the small parlor. He was shorter than Freddy, but then most men were. Where Freddy was tall and sleekly muscled, Brett was thick with muscle, broad and solid. The same strong facial features she’d found arresting yesterday mesmerized her today. His eyes betrayed an uncertainty, a melting brown beneath dark slashes of heavy brows.

  A slight movement, or perhaps the lack of it, brought Anne’s gaze swinging back to Freddy. The comparisons were impossible to ignore and even more pronounced now that she’d taken a good long look at Brett. Freddy was almost beautiful—only his aura of power and sexuality kept him from being too pretty. His thick, dark red hair curled gently around his face and collar in a fashionable Brutus haircut, and his blue eyes shone from behind a fringe of dark lashes. His nose was a long aristocratic blade above a sensuous mouth, the bottom lip full and pouty. His chin was strong and firm, a sure sign of stubbornness. She did remember that from years ago. She saw his throat work as he swallowed and the play of muscle in the smooth column of his neck was mesmerizing.

  “Anne?” Her mother’s voice contained a concerned question, and Anne realized she’d been standing there staring like a half-wit for an impossibly rude length of time.

  “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so taken aback. I…let me…” Anne turned away and set her cup down, using the moment to compose herself. When she turned back she pasted a polite smile on her face. “How do you do, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham? You do us a great honor this morning.”

  Freddy came forward and took her hand, raising it to those pouty lips for kiss. Anne was shocked at the heat and grip of his fingers, at the velvet soft texture of his lips as they barely rubbed against the back of her wrist. Not pressed, but rubbed deliberately. The heat traveled from wrist to stomach to sex in a matter of seconds. Anne snatched her hand back and then tried to disguise her discomfort, but she saw the knowledge of her reaction in Freddy’s expressive eyes.

  “Miss Goode, it is delightful to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.”

  His voice sent a shiver through her. She knew it was noticeable. How embarrassing! His voice was soft, sinuous, each vowel and consonant pronounced with a carelessness that belied the sharp attention in his gaze. The roll of his l’s and r’s had made her breath catch.

  Brett stepped forward. “Miss Goode, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. Bertie spoke very highly of you, and I see that every word was true.” Anne blinked rapidly, lost in the glide of his hand against her palm. She was touching him at long last. His hands were rough, calloused. What had he been doing to cause that? His voice was deep, much deeper than Freddy’s, and softer. If she hadn’t been so attuned to him she would have had to ask him to speak up. He spoke slowly, with an odd combination of hesitancy and sincerity that endeared him to her even as she tried to harden her heart. He lightly pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and they were warm and moist and Anne’s knees wobbled. Then he let his hand glide out from under hers and she felt a rapid tattoo beating between her legs.

  She’d never had regrets before. Oh, she regretted Bertie’s death, the death of her father, but she’d never regretted her own actions until now. Now she was faced with two men who were impossibly out of her reach because of her choices.

  “You—” Anne had to pause to clear her throat, “you are too kind, Mr. Haversham.” She turned to Freddy. “And you, Your Grace.” She purposely walked toward the doors joining the small dining parlor with the drawing room. She opened them and turned to smile politely. “Won’t you join us for a cup of tea, gentlemen?” She indicated the other room with a sweep of her arm that seemed ridiculously theatrical to her, and she had to stifle a giggle.

  “We’d be delighted, my dear. Wouldn’t we, Brett?” Freddy drawled and he used the same sweeping motion to indicate Anne precede them.

  “Well, I told Mrs. Tilton to send the tea tray, Anne,” Mrs. Goode said dismissively. “I’ve a few things I must take care of.” She turned to Freddy and Brett. “Gentlemen, it was very nice to see you this morning. Do call again later in the week, and perhaps later in the day.” She looked at Freddy and the affection in her face was tempered with sadness. “It is so good to see you, Frederick. You bring back memories of happier times.”

  Brett paused as he was walking to the drawing room. “I apologize if we have inconvenienced you, ma’am,” he said in his deep, soft voice, and Anne felt that irritating shiver race down her spine again. How she wished it would stop. They were going to think she had the ague, for heaven’s sake. “We can return at another time.”

  Mrs. Goode shook off her reverie and her response was firm and perfunctory. “Nonsense! You’re here now, and Anne so rarely has company to herself. We are very informal here. Enjoy your visit, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham, and I shall see you soon.” She began walking away, talking over her shoulder. “Anne, dear, don’t forget you promised to go into the village today. It really must be done.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Anne responded automatically.

