Bound By One Scandalous Night. Diane Gaston

he said. ‘I would think very ill of myself if I abandoned you.’

      ‘Unlike some gentlemen,’ she muttered.

      ‘There will be plenty of time for me to reach the battle.’ He hoped. ‘I doubt Napoleon will disturb his sleep.’

      Fine words, but who knew how close Napoleon was to Brussels? Edmund had heard varying accounts. One thing was certain, though. Men would fight soon. And die.

      He concentrated on getting her through the crowd without further mishap. The streets cleared a bit when they reached the Cathedral of Saint Michael and Saint Gudula. It rose majestically into the night sky, its yellow stone glowing against the black sky. Men would be stopping at that Gothic church for a few prayers before battle, Edmund would wager. It could not hurt to pray a little.

      Pray not to die.

      Edmund shook his head. Don’t think such thoughts, he told himself, but he’d seen too many battles on the Peninsula, seen too many good men die while he survived. Soldiers always talked of having only a finite number of battles in which to remain unscathed before it was their time to die.

      Miss Glenville swiped her gloved fingers across her eyes. Was she weeping? If only he could have prevented this ghastly night from happening to her. She was too lovely and unspoiled to have been so roughly treated. To think what that ruffian had in mind to do to her made him tighten his hand into a fist.

      He needed to distract both of them from their thoughts. ‘So what did happen with Captain...Captain Whatshisname?’ He only pretended to forget.

      ‘Fowler.’ She spoke the name as if it were a term of contempt.

      ‘Captain Fowler.’

      ‘We quarrelled and he walked away and left me.’ She turned her head away.

      The scoundrel. ‘What sort of quarrel would make a man abandon you?’

      The doors of the cathedral opened, revealing the glow of candlelight inside. A man in uniform emerged, head bent. Edmund hoped the man’s prayers would be answered.

      He turned again to Miss Glenville. ‘Tell me what you and Captain Fowler quarrelled about.’

      She swiped at her eyes again. ‘I certainly will not.’

      He persisted. ‘Is that what is making you weep?’ He feared it was the other man’s mistreatment of her.

      ‘I am not weeping!’ she cried. ‘I am angry.’

      Anger was better. Good for her.

      Better for him, too. He was caring too much, caring about never seeing a beauty such as Amelie Glenville again if he lay dead on the battlefield.

      ‘It is really none of your business, you know,’ she snapped.

      ‘No doubt,’ he persisted. Ungentlemanly of him, but it distracted him from morbid thoughts. ‘But you say you will not speak of this, say to your brother or my sister. You should talk about it with someone, since it is plaguing you so. I am unlikely to say anything to anyone.’

      After all he might soon be dead.

      ‘Why would I talk to you?’ she responded in an arrogant tone.

      He’d almost forgotten. He’d been talking with her as if she’d consider him her equal. ‘Yes, wise not to tell the likes of me.’

      ‘The likes of you?’ She sounded puzzled.

      Need he explain? ‘Surely the scandalous details of my birth were whispered into your delicate ears.’

      ‘What has that to do with it?’ she asked, then smiled wryly. ‘But you are correct about the details of your birth being whispered in my ear.’

      He gave her a smug look.

      ‘Your sister told me more about you,’ she went on.

      He laughed. ‘What did she tell you? That I was a horrid boy who teased her and played pranks on her?’

      ‘Did you?’ She glanced at him but quickly glanced away.

      This was better. Who would guess that he’d think talking about himself was desirable? It kept them both from more painful thoughts, though. ‘Tess could not have informed you of my wayward activities in the army. My sisters know nothing of that. Their ears are delicate, too, you see.’

      She batted her eyes at him. ‘Wayward activities? Are you some sort of rake? I have been warned against rakes.’

      ‘Oh, be warned, then,’ he joked. ‘I am a shameless rake.’

      ‘Are you?’ Her voice lowered almost to a whisper.

      Had he gone too far in this bantering? Had he reminded her of the ruffian who’d accosted her? ‘You are quite safe with me, Miss Glenville.’

      She glanced at him again, and her good humour fled. She turned away. ‘Yes. Safe.’

      If only he really were a rake, he thought. He would steal a taste of her lips and take the memory with him into battle.

      They walked in silence until they reached the Parc de Bruxelles, its main paths lit by lamps. The parc looked almost as busy as it did in the daytime, but now other couples were not leisurely strolling on the paths. They were either hurrying into the shadows or clinging to each other.

      ‘Shall we cross through the park?’ he asked. ‘It will be safe enough tonight. Or would you prefer we walk around it?’

      ‘We may cross the park,’ she responded.

      She was still lost in her own thoughts. Edmund wanted her to talk to him again. Seeing so many sweethearts clinging to each other affected him. How many would be torn apart for ever? He supposed they were trying to grab one more moment of feeling alive. Perhaps that was what she and Fowler quarrelled about. Perhaps Fowler asked her for more than she could respectably provide. Soldiers leaving for battle often wanted one last coupling with a woman.

      As they walked through the park, he heard faint sounds of lovemaking coming from behind the shrubbery. Surely she had noticed, too. Surely she could hear the sounds.

      ‘I have a suspicion that your Captain Fowler might have asked for liberties,’ he tried to explain. It did not excuse Fowler’s abandoning her, but maybe it would help explain his behaviour toward her. ‘Men often want a woman before battle.’

      She stopped. ‘You think he propositioned me?’

      Now he was not so certain. ‘That was my guess, yes.’

      * * *

      Amelie kept walking. He really could not be more wrong. Fowler had not propositioned her. But he had left her.

      ‘He put you in danger by leaving you,’ the lieutenant went on. ‘That was unforgivable.’

      Could he not talk of something else? Anything else?

      Was it possible to grow older in an instant? Because that was how it felt to Amelie. One moment she was young and in love; the next...

      ‘Unforgivable,’ she repeated. But his leaving was only part of his unforgivable behaviour.

      Not that it mattered to Fowler.

      They continued across the park, heading to the gate on the other side. As they reached it, another couple entered, a plainly dressed young woman and a tall, red-coated infantryman.

      The young woman halted. ‘Miss Glenville?’

      Amelie stared at her. ‘Sally?’ She glanced back to Edmund. ‘My maid,’ she explained.

      ‘Oh, miss!’ the maid cried. ‘Are you back from the ball? There is to be a battle, and your father wants to leave early in the morning for Antwerp. I have packed for you. Must I come to you now? I—I hoped for a little while longer.’ Her words came out in a rush.

      Next to Sally a young infantryman stood at attention,