The Captain's Dilemma by Gail Eastwood

Author:Gail Eastwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sweet, regency romance, regency england, prisoner of war, wounded hero, sweet and sensual, romance regency regency romance historical romance, sweet regency romance, huntingdonshire, 1813 britain, gail eastwood, historical fiction regency
Publisher: Gail Eastwood

Chapter Thirteen

Was his life barbaric? Alex had never stopped to consider such a possibility before. He had always accepted that forgoing certain aspects of civilian life was part of the price of a military career—a price he was willing to pay.

Until his capture, he had been accounted a promising young officer. Through hard work and talent, he had built an exemplary reputation for honesty, skill and intelligence, that according to rumor had reached the notice of the highest circles, perhaps even Bonaparte himself. He had learned to handle his men, to identify and navigate around other people’s ambitions and jealousies, and to be as alert off the battlefield as on it. He had also enjoyed extraordinary luck, that intangible protection that had seemed always to hover over him when he was most at risk. He had achieved much, and had planned to achieve more, as long as he survived.

Perhaps he had used up more than his share of luck. Since the loss of his parole and the charge of impersonation against him, his only plan was to clear himself—to regain his name and all that he had lost with it. If he were to change his life, what would he do?

He had plenty of time to ask himself such questions during the two days following the dinner. Sir Barry was out much of the time, observing the final days of harvest in his fields, and the Pritchard women seemed to be very occupied with preparations for the harvest fair. Merissa, in particular, seemed to have no time to spend with him. He had watched her go out to ride earlier in the morning with a young man who was familiar enough to address her by her first name. Alex had not spoken to her alone since he had moved into the house.

He confessed that it was for the best. He knew it was. Yet he had become as addicted to her presence as if she were opium. A dozen times in an hour he would think of things he wished to say to her—questions he wanted to ask her, thoughts he wanted to share. To fill the emptiness, both yesterday and today he had yielded to the temptation to go into the salon and pick up Sir Barry’s violin, seeking solace in the way he had done for so many years.

He found that his fingers seemed to have a memory of their own. If he stopped thinking and simply let the music wash over him, the bow seemed to draw the notes from the strings by itself, and his hands instinctively knew what to do.

Like making love, came the thought, entirely unbidden.

He paused, trying to bury the thought back into whatever part of his mind it had come from. Merissa’s sweet image had come to him with it, along with an intense stab of desire. Impossible, impossible, impossible, he railed at himself. He could not have her. Anger replaced the desire—anger at himself and at the circumstances in which he found himself.

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