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.
Gabe 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?”
If Tranville had not been Gabe’s superior officer, he would not have replied. “The French army has crossed into Belgium.”
Tranville frowned. “How can you know that? What evidence do you have?”
“I encountered a French soldier in the city last night.” This was wasting Gabe’s time.
Tranville’s eyes narrowed. “Encountered? Where?”
Gabe glanced from the general to his son, who was now leaning against the wall, as if needing it to keep him upright. How much did Edwin remember about that night in Badajoz? Gabe wondered. Had he told his father about it?
No matter what, Gabe refused to lead them to Emmaline. “I saw him on the street.”
Tranville laughed. “On the street? Not having a casual stroll through the Parc? Do not be a damned fool. If you saw anything at all, it was probably a Dutch infantryman.”
“I did not mistake the uniform. The man was not desiring to be seen and why would a Dutch infantryman be trying to hide?”
Why did he even bother arguing with Tranville? Gabe did not care if Tranville believed him or not. “In any event, I feel it is my duty to report it.”
Tranville’s nostrils flared. “Do not mention this to Wellington. Do not waste his Grace’s time.”
Gabe shrugged. “To one of his aides, then.”
Tranville huffed. “You will say nothing. Am I making myself clear? Your duty has been discharged by making your report to me.”
Gabe persisted. “And you will pass on this information?”
The general’s voice rose. “As I am your superior officer, you will not question what I will or will not do. The Duchess of Richmond is giving a ball tonight, in case you did not know, and I will not have his Grace and other gentlemen distracted by this foolishness.” He emphasized the word gentlemen.
When General Tranville became Gabe’s superior officer, he had made certain that Gabe did not rise in rank past captain. The general did not believe in field promotions or those based on merit. Gabe had come from the merchant class and only true gentlemen advanced the proper way, by purchasing a higher rank. It was a matter of pride to Gabe that he did not advance through purchase, although his family, and now he, could have afforded it.
Tranville waved a dismissive hand. “Go see to your men or whatever nonsense you must attend to. You can have no further business here.”
A string of invectives rushed to the tip of Gabe’s tongue. He clamped his teeth together.
“Yes, sir!” he responded, bowing and performing a precise about-face.
Gabe walked away, keeping a slow pace so that Tranville would not suspect he’d been roused to anger.
As he reached the door to the outside, he heard Edwin drawl, “How very tiresome.”
Later that evening Gabe learned his information had been accurate and that General Tranville had not passed it on. Wellington heard about Napoleon’s march
