A Regency Gentleman's Passion. Diane Gaston
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pulled her hand away. “We cannot marry!”
His heart was pounding fast. “Maybe not before the battle, but afterwards, then.”
She jumped to her feet. “Non, Gabriel. How can I marry you? You are a British soldier.”
“I can sell my commission. After the battle.”
Her eyes flashed. “After the battle? Do you think that will make a difference?”
His face stung as if she’d slapped him. “Have I not shown you in every possible way the sort of man I am? Have we not been happy together?”
She looked away. “It is not the sort of happiness that can last.”
“Has it not been, Emmaline?” Gabe rubbed his hand against the outside of his pocket, feeling the box through the cloth. “I have experienced enjoyment that is meant to be fleeting. I know the difference. You cannot pretend this was a mere diversion for you.”
She could not meet his eye. “Of course I have enjoyed being with you, but I do not want to marry you.”
He leaned towards her. “Why?”
She took a breath. “My son despises you—”
“He does not know me. When the war is over, there will be time—”
She lifted her hand for him to stop. “The war will never be over for Claude. Do you not see? It will never be settled in his heart. I have tried—” Her voice cracked with emotion. She looked into his eyes. “I am all Claude has. He has lost too much. He has endured too much. I cannot abandon him.”
“I do not wish you to abandon him. He is a part of you. I want you both.” Gabriel’s insides felt as if they’d turned to stone. He knew even as he spoke the words that he’d lost her, that, if she believed she must choose between them, she must choose her son.
She lowered her gaze and her long lashes made shadows on her cheeks. “No, Gabriel. I cannot turn away from my son. Not even for you.”
He felt as if he’d had the breath knocked out of him. His very reason to exist had simply vanished like smoke into thin air.
He turned away and retrieved his coat.
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