A Regency Gentleman's Passion. Diane Gaston
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but only if he swears he has not been gathering information for Napoleon.”
She turned to Claude. “Have you come to Brussels for any other reason than to see me?”
He looked surprised. “Non, Maman. What other reason could there be?”
“To find out about the English?”
He gave her a withering glance. “I cannot learn any- thing in the dark. And I must return before light or be branded a deserter.” His expression reminded her of when he’d been five years old. “I wanted to see you before—before the battle.”
She grasped his hand. He averted his gaze.
She turned to Gabriel. “He only came to see me.”
Gabriel nodded. “Very well. I’ll do as you desire.”
She squeezed Claude’s hand. “Gabriel will allow you to go.”
He blinked in surprise. “Then I must leave posthaste.”
“I will pack you some food.” She rose, shaking inside at the thought of saying goodbye to her son, not knowing if he would ever return to her.
She wrapped bread and cheese in a cloth and, with tears pricking her eyes, brought it to him.
He took the package in his hand. “We must blow out the candles.”
She blew out the nearest one and started to move to the others, but Gabriel said, “I’ll do it.”
Claude walked towards the door.
“Claude.” Emmaline’s throat was tight with emotion. Her son put his arms around her and held her close. “Please be careful,” she said. “Come back to me.”
“I will, Maman.” His voice sounded raspy and very young. “Do not worry.” He held her even tighter.
A moment later he was gone, fading into the night like a wisp of smoke.
She covered her face with her hands.
And felt strong arms embracing her again. She turned around and let Gabriel’s embrace envelop her.
“I am so afraid for him. So afraid I will lose him.” She sobbed.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
When her sobs turned to shudders, he picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs, laying her on the bed and holding her against him.
When she quieted she said, “I fear I’ll never see him again.”
“I know,” he murmured again.
Gabe rose with the first glimmer of dawn, but he’d hardly slept.
The ring remained hidden in his uniform pocket, along with all his hopes for the future. He’d lain awake most of the night, debating whether to ask her to marry him that morning. Was there any chance at all she’d say yes?
She’d defended him with her son, he’d realised, and with her aunt. That heartened him. He was certain he could convince Madame Laval that an English man could be as good for her niece as a Frenchman. And he could show Claude he was nothing like the men who’d killed his father and almost raped his mother.
If he had enough time.
But time was a commodity Gabe no longer possessed. Claude’s visit meant the French were near and were not likely to be waiting for the Allied Army and the Prussians to meet them on French soil. If the French were marching into Belgium, the battle was imminent.
He pulled on his clothing and glanced at Emmaline, looking so beautiful in sleep it took his breath away.
He understood why soldiers married on the eve of battle. Merely gazing at her made him desire to pledge his fidelity for ever. For the first time, surviving a battle really meant something to him—he wanted to survive to be with her for ever. And if it was his lot to die in battle, as his wife she would receive all his worldly goods. Either way he could provide her with a secure life.
Gabe picked up his boots and carried them below stairs so his footsteps would not wake her. In the kitchen, he lit the stove and put the kettle on. He made some of the Belgian coffee that he’d become accustomed to. He brought the coffee pot to the dining table. After pouring a cup, he leaned back in the chair, against his coat that still hung there. He reached in to the inside pocket and removed the small velvet box. Opening it, he gazed at the ring, imagining it upon Emmaline’s finger.
If he did not propose to her this morning, he might not get a second chance.
He closed his fingers around the velvet box and heard her step on the stairway. He stood and quickly shoved the box in his trouser pocket.
“You are awake already.” She sounded weary and tense. “I will make you breakfast.”
“No, sit.” He pulled out her chair. “I will serve you today.”
“Non, Gabriel, it is for a woman to do.” She took his arm, as if to prevent him from entering the kitchen.
He faced her, placing his hands at her waist and leaning his forehead against hers. They stood silent that way, Gabriel savouring her scent, her heat, the softness of her skin.
“Today I will cook for you,” he said again, easing her into her chair, stroking a stray lock of hair off her forehead.
He walked into the kitchen and cracked the eggs into the pan. He glanced back at her.
She sat with her elbows on the table, her face in her hands. Thinking of her son, he thought. Worrying over him. Missing him.
When Gabe had been a boy, returning from visiting his uncle on the farm, he’d sometimes wondered if his family had noticed he’d been gone. It often seemed as if they greeted him the same as they would if he’d been gone an hour.
He shook his head and attended to the eggs. This was time to think of Emmaline, not himself.
He poured her coffee and placed her eggs on a plate, adding bread, butter and jam. She looked up as he approached, putting a smile on her face. As he sat opposite her, he felt the ring in his pocket, reminding him of his decision.
Later, he would ask her, after she finished eating.
“This is very good.” She looked at him and he could tell she was trying to be cheerful.
Their conversation was forced, all the ease between them these past weeks gone. They talked mostly of the food, as if they were two strangers seated together at a dinner party. When finished, Gabe gathered the dishes and carried them back into the kitchen.
Emmaline followed him, putting her palm on his back. “I will tend to the dishes. You have done enough.” She glanced out of the window that looked over a narrow alley. “It is very light outside. I will have to open the shop soon.”
Gabe thrust his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around the velvet box. He released it and drew his hand out to touch her on her shoulders. “Come away for a moment.” He led her to the sofa and sat down with her, clasping her hand in his. “I have something to ask you.”
She met his gaze with interest, but only as much as if he were preparing to ask her what she would like him to purchase for their dinner.
He glanced down at her hand, imagining the ring on her long, graceful fingers.
“We have had a short time together,” he began.
She nodded, her expression turning wary. “You are going to say goodbye to me.”
He squeezed her hand. “I am going to propose that I never say goodbye to you.”
Her brows rose.
“Emmaline, I am asking you to marry me. I want you—want to be with you for ever.”
She paled. “Marry me?”
“I know the