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‘Do you know, I think you are right? I took the greatest care to guard my reputation— Oh, not that I give a fig for it, Tom, so don’t worry on that score. No, but I do know that Justin wouldn’t want people gossiping about me. Though heaven alone knows why he’s so consumed with preserving the family name, when our father made it a byword for depravity when he held the title. Nevertheless—’ she shrugged ‘—my presence in Brussels would have stayed secret had it not been for Major Flint.
‘Not even Madame le Brun gossiped about the wounded officer I’d hidden in my bedroom, you know. She says she doesn’t care about any scandals so long as I pay my bills.’
‘Very practical,’ he panted, wondering whether he should take hold of her hand and remove it from the vicinity of his buttons. The only problem with doing that was the temptation to guide it to where he wanted her to touch him the most. Giving her a subtle hint, then letting her explore a little wasn’t the same as deliberately rousing her, was it? It wouldn’t be breaking his promise if she was the one to take the lead.
Would it?
‘Yes. So, if anyone is to blame for Justin having a relapse, it is him. Major Adam Flint,’ she hissed, curling her fingers into his shirtfront like little claws, relieving him of the bother of doing anything about its innocently seductive exploration of his chest.
‘He just marched in there, without a thought for the damage he’d cause, and blurted it all out. And not even the truth, either, I dare say. But his own version. Painting you as black as he could, and making out that I’ve suddenly become a...a sort of...lightskirt, or something,’ she finished indignantly. ‘When you are so ill you can hardly get out of bed, never mind get up to the kind of mischief he was implying you’d wrought.’
That was probably true, he reflected gloomily. He’d gone dizzy just thinking about deflowering her. If he’d attempted anything even remotely strenuous, he’d probably have passed out like a light.
‘He’s just like Papa,’ she went on. ‘He may go by the name of Flint, but every inch of him is typical Latymor male. He throws his weight around. Barks out orders left, right and centre without a care for how anyone feels about anything. Or how it’s going to affect them.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite true. He just...didn’t foresee what the outcome would be.’
‘Don’t you take his side, Tom! Men,’ she huffed. ‘You always stick together, in the end. I suppose,’ she added morosely, ‘it comes from you being brother officers. You have great respect for him, or something.’
‘Well, I do, as it happens.’ He released the lock of hair he’d wound round one finger and let it slither straight to flow over his knuckles. ‘I haven’t always respected all the officers I’ve served with, in the various regiments I’ve gone through. But Major Flint is competent. Good with the men. Fair. Brave.’
‘Oh, don’t go on about him,’ she said sulkily. ‘The more you praise him, the more I want to wring his neck.’
At that moment, they heard someone hammering on the street door. Since Madame le Brun had already locked up for the night, it came as a bit of a surprise when, a few moments later, they heard the sound of someone knocking on their bedroom door.
‘Oh, no. What now?’ Sarah got out of bed, went to the door and peered out on to the landing.
‘Excuse me, but it is the other one,’ panted Madame le Brun, as though she’d just run up the stairs. ‘The major with the loud voice and the angry face. Demanding to see you. But, after what we said, what you told me, am I to let him in?’
‘No! On no account.’
‘That is what I thought, mon chou. Leave him to me,’ she said, scurrying out of the room and down the stairs.
After a moment or two, they heard the sound of booted feet marching to take a position right under their window.
‘Lady Sarah! Major Bartlett!’
‘Well,’ gasped Sarah, ‘if that doesn’t beat all! It’s as if he deliberately wants to cause a scandal.’
She flew to the window. Threw up the sash, pushed the potted geranium to one side and leaned her head out.
‘Haven’t you done enough? Not content with upsetting Justin, you have to come here shouting our names out as though you want to make sure I’m ruined!’
‘I wouldn’t have to shout for you,’ Tom heard the infuriated voice echo up from the pavement, ‘if you’d let me in.’
‘I’m in bed,’ she retorted. ‘Gentlemen don’t come visiting ladies at this hour of the night. Come back in the morning at a respectable time.’
‘You are behaving like some Billingsgate doxy,’ Major Flint bellowed in the voice that had the power to make the hardened men under his command quake in their shoes. ‘And I have just come from leaving your brother’s coffin in the Chapel Royal.’
Sarah gasped. Went white. And then her hands, as though seeking some way to express her rage and frustration, clenched round the potted geranium.
‘You...’ She inhaled sharply as she formed what was probably the worst word in her vocabulary. ‘You bastard,’ she flung at him, along with the poor unsuspecting geranium.
Tom heard the sound of pottery shattering on the paving flags. And he grinned. At least she wouldn’t have a second head wound to tend because, knowing her, if she’d actually hit her target, she would have been mortified. Would have run down to her half-brother, dispensing tears and bandages in equal measure.
Fortunately for all concerned, Major Flint beat a hasty retreat. No doubt rueing the day he’d attempted to cross swords with his doughty little half-sister.
His grin faded when he caught sight of Sarah’s face, though. She looked stricken as she gazed after the Major’s retreating figure.
