The Soldier's Dark Secret

The dining room at Hunter’s Reach was like a very much larger version of the one in Trestain Manor, with exposed oak timbers and extensive panelling. To Celeste’s relief, Jack was seated next to her at dinner. Aside from that one moment when she’d had to pinch him, he seemed to be handling the occasion effortlessly. It had been strange, seeing him mingle with those other soldiers. There was no doubting that he was one of them. She had learned more in the last two hours about his life in the army than he had told her in— Was it really less than six weeks since they had first met? The respect and admiration he drew from his fellow officers did not surprise her, but the awe in which a number of them held him did. They spoke of him as if he were a magician, recounted some of his successes as if they were achieved by a form of sorcery. She had thought Sir Charles’s claim that Jack was famous had been born from brotherly affection, but it seemed even Sir Charles had no idea of the extent of Jack’s abilities.

It struck her afresh how much he had given up when he resigned his commission. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing? The test, as he called it, began to make more sense now. Despite having insisted that his soldiering days were over, perhaps he was still hankering for them after all. He had sounded completely convincing, but that could be because he was trying very hard to persuade himself.

In the company of these senior militia men gathered round the huge table, Jack was a changed character. More intimidating, in a way. She looked at him, chatting smilingly with the overly forward and overly endowed woman on his right. He certainly looked relaxed and in control but she couldn’t help remembering what he’d said about putting on a front to go into battle.

As the first course was carried in by a small battalion of footmen, Celeste dragged her eyes and her thoughts away from Jack to the man seated on her left, one of the few in the room not wearing a red tunic. He needed little encouragement to talk about himself and the pivotal role he had played in the introduction of something called the Corn Laws which seemed, confusingly, to have very little to do with bread. When Celeste finally managed to complete a sentence without interruption, the man declared he hadn’t realised she was a Frenchie, and embarked upon a description of his recent pilgrimage to the Devon coast to view HMS Bellerophon, in which Napoleon was being conveyed to exile on Elba. He seemed to think that Celeste was personally acquainted with the Emperor, and consequently was inclined to take umbrage on behalf of the entire English nation.

The arrival of the next course was the signal for all heads to turn almost as one. Celeste bit back a smile. All heads save one, that was. The woman on Jack’s right was still talking. She could not see his face, but the woman was quite unmistakably casting lures. That she was beautiful could not be denied, with blue-black hair almost the colour of Jack’s own, huge blue eyes, and an expanse of creamy skin on display. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her hands also. The pink tip of her tongue kept touching the plump indentation in the centre of her upper lip in a brazen gesture of seduction. Even as Celeste watched, she managed to lean over, display her bounteous cleavage, whisper something in Jack’s ear and drop her napkin on to his lap at the same time.

Celeste committed the cardinal sin of leaning across Jack’s arm. ‘You will excuse me, Madam, but I have something most particular to say to Monsieur Trestain.’

‘That was rude,’ Jack said, though he was smiling.

‘No doubt you thought her very beautiful.’

‘No doubt that is what you think I thought.’

Celeste narrowed her eyes. ‘I think her gown is vulgar. The décolleté is indecent.’

‘Only a woman would say so. There is no such thing as a décolleté that is too low, as far as we men are concerned.’

‘Nor a bosom that is too full,’ Celeste replied tartly.

Jack burst out laughing. ‘I cannot believe you said that.’

‘I meant only to think it.’

He grinned. ‘You know, despite the fact that you are not parading your quite delightful bosom about like a—a houri in a sultan’s harem, you must be perfectly well aware that you, Mademoiselle Marmion, have turned every male head in this room.’

‘Though not yours,’ Celeste said before she could stop herself.

‘Oh, mine was turned the moment I first saw you on the banks of the lake.’

He meant it teasingly, but she remembered him then, as she had first seen him, naked, scything at that awkward angle through the water, and heat flooded her. ‘I could not take my eyes off you,’ she said.

‘That,’ Jack said, ‘is a feeling which is entirely mutual.’

His eyes darkened as he leaned towards her, and she moved too, as if drawn by some invisible force, only the clatter of a spoon on a glass making them leap apart, as his Grace the Duke of Wellington got to his feet and announced a toast: To England, Home and Beauty.

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