“One can’t argue against the importance of survival.” Harrington’s lips formed a tight line. His was a nice mouth, if a trifle stern. “Yet every profession has its downside.”
She tilted her head at him. “Even yours?” He was a respected officer of high rank; surely he had few complaints.
“Especially mine.”
“What’re the downsides o’ your job?” she couldn’t help but ask.
In the silence, the ground crunched beneath their boots.
After a moment, he said, “If I fail at my work, people die. If I succeed… people die.”
Her chest tightened. She understood. All too well.
“We do what we must,” she said.
“Yes.”
The glance he gave her made her feel more transparent than ever. Something was shifting inside her, an awareness she’d never felt before. A sensation intangible and cataclysmic. She realized that they were nearing their destination. Their conversation would soon end. After that, she’d never speak to this man again.
On impulse, she said, “If you weren’t an officer, what would you be, sir?”
He stopped, pivoted to face her. “Do you know,” he said in a strange voice, “no one has ever asked me that before?”
She instantly regretted her error. “Ain’t my business, don’t mean to pry—”
“A husband and father,” he said.
Those four words, laced with quiet desire, hung between them like a garland of smoke. Clouds parted, revealing a velvet sky dizzy with diamonds, yet to Pandora, the glitter in his eyes was even more brilliant because she had never met a man like him in her entire life and was certain she never again would.
He was a true gentleman. One whose inner fire wasn’t sparked by ambition or fame or fortune, but something different altogether. What Harrington, Britannia’s much-heralded hero, fought and yearned for was… a family.
He wanted a wife and children of his own. A family that he would provide for, protect, and—she knew it in the deepest depths of her soul—love. That was what beat in the heart of this man.
She became aware of her wildly thrumming pulse. His scent curled in her nostrils, his jacket warming her from inside out. She swayed a little closer toward him, his hard face and sad eyes—
“Lieutenant-Colonel Harrington! Sir!” A panting voice, pounding footsteps.
The skeins of the moment snapped.
“What is it?” Harrington said alertly to the approaching soldier.
“’Tis Major Starky, sir. He was found in his tent. Doctor’s looking at him, says his heart gave out—”
“Let’s go.” Harrington started off, then turned to look at her. “Miss Brown?”
Pandora’s heart was racing now for an entirely different reason than just moments before. She prayed the breathlessness in her voice didn’t give her away. “Yes, sir?”
“Merry Christmas.”
The briefest smile touched his lips, yet it was enough. Far too much. She remained for a few precious seconds longer, watching him disappear into the night.
“Merry Christmas, Marcus Harrington,” she whispered.
Then she too, vanished, into the darkness.
Chapter Two
London, September 1829
