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Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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than a womanizing, narrow-minded oaf.-"
"Whatever his failings, Melbourne manages to keep his wife satisfied. It's none of your business if he has a regiment of dollymops, Michael." Kenneth's brows drew together. "Perhaps I should repeat that.
It's none of your business
."
Michael stared out the window into the night. Again, Kenneth was. right. No
outsider could really understand a marriage, and he had no right to interfere,
even for well-intentioned reasons. God knew, his good intentions had led him to
hell before.
But this time was different
. Was it, or was he merely, demonstrating
his dangerous talent for self-deception? Saint Michael, going off to slay all
the wrong dragons.
Behind him, Kenneth said softly, "She's married, Michael."
"Do you think I'm not aware of that every moment?" he said tightly. He took several deep breaths before turning to his friend. "Don't worry—I'm not going to lay a finger on her, or on him, for that matter. I just wish for her sake that her husband was decent and honorable, like Charles Mowbry."
"Maybe she's the sort of good woman who finds a wicked man irresistible," Kenneth said dryly. "I've never seen a hint that she regrets her choice of husband."
Michael smiled humorlessly. "There's a poker by your fireplace. Do you want to hit me over the head with it, in case I haven't gotten the message yet?"
"I'll refrain, unless I see you going after Melbourne with blood in your eye." Kenneth dipped his pen in the inkstand and absently sketched a tiny weasel in the margin of his letter. "Speaking of which, Melbourne has been amazingly polite to me the last few days."
Michael sank into a chair. "My fault. He irritated me so much that I told him about your noble birth. Sorry."
Kenneth's mouth tightened. "You've really got to do something about that temper."
"I thought it was under control, but Colin Melbourne seems able to make mice feet of my good intentions."
"Ah, well, it's amusing to watch him try to overcome past rudeness in the hopes that I might be useful to him someday. Little does he know what a waste of time that is."
Needing to get his mind away from Catherine and her husband, Michael asked, "Have you and the other intelligence officers learned what Bonaparte is up to?"
"Hell knows. Not being allowed to set a foot on French soil is damned limiting. I wish someone would declare war and make everything official. Do you have any good headquarters gossip?"
"The duke doesn't share his thoughts with underlings, but it doesn't take a genius to see trouble on all sides." Michael frowned. "The Prussians are being difficult. Prince Bl ü cher is sound, but many of his staff are suspicious of the British, which is why their headquarters are a good fifty miles from Brussels. It creates a serious weak point between the armies."
"One which the emperor will be quick to exploit if he decides to invade Belgium."
"Exactly. My personal opinion is that Napoleon will march north very soon. So many French veterans have flocked to fight under the imperial eagles again that Bon-ey's army will probably be larger than Wellington's, as well as vastly more experienced."
"The combined allied forces will greatly outnumber the French," Kenneth pointed out.
Michael raised his brows sardonically. "Do you think Boney will give the Allies a chance to assemble into one great army? He's always preferred attack, and in his present situation audacity is his only hope. The longer he delays, the more time Wellington will have to whip this ragtag army into a real fighting force and to get his veterans back from America."
"In any equal battle, I'd back Wellington over Napoleon hands down," Kenneth agreed. "But now the duke is in the damnable position of trying to make bricks without straw."
"That was true on the Peninsula, too, and the duke never lost a battle." Michael smiled a little. "I'm about to become a handful of straw myself. I'm being breveted to lieutenant colonel and given a regiment of green
"Whatever his failings, Melbourne manages to keep his wife satisfied. It's none of your business if he has a regiment of dollymops, Michael." Kenneth's brows drew together. "Perhaps I should repeat that.
It's none of your business
."
Michael stared out the window into the night. Again, Kenneth was. right. No
outsider could really understand a marriage, and he had no right to interfere,
even for well-intentioned reasons. God knew, his good intentions had led him to
hell before.
But this time was different
. Was it, or was he merely, demonstrating
his dangerous talent for self-deception? Saint Michael, going off to slay all
the wrong dragons.
Behind him, Kenneth said softly, "She's married, Michael."
"Do you think I'm not aware of that every moment?" he said tightly. He took several deep breaths before turning to his friend. "Don't worry—I'm not going to lay a finger on her, or on him, for that matter. I just wish for her sake that her husband was decent and honorable, like Charles Mowbry."
"Maybe she's the sort of good woman who finds a wicked man irresistible," Kenneth said dryly. "I've never seen a hint that she regrets her choice of husband."
Michael smiled humorlessly. "There's a poker by your fireplace. Do you want to hit me over the head with it, in case I haven't gotten the message yet?"
"I'll refrain, unless I see you going after Melbourne with blood in your eye." Kenneth dipped his pen in the inkstand and absently sketched a tiny weasel in the margin of his letter. "Speaking of which, Melbourne has been amazingly polite to me the last few days."
Michael sank into a chair. "My fault. He irritated me so much that I told him about your noble birth. Sorry."
Kenneth's mouth tightened. "You've really got to do something about that temper."
"I thought it was under control, but Colin Melbourne seems able to make mice feet of my good intentions."
"Ah, well, it's amusing to watch him try to overcome past rudeness in the hopes that I might be useful to him someday. Little does he know what a waste of time that is."
Needing to get his mind away from Catherine and her husband, Michael asked, "Have you and the other intelligence officers learned what Bonaparte is up to?"
"Hell knows. Not being allowed to set a foot on French soil is damned limiting. I wish someone would declare war and make everything official. Do you have any good headquarters gossip?"
"The duke doesn't share his thoughts with underlings, but it doesn't take a genius to see trouble on all sides." Michael frowned. "The Prussians are being difficult. Prince Bl ü cher is sound, but many of his staff are suspicious of the British, which is why their headquarters are a good fifty miles from Brussels. It creates a serious weak point between the armies."
"One which the emperor will be quick to exploit if he decides to invade Belgium."
"Exactly. My personal opinion is that Napoleon will march north very soon. So many French veterans have flocked to fight under the imperial eagles again that Bon-ey's army will probably be larger than Wellington's, as well as vastly more experienced."
"The combined allied forces will greatly outnumber the French," Kenneth pointed out.
Michael raised his brows sardonically. "Do you think Boney will give the Allies a chance to assemble into one great army? He's always preferred attack, and in his present situation audacity is his only hope. The longer he delays, the more time Wellington will have to whip this ragtag army into a real fighting force and to get his veterans back from America."
"In any equal battle, I'd back Wellington over Napoleon hands down," Kenneth agreed. "But now the duke is in the damnable position of trying to make bricks without straw."
"That was true on the Peninsula, too, and the duke never lost a battle." Michael smiled a little. "I'm about to become a handful of straw myself. I'm being breveted to lieutenant colonel and given a regiment of green
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