  When Mrs. Goode had disappeared, leaving the doors open of course, both men turned back to Anne.

  “We don’t wish to keep you from your day, Miss Goode,” Freddy said. There was something in his tone that implied just the opposite. When she looked up into Freddy’s face she could see that she’d interpreted his meaning correctly. She felt the heat in her cheeks as she blushed, and then she blushed some more because she was blushing. She cursed her awkwardness and inwardly groaned as a wicked smile curled the corner of Freddy’s amazing mouth.

  “Freddy,” Brett said quietly, and the smile disappeared. Freddy glanced behind him at the other man and Anne saw his eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Perhaps we should return another time if Miss Goode has a prior engagement.”

  “Oh no,” Anne replied too quickly, and then could have bitten her tongue. Freddy swung back around to pin her with his sharp blue gaze. “I, um, it’s just an errand or two. Nothing important,” Anne mumbled just as the tea tray rumbled into the room, dear old Mrs. Tilton pushing it before her. The tray squeaked something awful. They hardly used it anymore since they rarely had visitors.

  “Here,” Brett said, moving forward to intercept Mrs. Tilton. “Let me help, ma’am.” Anne noticed his limp was more pronounced today. Oh God, had he gotten hurt when he fell yesterday? Had she hurt him? The thought made Anne feel physically ill. She must apologize.

  “You’re very kind, sir,” Mrs. Tilton replied, her voice respectful, but her eyes were full of curiosity.

  “This is Mr. Haversham, Mrs. Tilton,” Anne told her, grabbing the other end of the cart to help position it next to the sofa. “And you must remember His Grace.”

  Mrs. Tilton’s eyes grew round and she made a clumsy curtsey in the duke’s direction. “Good morning, si—I mean, Your Grace,” she said breathlessly. “It’s good to have you home.”

  Freddy took the old woman’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Ah, Mrs. Tilton. Do you still make those delicious shortbread confections? I remember sneaking to the parsonage on occasion and begging a bite from you.”

  Mrs. Tilton blushed bright red. “Oh Your Grace, so you did. You were a scamp, you were. Able to talk the clouds from the sky. I’ll make you a batch and send them up to the Park.”

  Anne opened her mouth to protest, but Freddy spoke first. “Would you, Mrs. Tilton? That would be a wonderful homecoming. One of the things I’ve missed so much has been your shortbread.”

  Mrs. Tilton made a dismissive gesture as she pursed her lips. “Go on then, Your Grace. I’m sure you’ve had better in London.”

  “Never,” he vowed, hand on his heart, his eyes twinkling.

  Anne sighed. It was obv
ious Mrs. Tilton would not be satisfied until she could make the duke his shortbread. She wondered how he would react if she asked him to send the ingredients over. She mentally adjusted the purchases she needed to make with the small horde of cash hidden upstairs. Would she have enough? She’d have to.

  Anne sighed again and looked up to find Brett watching her. She felt a little like a laboratory specimen under his scrutiny. She looked away, uncomfortable with what he might be finding as he studied her so closely.

  “Thank you for the tray, Mrs. Tilton.” Anne tried not to be too dismissive. Mrs. Tilton was more family than servant, having been in the Goode household since Anne was a small girl.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Anne. Let me know if you need anything else, dear.” Mrs. Tilton hobbled toward the door and then stopped suddenly and turned to give the duke another wobbly curtsey. “It was quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” she said to Brett who nodded in response. She went out the drawing room doors, closing them behind her.

  Anne knew she should go and open the doors, but she wanted to make her apologies in private. And Lord knew that it was too late to salvage her reputation. She pointedly sat down and picked up the teapot and a cup. Both men followed her lead and sat as well, Freddy on her left at the far end of the sofa, which put him too close to Anne for comfort. Brett sat directly to her right in her father’s old chair, the stuffing long since flattened. Anne refused to feel embarrassment over the state of their belongings. Let the two men think what they will.

  She silently passed the cup to Freddy. He looked at the tray. “Thank you. Do you have any sugar, Miss Goode?” The question was innocuous enough, but his eyes shrewdly scanned the tray and then focused on her.

  “No.” Anne didn’t elaborate. He seemed a little taken aback but quickly recovered.

  “I do not take sugar,” Brett said, and Anne could have kissed him. She passed him his cup with a smile. When he took it his fingers lay over hers for a moment as their eyes locked. He smiled back, a slashing dimple appearing in his cheek that made Anne’s toes curl. Her heart sped up even as a distinctive lethargy stole through her.