An Officer but No Gentleman (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

The revelation caught him off guard. His face became a stoic mask as he lowered himself down by the fire. She pressed her brief advantage. “Why didn’t you tell me, Grahame?”

“It doesn’t change anything.” His gaze was riveted on the flames.

“I disagree. It has the power to change everything. Is that why you said nothing?” She tried to stay cool. Yelling and fighting were not viable substitutes for a controlled, adult discussion. “When we arrive in Vienna, it’s over?”

“It has to be,” Grahame bit out tersely.

“Care to explain why? I’m a big girl, Grahame. I can take it.” It was a lie. Whatever he told her, it was going to hurt. She knew that much already.

“No, I wouldn’t care to explain it,” Grahame growled. He glanced up from the fire and his features seemed to soften. “I’m not all you think I am. I’d prefer to leave it at that. My pride demands it.”

“What about my pride? It demands a little something, too,” Elowyn shot back, unwilling to settle.

He gave her a look of exasperation. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Elowyn snorted. “
That
doesn’t make it better.” She wanted to stay angry; it was easier to distance herself from him then. But her anger was slipping away. She’d expected him to be harsh, to laugh at her notions of what their affair had meant; perhaps she’d expected him to even tell her she’d been foolish in her assumptions. But he’d done none of that. Instead, he mirrored her own frustration.

Something flickered in his gray eyes. “Believe me when I tell you I wish this could all be different.”

“If wishes were horses...” Elowyn flashed a sardonic glance to where their mounts were stabled. “What do you suppose that makes us?” Oh, yes, the edge was starting to wear off indeed, the anger all but gone now. Was she going to despise herself for this in the morning?

Grahame’s eyes were solemn and sad. “Two people who found happiness for a short while. But Ell, it can’t last. I can’t make you happy forever.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Suddenly, she knew her own mind. She went to him, kissing him on the mouth, her hands working the shirt he’d so recently put on. She couldn’t control him, or the outcome once they reached Vienna, but she could control tonight. Tonight she wanted him one last time.

Elowyn reached for him, her hand seeking his phallus, but he stalled her. “No, tonight, let me take you.” He wanted her! Her heart soared with elation, his words further proof that she’d not misread the solemnity in his eyes just now. He truly did wish things could be different. It wasn’t that he didn’t want things to continue in Vienna, it was that he felt they
couldn’t
continue. There was still a secret, only not the one she’d thought. There was hope in that, she thought. It wasn’t over, not yet.

* * *

Grahame moved over her, pushing up her skirts and settling between her legs. The primal need to conquer had come upon him suddenly, brought on by the questions and disclosure. He wanted her to belong to him, even if just for tonight. Time was running out for his fantasy and he would not let it go easily, not without a few more memories. He thrust in hard, finding her slick and ready. Did he imagine it, or did her arms tighten about his neck more fiercely? Did her legs clasp him more firmly, unwilling to let him leave her body? Was it possible she felt it, too, that the end was near and nothing could stop it? Had she understood his subtle plea?. More important, would she honor it and not push him for more?

It was simple sex, man on top, nothing fancy, nothing that would have dazzled the tonnish ladies with his prowess, and yet when they’d climaxed together beneath their rough blankets, beside their little fire in a rickety barn, rain pounding on the roof, Grahame felt like a king. The restlessness he’d felt in London had been resolved. He needed nothing more than this. This was it. Elowyn was it and he couldn’t have her.

“Why did you cross the Channel with me?” Grahame murmured into the darkness. The fire had burned low and now they lay beside it, wrapped in blankets, savoring the afterglow of their lovemaking. It was a risky question given their other disclosures tonight, but he needed the answer.

What did she see in him? How badly was it going to hurt to let her go? And always, the question, would it hurt more to tell her the real reason it had to end? To see her turn away from him in disgust? He’d not intended to let things get this far, and clearly from her reaction earlier tonight, she had not intended it, either. But here they were, both of them seeking a physical affair that had spun out of control and now they were at sea, trying not to drown in their attraction.

Elowyn took her time swallowing, gathering her thoughts. He could see the silhouette of her throat working in the firelight. “I couldn’t bear for my father to worry.” She stared into the fire. “My mother froze to death en route to one of my father’s postings. A wheel had come off her carriage. When she didn’t arrive on time, no one worried. Carriages were always late. The roads weren’t made for fast travel. There were constant delays—it was what was expected. By the time my father went looking for her, it was too late. I couldn’t put him through that again.”

