Read Online The Reluctant Bride by Beverley Eikli - Free Book Online Page B

cathartic and relaxing in the sight.
    â€˜Mrs McCartney?’
    She gasped at the interruption, guilty embarrassment burning her cheeks.
    For a moment her visitor appeared as discomposed as she. ‘
Miss Micklen
?’ Rising from his bow, banishing the astonishment from his tone, the soldier before her added formally, ‘Good morning to you.’
    â€˜Good morning, Major Woodhouse.’ Emily forced a smile for the young man she had met on a handful of social occasions. A friend of Jack’s and now, it seemed, wanting Angus.
    â€˜I’m here on business, though … your husband’—he made it sound a question—‘is not expecting me.’
    The last time Emily had seen Major Woodhouse she’d been on Jack’s arm at the Christmas Regimental Ball. She remembered his courteous admiration, had thought him handsome and likeable with his brown curling hair and open expression. Now his green eyes darted to her stomach and his smile seemed assessing – although perhaps that was only her imagination – as he remarked, ‘Major McCartney is a lucky man. I did not know he’d married.’
    â€˜A whirlwind engagement, Major Woodhouse.’ She wished her voice sounded stronger, for her tremulous whisper only emphasised her position as an object of shame. She indicated the half-naked man at the bottom of the garden. Angus’s torso glistened with sweat in the morning sunlight. Engrossed in his task, he was unaware he had a visitor.
    From a distance he looked strong and manly. Her heart seemed to shift a little, as if the heaviness of her unhappiness were almost too great a weight for it to bear.
    â€˜If you want to make yourself known to my husband I shall organise tea.’ Turning, she went inside, wondering if she would be able to find what she needed, even for so simple a matter. Major Woodhouse could draw his own conclusions, but it was best for them all – her unborn child, included – that her domestic clumsiness not reveal just how new a bride she really was.
    Angus let the axe fall and turned as he sensed a presence, which he knew was not Emily. She’d looked like she could sleep for a hundred years when he’d checked on her early this morning after he’d risen from his makeshift bed on the floor by the scullery fire. An odd spark he was reluctant to identify burned in his chest at the memory of her face, lovely and serene in repose. Emily and her child lived. Emily was still his wife and he could still look forward to the little family that gave him hope there might be happiness on the horizon.
    â€˜Woodhouse!’ Wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm he smiled and looked past him to the house. He was about to – dubiously – offer refreshment, but the other man cut in.
    â€˜A brief visit, Angus. Strictly business so it would be best if we were not interrupted. Thing is …’ Major Woodhouse drew level and rested his boot on top of the newly split pile of logs. ‘A rather urgent problem has cropped up and we need your help.’
    Angus waited. Several years before, he had been involved in a reconnaissance mission in Spain, scouting out the mountains ahead of their unit before the troops advanced. He’d been commended for the detail and accuracy of his intelligence but had resisted becoming involved in similar operations.
    Though Woodhouse had never declared direct involvement in the government’s clandestine efforts to destroy the French Republic, Angus knew he sympathised with their desire to restore the Bourbons to the throne once Napoleon was defeated; that he passionately believed it to be in England’s interests; however, he did not know how closely involved Woodhouse was in covert operations.
    It didn’t take him long to find out. ‘The Foreign Office advised me one of our agents was attacked in Bern last week.’ Major Woodhouse came straight to the point as he withdrew