As the lady approached and gave the duke her hand, Michael reminded himself that he was thirty-three years old, well past the age of instant infatuation with a pretty face. Yet the woman was lovely enough to cause a riot in a monastery. Her sleek dark hair was pulled back with a simplicity that emphasized the classic perfection of her features, and her graceful figure had a sensual lushness that would haunt any man's dreams.
To Wellington, she said drolly, "I'm sorry to have disturbed your officers. I merely stopped by to deliver a message to Colonel Gordon. But I shall leave directly, before you have me imprisoned for aiding and abetting the enemy!"
"Never that," Wellington said gallantly. "Kenyon, did you ever meet Mrs. Melbourne on the Peninsula? Her husband is a captain in the 3rd Dragoons."
Amazed at how calm his voice was, Michael replied, "I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure. The cavalry and the infantry don't always have much to say to one another."
The duke chuckled. "True, but Mrs. Melbourne was also known as Saint Catherine for her work nursing the wounded. Mrs. Melbourne, Major Lord Michael Kenyon."
She turned to Michael. Something flickered in her eyes, then vanished as she gave him her hand and a friendly smile. Her eyes were as striking as the rest of her, a shade of light, clear aqua unlike any he had ever seen.
"Mrs. Melbourne." As he bowed over her hand, the duke's words snapped a fragment of memory into place. Good God, could this elegant, frivolous female be the woman he had seen in the hospital after Salamanca? It was hard to believe.
As he straightened, the duke said, "Major Kenyon has just arrived in Brussels and is in need of a billet. Do you and Mrs. Mowbry have room in your menage for another officer?"
"Yes, we have space." She made a comically rueful face. "That is, if you can bear living in close quarters with three children and a variable number of pets. Besides my husband and Captain Mowbry, we have another bachelor, Captain Wilding."
This time he recognized the low, soothing voice that had crooned a dying boy to his final rest. This sleek creature really was the lady of Salamanca. Remarkable.
The duke remarked, "Wilding is a friend of yours, isn't he?"
A warning sounded in Michael's head, saying he would be a damned fool to stay under the same roof with a woman who affected him like this one did. Yet he found himself saying, "Yes, and I rather like pets and children as well."
"Then you're welcome to join us," she said warmly. "The way the city is filling up, we'll have to take in someone else sooner or later, so it might as well be now."
Before Michael had a chance for second thoughts or polite refusal, Wellington said, "It's settled, then. I'll expect you here in the morning, Kenyon. Mrs. Melbourne, I hope to see you next week at a small entertainment I shall be holditig."
She smiled. "It will be my pleasure."
As the duke returned to his office, Mrs. Melbourne said, "I'm on my way home now, Major. Shall I take you to the house? It's on the Rue de la Reine, not far from the Namur Gate."
They came out the front of the building. Neither carriage nor maid waited for her. He said, "Surely you're not walking alone?"
"Of course I am," she said mildly. "I enjoy walking."
He supposed that to a woman who had followed the drum, Brussels seemed very tame, but no woman so lovely should walk alone in a town full of soldiers. "Then let me escort you."
His groom and orderly were waiting nearby on horseback with his baggage, so he stopped to instruct them to follow. As he and Mrs. Melbourne set off along the Rue Royale, she tucked her hand in his arm. There was nothing flirtatious in the gesture. Rather, she had the easy manner of a comfortably married woman who was accustomed to being surrounded by men.
Deciding it was time to stop acting like a stunned ox, he remarked, "It's very good of you to let me share your billet. I suspect that good quarters are hard to find."
"Kenneth Wilding will be glad to have another infantryman under the same roof."
He grinned. "Surely you know that one infantryman is easily a match for two cavalry officers, Mrs. Melbourne."
"Just because the British cavalry is famous for chasing the enemy as wildly as they run after foxes, there's no reason to be caustic," she said with a laugh. "And please, call me Catherine. After all, we shall be living together like brother and sister for the indefinite future."
Brother and sister. She was so unaware of the paralyzing impact she had made on him that he began to relax. He had shared billets with married couples before, and he could do so now. "Then you must call me Michael. Have you been in Brussels long?"
"Only a fortnight or so. However, Anne Mowbry and I have shared quarters before, and we have the housekeeping down to a science." She gave him a humorous glance. "We run a very good boardinghouse, if I do say so. There's always food available for a man who has worked odd hours. Dinner is served for anyone who is home, and there's usually enough for an unexpected guest or two. In return, Anne and I request that any drunken revels be held elsewhere. The children need their sleep."
"Yes, ma'am. Are there any other house rules I should know?"
She hesitated, then said uncomfortably, "It will be appreciated if you pay your share of the expenses promptly."
In other words, money was sometimes tight. "Done. Let me know how much and when."
She nodded, then glanced at his green Rifleman's uniform. "Are you just back from North America?"
"No, I sold out last year after Napoleon abdicated and have been living a quiet civilian life. However, when I heard that the emperor had bolted again…" He shrugged.
"A civilian life," she said wistfully. "I wonder what it would be like to know one could stay in one house forever."
"You've never had that?"
She shook her head "My father was in the army, so it's the only life I've ever known."
No wonder she had learned to create comfort wherever she went. Her husband was a lucky man.
They fell into an easy conversation, for the Peninsular years had given them experiences in common. It was all quite casual-except for the fact that he was acutely conscious of the light pressure of her gloved fingers on his arm.
Deciding that he should mention their first encounter, he said, "We did meet three years ago after a fashion, Catherine."
She frowned, an enchanting furrow appearing between her brows. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't remember."
"I was wounded at Salamanca. At the field hospital, you gave me water when I was desperately thirsty. I've never been so grateful for anything in my life."
She turned and studied his face, as if trying to recall.
"There was no reason for you to remember me among so many. But you might recollect the boy on the pallet next to me. He was calling for his mother, and thought you were she. You stayed with him until he died."
"Ahh…" She exhaled, her lighthearted charm dropping away to reveal the tenderness of the woman who had comforted Jem. "Poor boy. There was so little I could do. So damnably little." She turned her face away. "I suppose I should have become accustomed to such scenes, but I never did."
Her beauty had struck him like a blow to the heart. Her compassion struck a second, harder blow, for years of war had made him treasure gentleness. He took a deep, slow breath before replying. "Callousness is easier. Yet even though it hurts more, there is much to be said for remembering the uniqueness and worth of each person whose life touches ours."
She gave him a measured glance. "You understand, don't you? Most soldiers find it better not to." More briskly, she continued, "Our destination is that house on the corner. Rentals are low in Brussels, so we were able to get a place with a nice garden for the children, plenty of stable room, and even a carriage for a ridiculously low amount."