Nash scrubbed his face with one hand. “Yes. I realize that is the only way we will ever be free.” He caught hold of both her arms and pulled her closer. “But swear to me you will do nothing without my knowledge and approval.”
“I promise.” And she wouldn’t. Too much was at risk for her to rush in and be foolhardy. “I know you wish to speak to Merritt and your army chums. All I ask is that you include me in the plans. Please do not treat me like some delicate orchid that needs to be set on a shelf and isolated.” She gently patted his chest. “I can help. You know I can. Please respect that.”
“I will, my love.” He kissed her forehead as if sending her off to bed. “I remember your brilliance at strategizing and am sure it has only improved with age.”
“Such flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, hugging him closer.
“And here I thought you didn’t like flattery.”
“It depends on what kind.” She pulled him down for a kiss filled with determination and hope for their future. When he lifted his head, she smiled. “Onward to win this war, my husband.”
He nodded. “Onward, my love.”
Chapter Twelve
“Colonel! Gads, man,it is good to see you!” bellowed Nash’s former general. “Do come in, and may I say you are looking very well.”
“Trevy!” scolded Lady Hampshire, the general’s wife, in the shrill voice Nash remembered from his army days. “This is Lord Rydleshire now. Did you not hear Forston announce him as such?”
Sir Malcolm Trelvadere Hampshire, known asgeneralto some and Sir Malcolm to all except his wife, ignored the woman’s nattering. The curled tips of his flamboyant white mustache twitched upward and framed his round red cheeks as he smiled. “A colonel, a knight, and now an earl. What’s next, man? A dukedom?” The portly man, confined to his chair because of the loss of both legs below the knees, stuck out his hand.
Nash gave the fearless baronet the same warrior handshake he always used with Merritt, grabbing the man’s forearm and gripping it tightly. “Good to see you, general. Forgive me for not calling more regularly.” He added a wink. “And call me anything you like, old man. You earned that right years ago.”
“There! You see, Viola? Now toddle on and leave the colonel and me to speak of things too unseemly for your delicate sensibilities.” Sir Malcolm waggled a bushy white brow at his scowling wife.
The lady puffed like a hen with ruffled feathers. “I shall have Forston bring in your port.” She dipped a curtsy in Nash’s direction. “My lord,” she said before flouncing from the room.
“I heard of your marriage,” the general said as he rocked deeper into his chair. “Her Majesty’s orders, I suppose?” With a strained grunt, he twisted to reach an ornate metal box on the table beside him. He lifted the lid, took out a cigar, then glanced Nash’s way. “May I offer you one?”
“Thank you, no.” He had never much cared for tobacco but remembered the general was rarely seen without some form of the leaf, whether it be pipe, snuff, or cigars.
Sir Malcolm accepted his decline with a nod before clamping the tip of a fresh cigar between his teeth and lighting it with a spill set ablaze from the candle on the table. After several deep draws that set the cheroot glowing bright red on the end, he settled back and smiled. “As I said, Her Majesty’s orders? You are known to be her darling.”
“A title I prefer not to use.” Nash was well aware of the gossip but helpless to change it. After all, one did not refuse Her Majesty or Prinny.
The general smiled broader and chuckled, making his great white mustache quiver. “I would never insult you, old friend. Merely curious, since I never thought of you as one interested in marriage.”
“No offense taken, since itwasby order of the queen.” Nash ducked his head like a naughty schoolboy. “But now I find myself even more deeply indebted to Her Majesty for matching me with such a wonderful woman.”
“Ah…true love, is it?” Sir Malcolm took a long, slow draw off his cigar, making the end of it glow even brighter red. He lifted his chin and released the smoke, blowing it upward into a whirling pillar of gray. “I am glad for you, then.” He patted his leg. “Viola is an irritating sort with her nagging tongue looseat both ends most of the time, but I could not have survived this, neither physically nor mentally, without her. Nothing heals the body, the mind, or the soul like a love that is real.” He puffed on the cigar again, eyes narrowing as he watched Nash. “What brings you here? I wouldn’t waste my time visiting an old cripple. Why would you unless you needed something?”
Guilt at ignoring his former commander filled Nash. “You are not anold cripple, general, and I beg your forgiveness for my thoughtless neglect of our friendship.”
Sir Malcolm held up a hand. “My bluntness was not a trawling for apologies. You know me, old boy. I say what I think and fully expect my officers to do the same.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with interest. “Now, what is it that brings you here?”
“Merritt Wethersby and I could not locate Burns. Forthrite, Tomes, and Freedly said you might know where we could find him, since the two of you are quite close.” The general had saved Burns’s life once, and Burns had repaid the favor by carrying the general from the battle that had cost him both his legs. Nash went quiet and sat straighter as the butler entered the room, carrying a tray with a decanter and two glasses.
“Well met, Forston.” The general patted the arm of his chair, then pointed at the table beside Nash. “The colonel can pour. That will be all, my good man.”
“Very good, sir.” The butler bowed, then left the room, closing the door on his way out.
Nash poured them both a generous splash of the ruby liquid, handed the general his, then held his glass high. “What shall we toast, general?”
Sir Malcolm chuckled. “Success to whatever brings you here and causes you to search out the best riflemen of our regiment.”
“Still a sly old dog, I see,” Nash said after taking a sip of his drink.
“My body might be broken, but there is nothing wrong with my mind.” The general swirled the port in his glass, eyeing the sparkling red richness as though mesmerized. “Who is in danger?”