He was surprisingly disappointed to hear that. He supposed he’d wanted a confession that she’d come for him, that she couldn’t resist him, although in the long run, this answer was much better. It proved that maybe some detachment still remained after all.

The fire sparked and popped. Elowyn picked up a long stick and poked the wood about, rearranging the kindling. “But that wasn’t the only reason.” She shot him a look and worried her lip. “I couldn’t make you stay. You needed to cross the Channel. I don’t know what for, but it was there in your eyes. You couldn’t wait and I didn’t want to make you. You would have stayed. You wouldn’t have left me in Dover with wagons and servants to manage. Your honor as a gentleman, as an officer, wouldn’t allow it.”

Would his honor allow her to believe that statement? It was Grahame’s turn to look away, uncertain about how much to say. He wasn’t a gentleman, never had been by birth or by deed. The goodness she assigned to him was overwhelming and even a bit shaming. He should tell her. It would be the final wall he needed to keep her from him. She would pull away from him once she knew. He wouldn’t have to be the one to end the relationship. She would end it for him. Now he was torn. Did honor demand he tell her, or did honor demand he keep his secret and face the end of this relationship like a man?

“Well, Grahame?” Elowyn prompted gently. “I came. That’s your answer. Now you tell me, what did I come for?”

A droplet of juice from her meat pie lingered on her lips. Grahame leaned forward, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ready to employ an age-old strategy. “You came for this, because we can’t get enough of each other and we both wanted to know how it was going to end.” He covered her mouth softly with his, his tongue licking the seam of her lips. A kiss could stop a lot of things, in this case, even time.

Chapter Thirteen

Sex was not an answer, no matter how good it was. But she’d let it be a sufficient substitute last night. As a result, in the light of day, nothing had been resolved. Grahame was still determined it all had to end, just for different reasons than the ones she had supposed. It didn’t help that she didn’t know what those reasons were. This was their last day on the road. They were running out of time. It was small consolation that last night’s revelation had not been a rejection, that his decision to hide his post in Vienna had not been out of a need to break with her. But it made no difference if he still meant to end things.

Elowyn could not get past that one thought as she folded their blankets and put away their things. The rain had stopped in the night and the morning was bright. It would be a good day for travel. They would make decent time. The thought should have filled her with relief. The day after tomorrow she’d be with her father. She’d be in circumstances more suited to her upbringing. She was the granddaughter of an earl, the daughter of a third son. She did have some station in life—not enough to stifle her, but enough to give her comforts. And all she wanted was Grahame Westmore.

Last night’s intimacy had sealed it. She could no longer argue the excitement was in the adventure of sex, or the games Westmore could play with her body. Even ordinary sex was riveting, fulfilling, beyond anything she’d imagined because it wasn’t simply sex as it had been with her other lovers. Those interludes were pale shadows against what she shared with Grahame.

“Are you ready?” Grahame came to collect the valises and blankets to tie on behind the saddles. His hair was tied back, his coat was dry and brushed, but his boots had lost their polish miles ago. Their clothes at least would be glad to see Vienna, even if their owners weren’t. Even Grahame seemed subdued this morning.

No
,
you silly ninny.
I
am not ready.
I
want to stay in this rickety barn with you forever and make love next to a dying fire.
She didn’t dare say it. If she could persuade him to stay it would mean missing his interview. She couldn’t do that to him, so she lied. “Yes, I’ve got everything.”

Outside, Grahame threw her up on her horse before mounting Aramis. How she loved watching the strength of him in motion as he swung up on the big beast. How many more chances would she have to see him do that? Or to feel his big hand on her leg as he tossed her up? It was going to be a long day if she insisted on that train of thought. Emotionally, she could not afford to spend the day remembering every detail of their time together, or thinking of all the “lasts.” What was she willing to do about it?

Elowyn let the question occupy her mind during the early miles of the morning. They rode in silence, an awkward quiet springing up between them, proof that she was not the only one grappling with the dilemma. Grahame might have made a decision, but he wasn’t happy with it. She would take encouragement from that.

“I imagine you will be glad to see the city tomorrow,” Grahame said after the silence between them had grown stifling.

“I never wanted to leave London,” Elowyn replied honestly. It was one of her secrets, the one thing she kept buried deep inside her. In all her years of travel, she’d never admitted as much to her father.

Grahame looked at her and she could see the words had surprised him. “I would have thought a diplomat’s daughter was used to moving.”

