Page 3 of Midnight with the Marquess (The St. Clairs 2)

Chapter Two

Peninsular War—Spain

Major Evan Drakefinished reading the letter from Alexander Lock, his best friend. He folded and slipped it back into its envelope. Mail came sporadically during wartime, especially during the Peninsular War. Because of this, he treasured every letter he received from Alex. This one, written two months ago, made him particularly happy. Alex wrote to him about a Lady Leah Crawford, who seemed to be an angel set upon earth, according to his friend. It was easy to see Alex was smitten with the young woman. It wouldn’t surprise Evan if he opened the next letter and found them engaged—or married.

He returned the letter to his trunk, slipping it in the bundle of letters Alex had written him over the last six years since Evan had been a member of His Majesty’s Army. He would need to reply and let his friend know of his own news, attaining the rank of major. It was the only good that had come out of this last, miserable year.

Lying on his cot, he fell into a restless sleep. He woke quickly, the sound of artillery being fired echoing in his head. Evan sat up and rubbed his stiff shoulder out of habit. The bullet had been removed a year ago but the shoulder muscles still tightened up on him after he’d been still for any length of time. Worse, his thigh often ached, causing him to limp slightly. That bullet had been nearly impossible to dig out. The surgeon had thought he might need to take Evan’s leg. He’d told the doctor to go ahead, not caring whether he lived or died.

Because of what happened to his men.

Every officer lost soldiers in wartime. He was no exception. The battle that had seen him fall after being struck by two bullets had also been one that wiped out almost every man under his command. He could still hear their shrieks. Smell the copper-tinged blood filling the air. See men collapsing to his left and right.

He shook his head hard, trying to rid his mind of the vivid images.

“Major Drake?”

Evan saw a soldier standing at the flap of his tent. He returned the man’s salute.

“Colonel Maddox wishes to see you at once, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He rose, smoothing his wrinkled uniform and raking fingers through his hair before he placed his hat atop his head. Maddox was his commanding officer. Evan wondered if he would receive new orders with his new rank.

Approaching the colonel’s tent, he saw Maddox’s right-hand man exit. He gave Evan a curt nod.

Maddox appeared at the entrance to the tent. Evan saluted and was bidden to enter. The tent held a large table in the center with an oversized map of the area. He’d stood around this table many times as battle plans were drawn up and orders issued in the seemingly endless war.

“Have a seat, Major,” Maddox said, taking one himself. “Wine?”

“No, thank you.”

Though the region had incredible wines, he hadn’t drunk any in almost a year. He’d imbibed far too much while recovering from his wounds, trying to dull the pain that lay within him for having lost so many men. Since he’d returned to active duty, he’d shunned strong drink of any kind, preferring to keep his mind sharp and the memories alive.

“You’ve been an admirable officer during your time in His Majesty’s Army, Major Drake. You’ve displayed leadership in abundance. Intelligence. Courage.”

The colonel paused and Evan waited patiently. He’d learned the army was all about hurry up and wait and had taken that lesson to heart, tamping down the impatience he was born with and learning how to be still and listen.

“The problem is that you’re taking too many bloody risks.”

“Sir?” He frowned, confused by the statement.

Maddox looked at him with sympathy. “I know what happened to your regiment, Son. All officers find that some decisions are very hard ones. You had a tremendous loss on the battlefield a year ago. Since then, you’ve recovered physically—but you’re not the same man. You take chances that imperil your life with every step. You do things that your men should be doing, not an officer of your rank.”

“How can I ask my men to go and complete such dangerous tasks without leading them by my own example?” Evan quietly demanded.

“Officers issue orders. Soldiers are meant to obey them. True, we sometimes find ourselves in the midst of battle but our larger role is to plan and strategize. It’s up to our men to execute our vision.” Maddox sighed. “You’ve been canny in your suggestions, Drake. I’ve used many of them and seen excellent results as we claw our way through the mire of this war. What you haven’t been for well over a year now is circumspect. I expect my officers to think prudently, not charge wildly into battle alongside foot soldiers, hoping to get themselves killed.”

He felt the dull flush of guilt and embarrassment flood his face.

“You once were cautious and alert. You still are, where your men are concerned. Now, though, you’re careless and unmindful of your own well-being. I require officers under my command to control their emotions. Manage their conduct. Act not on impulse.”

“I understand, Colonel. I’m sorry to—”

“I’ve given you time and haven’t seen any progress. You’re only going to get yourself killed. I won’t have your death on my conscience.”

Maddox rose and Evan followed suit. The older man placed a hand on Evan’s shoulder.

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