A Regency Gentleman's Passion. Diane Gaston

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      The boy cried, “Papa! Papa! Réveillez!”

      “Il est mort, Claude.” Her tone, so low and soft, evoked a memory of Gabe’s own mother soothing one of his brothers or sisters.

      Fists clenched, Gabe rose and strode back to Edwin, ready to kick him into a bloody pulp. He stopped himself.

      Edwin rolled over again and curled into a ball, whimpering.

      Gabe turned his gaze to Ensign Vernon and his voice trembled with anger. “Did Edwin kill him?” He pointed to the dead French soldier.

      The ensign shook his head. “I did not see.”

      “What will happen to her now?” Gabe spoke more to himself than to the others.

      The woman pressed her son against her bosom, trying to comfort him, while shouts sounded nearby.

      Gabe straightened. “We must get them out of here.” He gestured to his lieutenant. “Landon, take Tranville back to camp. Ensign, I’ll need your help.”

      “You will not turn her in?” Landon looked aghast.

      “Of course not,” he snapped. “I’m going to find her a safe place to stay. Maybe a church. Or somewhere.” He peered at Landon and at Ensign Vernon. “We say nothing of this. Agreed?”

      Landon glared at him and pointed to Edwin. “He ought to hang for this.”

      Gabe could not agree more, but over fifteen years in the army had taught him to be practical. He doubted any of the soldiers would face a hanging. Wellington needed them too much. General Tranville would certainly take no chances with his son’s life and reputation. Gabe and Landon needed to protect themselves lest Tranville retaliate.

      More importantly, Gabe needed to protect this woman.

      “He is the general’s son.” His tone brooked no argument. “If we report his crime, the general will have our necks, not Edwin’s.” He tilted his head towards the woman. “He may even come after her and the boy.” The captain looked down at the now-insensible man who had caused all this grief. “This bastard is so drunk he may not even know what he did. He won’t tell.”

      “Drink is no excuse—” Landon began. He broke off and, after several seconds, nodded. “Very well. We say nothing.”

      The captain turned to Vernon. “Do I have your word, Ensign?”

      “You do, sir,” the ensign readily agreed.

      Glass shattered nearby and the roof of the burning building collapsed, sending sparks high into the air.

      “We must hurry.” Gabe paused only long enough to extend a handshake to the ensign. “I am Captain Deane. That is Lieutenant Landon.” He turned to the woman and her son. “Is there a church nearby?” His hand flew to his forehead. “Deuce. What is the French word for church?” He tapped his brow. “Église? Is that the word? Église?”

      “Non. No church, capitaine,” the woman replied. “My … my maison—my house. Come.”

      “You speak English, madame?”

      “Oui, un peu—a little.”

      Landon threw Edwin over his shoulder.

      “Take care,” Gabe said to him.

      Landon gave a curt nod before trudging off in the direction they had come.

      Gabe turned to the ensign. “I want you to come with me.” He looked over at the Frenchman’s body. “We will have to leave him here.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      The woman gazed at her husband, her posture taut as if she felt pulled back to his side. Gabe’s heart bled for her. She put an arm around her son, who protested against leaving his father, and Gabe felt their struggle as if it were his own.

      “Come,” she finally said, gesturing for them to follow her.

      They made their way through the alley again and down a narrow street.

      “Ma maison,” she whispered, pointing to a wooden door that stood ajar.

      Gabe signalled them to remain where they were. He entered the house.

      Light from nearby fires illuminated the inside enough for him to see the contents of a home broken and strewn across the floor: legs from a chair, shards of crockery, scattered papers, items that had once formed the essence of everyday life. He searched the large room to be certain no one hid there. He continued into a small kitchen and a bedroom, both thoroughly ransacked.

      He walked back to the front door. “No one is here.”

      The ensign escorted the mother and son through the doorway. The woman’s hand flew to cover her mouth as her eyes darted over the shambles of what had once been her life. Her son buried his face into her side. She held him close as she picked her way through the rubble towards the kitchen.

      Determined to make her as comfortable as possible, Gabe strode into the bedroom and pulled the remains of the mattress into the large room, clearing a space for it in the corner. He found a blanket, half-shredded, and carried it to the mattress.

      The woman emerged from the kitchen and handed him water in a chipped cup. The boy gripped her skirt, like a younger, frightened child.

      He smiled his thanks. As he took the cup, his fingertips grazed her hand and his senses flared at the contact. He gulped down the water and handed her back the cup. “The—the Anglais, did they hurt you?” What was the French word? “Violate? Moleste?”

      Her long graceful fingers gripped the cup. “Non. Ils m’ont pas molester.”

      He nodded, understanding her meaning. She had not been raped. Thank God.

      “Can you keep watch?” he asked Ensign Vernon. “I’ll sleep for an hour or so and relieve you.” He’d not slept since the siege began, over twenty-four hours before.

      “Yes, sir,” the ensign replied.

      They blocked the door with a barricade of broken furniture. The ensign found the remnants of a wooden chair with the seat and legs intact. He placed it at the window to keep watch.

      The mother and child curled up together on the mattress. Gabe slid to the floor, his back against the wall. He glanced over at her and her gaze met his for one long moment as intense as an embrace.

      Gabe was shaken by her effect on him. It did him no credit to be so attracted to her, not with the terror she’d just been through.

      Perhaps he was merely moved by her devotion to her child, how she held him, how she gazed upon him. Gabe had often watched his own mother tend as lovingly to his little sisters.

      Or maybe her devotion to her son touched some deep yearning within him. The girls had come one after the other after Gabe was born, and he had often been left in the СКАЧАТЬ