“Being used to it doesn’t mean I like it,” Elowyn sighed. “This time, I thought we might stay. London is the hub of the empire now. There’s plenty of diplomatic work to do without leaving England. We’d been there five years. I thought this time it would be different.” Elowyn shrugged. “But I was wrong. Britain wanted my father well-positioned for negotiations when the Treaty of Unkiar Skelessi expires so there are no surprises like last time.” The secret clause between Turkey and Russia had led to eight years of British unrest where Russian allegiances were concerned.

“What about you? Are you looking forward to Vienna?” She turned the conversation back toward him.

“I’m excited about the opportunity but I, too, will miss England and my friends.”

“And your family,” Elowyn supplied. “You’ve not mentioned them in all the time we’ve talked, but they must be sad to see you go.”

“No. I don’t have any family. I never knew my father, and my mother passed away several years ago.” Grahame’s eyes had gone granite hard in their grayness. She had trespassed into forbidden territory, a reminder that no matter how far they’d come together, there were still areas off-limits like this one, like the one last secret he held.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Elowyn answered tersely. Let him hear the scold in her words. She should have known that much about him. He should have told her. The thought halted her. She was right. She should have known. Knowing the basics of his family was harmless enough. Unless it wasn’t...

Elowyn studied his profile, straight and strong. Did his last secret have to do with his family? Was there some kind of embarrassment he was loath to share? Was it potent enough that it could not be tolerated? The reference to his father asserted itself, conjuring up images of illegitimacy. Her own father would resist such a match. He’d always fancied her married to a foreign prince or high-ranking Englishman. To date, she’d defied him with her discreet, temporary affairs; they were a chance to remind herself she had control. She decided the course of her life, when so often she felt she didn’t.

Road traffic was picking up, making it difficult for extended private conversation. There was no chance to probe further. Elowyn noted they were passing wagons, other riders and families on foot dressed in their best. “What do you think?” she said to Grahame, the first words they’d spoken since his mention of his family. Perhaps returning to lighter conversation would lessen the tension between them. “There’s something going on up ahead.”

Grahame nodded in agreement. “I bet a shilling it’s a fair.” He called out in German to a man on the roadside with his family. “What’s happening today?”

The man grinned and gestured down the road. “It’s the beer festival!”

It was the perfect distraction whether they wanted to go or not. The road passed straight through the village where booths were set up in a field, pennants and flags flew gaily and the smell of food filled the air. “I think we are duty bound to stop,” Elowyn suggested as traffic clogged the street. She was desperate to reclaim Grahame from wherever he’d retreated. Even if she was fooling herself, she’d be glad to fool herself a little bit longer.

Grahame grinned and the tension disappeared. Perhaps he, too, was eager to prolong the illusion. “I do believe you’re right. A fair is exactly what we need.” A celebration of sorts, a chance to say farewell without doing it in Vienna. That wasn’t where they should say goodbye. But that went without saying. They were getting pretty good at avoiding the things that needed to be said. Soon it would be too late for anything except regrets.

They found a place to stable the horses and began to stroll the grounds, a perfect excuse to keep her arm tucked into Grahame’s. They spent the morning looking at livestock and admiring the horses, the early afternoon eating hot sausages and taking in the vendors, all the while the sky remained blue overhead. Grahame bought her a green ribbon he said matched her eyes and tied it in her hair, his hands lingering at her shoulders. In the late afternoon, a space was cleared for games. Men began to gather, boasting and joking as targets were set up for knife throwing. The old question of the morning reasserted itself.
If she was not willing to give up Grahame
,
what was she willing to do to keep him?
Elowyn smiled, an idea coming to her.

“I think I could beat you,” Elowyn said in low tones as they wandered over to the gaming field.

“That’s hardly fair. A gentleman is honor-bound to lose.” But a competitive spirit sparked in his eyes nonetheless.

Her next words were bold. “But you’re no gentleman, are you, Grahame? That’s the secret, isn’t it? The one thing that keeps you from continuing our affair?” The look on his face said she was close. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He didn’t think he was good enough for her.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” Grahame blew out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve asked you to leave this alone. It can’t matter in the end.”

The end being tomorrow, Elowyn thought. “It matters, because I’ve found a man worth keeping.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “For how long, Ell?” Until you decide it’s over? Is that what this is about? You don’t like that I’ve decided it needs to end? Is that how it was with the others? You chose? What do you want?”

She let the comment slide, all but the last part. They’d arrived at the knife throwing. She put down coins for the entrance fee and faced Grahame. “What I want is your best throw and then I’ll want your secret, you stubborn man.”

