Chapter Nineteen #2
“I’ll always be the duke,” Montague said quietly. “It was who I was born to be.”
“It was who you were when born,” she corrected him, attacking an invisible opponent. “But not who you had to be. You’re so much more than that, Montague.”
His heart skipped a beat. “I am?”
Why did he crave her good opinion so utterly?
Montague smiled weakly. He knew precisely why. Sarah Lockwood had opened his heart, claimed it, and had never let go. And he never wanted her to.
Her love was like a perfectly balanced foil. Able to wound just as easily as defend.
“You are,” Sarah said with a laugh as she almost dropped the poker. “I think I may need some more lessons.”
“Well, we are going to find that difficult,” Montague said heavily. “My role as military strategist will take me all over France.”
She beamed. “I am proud of you, you know. Great-Uncle Rupert would not have even considered taking you on if he was not impressed by your military tactics. Your strategy must be impressive.”
Perhaps. Or perhaps his future wife’s great-uncle was kind, something not often found in military men who had made it their careers.
He had to admit it had been pleasant to talk strategy with the old man. It turned out there were quite a few benefits to being a fencing expert. Much of the thinking transferred well.
Who would have thought?
“I don’t know why the travel itself will preclude us from practicing,” Sarah said, lifting the poker again and practicing her retreat—poorly, Montague noticed. “Though I suppose if we are in a carriage overly much, I see what you mean.”
Montague stared. What she was saying did not make any sense—why would she think he was going to teach her Great-Uncle Rupert fencing?
Colonel Markham, that was. He would have to be careful of that in the barracks.
“I believe we shall be riding horses, not sitting in carriages,” he said. “Battlefields are not entirely built for coach and fours.”
Sarah nodded. “I suppose you are right. I shall have to find a horse for the job—it has been years since I have ridden…a horse.”
The wicked look she shot him did not quite distract him. Why would she need to find a horse? Unless she thought…
“Oh, no,” Montague said firmly. “No, absolutely not.”
Sarah blinked innocently. “I cannot possibly think what you mean, Mont—”
“You are not coming with me to France, not on your life,” he said darkly. “No, Sarah, I mean it!”
There was such a look of instant rebellion in her eyes, Montague was astonished the topic had not come up before.
Did she truly think he was going to take his wife with him? Into France, where there were battles, danger, all sort of things that could cost him the life of the one person in the world who had to live?
Joy drained from his heart, replaced with fear. “Y-You cannot come—I forbid it!”
Sarah raised an eyebrow in a manner so exactly like her mother Montague took a step back. “You think you can forbid me to spend my first married year with my husband?”
“You think I could live with myself if something happened to you?” Montague burst out, unable to help himself. The very thought she could—“How do you think I could ever face your mother, or myself in the looking glass—I will not live without you, Sarah!”
Visions flashed in his mind: a bullet roaring toward them and he would be too late, unable to place himself between the bullet’s path and his wife…
Sarah appeared before him through a haze of panic, her hand on his arm. “You think I want to live without you? To marry you, then wave goodbye at a port and not see you for months on end?”
Montague swallowed. He had not thought of that.
Still, he would not admit to such. “You will be in danger.”
“And so will you,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “There are plenty of ladies who go to France, and—”
Montague snorted. “Not the sort of lady you are.”
Her cheeks pinked, but she barreled onward. “Now do you see why I was so hesitant for you to return to France? Do you understand now the fear I had for you and your safety?”
It was a point well made, Montague thought wretchedly, but that did not mean he had to acquiesce to the point.
Her argument made sense, however. He could see, finally, what it was to fear for the life of someone you loved on a battlefield. The very idea…
His voice was hoarse as he spoke. “I will not risk your life on a battlefield.”
“Good thing we will be stationed at Le Havre then, far from any sort of battlefield. Far from the war, really, but Great-Uncle Rupert insisted,” Sarah said smartly.
Montague blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
A teasing smile was already creeping over the beautiful face before him.
“Oh, did we not tell you? You won’t actually be anywhere near a battle.
Not even a skirmish, if I can help it. No, you’ll have a delightful office in half of our home, and I’ll host the ladies of the other officers in my half.
We’ll meet for dinner and lovemaking every evening, and… ”
She had planned it all, Montague thought in wonder. She, and the colonel. No, the man had not mentioned he would be stationed far from the battlefield. What an absolute coup.
And she knew it, too. Sarah was beaming, though her words were a little more serious. “I know you want to serve, Montague. And I want you to. But this way you can contribute to the war effort and not have to worry about yourself, or me…or your leg.”
Despite himself, his gaze flickered down. It didn’t hurt all the time, but that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Not knowing when the problem would resurface.
Montague sighed heavily. “I suppose you and your uncle have got this all tied up in that contract I was given? I signed it but could barely read it.”
Sarah snorted with laughter. “Montague, you didn’t!”
“Who am I to distrust a colonel?” he protested, pulling her into his arms. She did not resist. “Besides, I thought, if I discover the terms are not to my liking, I can always challenge him to a duel.”
Delight and joy rose within him as Sarah laughed. “Well, even if I wanted to, you know what they say…”
The duke groaned. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”