* * *

Grahame hefted one of the knives laid out at the booth while Elowyn marched up to the throwing line. Folks had begun to gather. He smiled in spite of himself. Elowyn knew how to draw a crowd. She was magnificent. Even now after days on the road there was a regal quality to her as she stepped up to throw. She stood there, proud and defiant, staring down the target with deadly intent. A few onlookers called friendly advice but she paid them no attention. That was when Grahame realized he was going to lose. Elowyn only knew how to win, even if the prize was something she wouldn’t want.

She threw her three knives in rapid succession, one of them hitting the bull’s-eye, the other two close enough it didn’t matter. Elowyn turned to him with a confident smile. “It’s all yours, Captain.” The crowd cheered. They wanted her to win. Maybe he did, too. Maybe the truth needed to come out.

Maybe.

His first throw matched hers.

His second throw matched hers.

His third throw went wide, just wide enough to make a difference in her favor. The crowd roared. Someone took up the chant, “Kiss! Kiss!” Grahame obliged. He swept a triumphant Elowyn into his arms, wanting to remember her like this always with her cheeks flushed, her hair falling down, her eyes on fire. He kissed her for the crowd. He kissed her for all he was worth and wasn’t worth because very soon it would be over. She would know his secret and she would be done with him.

Not as soon as he thought. The crowd saved him. One man clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Captain, is it? You’d better redeem yourself for the lady right over here.” The man gestured toward the horse and rider obstacle course and the crowd surged, sweeping Grahame along with them. He caught sight of Elowyn among them, but she was of no help. She merely nodded and laughed along with the rest of them.

Aramis was already there, waiting for him. Grahame threw a censorious look at his newfound friend, who merely shrugged. “We all figured you were probably cavalry when we saw that big stallion of yours.”

It was hard to be angry when spirits were riding high. Grahame swung up on Aramis. If he was committed to this, he might as well win it. Elowyn waved from the crowd and he lost himself in the moment at the sight of her. It occurred to him in a flash of insight this might be one of the best days of his life. His woman was cheering for him. Something primal surged in him as he kneed Aramis forward. He would ride for her and he’d win for her. Who he was might stop him from claiming her, but it couldn’t stop him from loving her. Right now, that was enough.

He watched the first four competitors take the field and studied the course. It was classic, designed to test the skills of both horse and rider. The first test was about balance, a line of rope loops through, which the riders were expected to cut through with their sabers. The second was a set of poles the rider and the horse were to weave through, testing the horse’s flexibility. Finally, there was the double test of the horse’s steadiness and the rider’s strength, the stuffed dummies that were to be stabbed.

The fifth rider did well, only missing one of the dummies. Then it was his turn. He saluted the judges, turned Aramis in a tight circle, readying him for the course. With a kick of his heels, Aramis was off. Grahame leaned low over Aramis’s neck as the first task approached, saber leveled. The rope loops gave. He was through the first task. He urged Aramis on, not letting the horse slow as they came up on the weaving poles. He worked the reins, kneeing the horse subtly, in and out, while the crowd cheered, loving the speed. He would need that speed for the dummies so his saber wouldn’t stick when it struck straw.

Grahame steadied his arm and plunged into the first dummy and withdrew. He had to rely entirely on his knees for keeping Aramis on course, his hand occupied with the saber. He plunged again and again, taking the final dummy in a round of rambunctious applause from the audience.

Elowyn was in his arms, kissing him soundly the moment he dismounted. The judges were congratulating him; strangers in a town he’d never met were pounding his back. Tonight, he was Captain Grahame Westmore, and tonight he belonged.

The prize was a bottle of champagne. Grahame grinned and took the bottle from the judges. “Shall I open it here?” he asked the crowd gathered about him. They cheered him on and he took out his saber one more time and turned the flat of the blade against the bottle. The cry of “sabrage!” broke out through the crowd in surprised delight. Elowyn’s eyes were alight in awe. Grahame slid the blade along the body of the bottle and broke the neck away, the bubbling foam covering his hand while everyone clapped. He drank first and passed the bottle to Elowyn, who charmed the crowd with a healthy swig of her own. She passed the bottle on and that was the last he saw of the prize. They were swept up with the crowd toward the dancing floor and the trestle tables set up for eating.

Overhead, stars came out. Lanterns were lit. There were beer, sausages and potatoes until neither he nor Elowyn could eat another bite, and there was dancing! Country dancing, where no one cared how many times you danced with the same partner. He danced all night with Elowyn, watching her eyes burn with green fire, watching her hair come loose, watching her smile at him as if she were the happiest woman in the world and he knew he had to tell her. It was not fair to let her fall in love with an illusion.