The Officer's Temptation

The heat was unbearable, the sun beating down on him without cease. His linen shirt clung to his chest, slick with sweat. His arms itched under the wool of his uniform. Cannon fire boomed across the field. The ground seemed to thunder as dust rose in plumes and sprays of rock and sand. His body was frozen in fear. He could not move or cry out. Only his heart seemed to work, thumping away in his chest like a drum. Where was he? He blinked at the sun.

Marlowe awoke with a start, eyes filling with the light of early dawn. He placed a hand, the injured one, over his chest. It was a reassuring weight against his galloping heart. He could still smell the scent of death that clung over the battlefield, feel the burning heat of the sun against his neck, and hear the cawing of the crows echoing his ears.

He sighed and kicked himself out from underneath the light linen sheet he had been sleeping under. It was clinging to his bare chest. It was quite warm. That hadn't been a dream. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight as he stepped over to the window. He should not have closed the shutters last night. There was no air at all in the room. He reached for the latch grumpily, remembering that the reason he had closed them during the night was in an attempt to block out the loud, off-key singing of a drunken neighbor. That was the problem with having taken the room facing the street. But it had been the gentlemanly thing to do. His parents and the Jennings had taken the largest rooms. And the Jennings young son Louis had needed a quiet room with his governess since no one wanted to deal with an overtired and sulking child. Of course, Marlowe had wanted Katherine, Miss Jennings, to be comfortable, so it had fallen on him to take the least desirable bedchamber.

He shuddered to think of where he might have had to sleep had Nicholas and Arabella not decided to find their own lodgings elsewhere. He suspected that it must have been Nicholas who had insisted. Knowing Arabella, she would have tried to scheme her way into Marlowe's very bedchamber. He let out a puff of air that blew his damp curls from his sticky forehead. He really needed to speak with her about discretion. It had been difficult to find any time with her in private during the long and tedious voyage. He wasn't sure if that was for the best or not. Perhaps it was due to the novelty of seeing her so frequently during their travels, but he felt almost relieved that they had not had any alone time together. Though that hadn't stopped her from constantly making doe eyes at him at every available chance, brushing against his shoulder when they passed beside one another on the ship... When she hasn't been feeling seasick, at least.

It was so early that he felt a pang of remorse at the idea of ringing for his valet, so instead, he dressed himself. The clothes had already been laid out the night before and they were brushed and ready for him. Truth be told, he preferred dressing alone. He had grown quite accustomed to it in the army. He winced, thinking of his memories, remembering a fragment of his dream. He flexed his hand against his thigh. The movement sent a searing pain through his wrist and all the way up to his elbow. It usually did not trouble him so much. Perhaps he had been clenching it in his sleep.

He was still cautiously curling and uncurling his fingers when he arrived in the main dining room. To his surprise, there was already a maid setting down a plate of fresh bread and butter. She looked at him in surprise. "Will you be having breakfast as well, signore?" Her voice was heavily accented. She was a local girl they had hired for the few weeks that they would be staying in Florence.

"As well?" he mused in confusion, but the answer was made clear as a familiar face appeared at the door. Her dark, curly hair was bound up most becomingly. She wore a paint-splattered smock over her pale dress. "Oh, Lieutenant! You startled me!" Miss Jennings's cheeks flushed with color. "I thought that I would be alone so early."

"I couldn't sleep," confessed Marlowe. "But you look rather clear-eyed."

"I've been awake for hours." She settled at the table with the plate offered to her by the maid, who then scuttled away to get something for Marlowe. "I was too excited to sleep!"

"I thought that I would sleep for days now that we have finally arrived... "

She eyed him sharply. "Your hand is bothering you."

He leaned back, startled. "How could you tell?"

"You always roll your fingers up--yes, just like that, when it pains you."

He smiled ruefully. "I didn't realize that it was so noticeable."

"An injury?"

"Yes."

She held up her hand, wriggling her crooked pinky. "Just like mine," she said, with a grin.

"Just like yours," he agreed.

Her deep blue eyes lingered on his face. "Does it bother you often?"

"Mostly it is just stiff. Today it pains me."

"May I see?"

"Are you a physician now?" he jested.

"Yes. May I?"

He nodded, and she set aside her cup of tea and crossed over to him. He felt heat surge through his body as she neared him. She was so close, inches away. The thought came to him unbidden of how she had looked that day in the rainstorm, dress clinging to her every curve. He almost choked on his tea and tried to turn his mind to something else--Arabella on her horse, Arabella in the glade, Arabella with the rivulets of water running between her breasts. Christ, what was wrong with him that all he could think of to distract him from one woman was another? He stared intently at the drapes as Miss Jennings took his hand in hers, soft fingers running over his skin. He felt prickles on his arms. He thought he had rather begun to glare at the drapes as she pressed her fingers into his flesh. "Does that hurt?"

"No," he grumbled. In fact, it felt rather nice. Far too nice. She released his hand.

"I have an idea," she said, "since you said that it often feels stiff. Perhaps if you were to practice something that required fine motor skills... You might redevelop the muscles that were injured."

"I do the stretches," he replied, "that the field physician recommended."

"But am I correct that you still have some clumsiness?" She resumed her seat across from him, taking a long sip of tea. Her cup made a small chinking sound as she placed it back on the saucer.

"Yes."

"What if you were to take up drawing?"

He looked up at her. It was a mistake. She was biting her cherry lips, her blue eyes gazing at him intently. He looked at that table cloth, a fine weave of pale linen. "Drawing? But I have no skill at it."

She took her place across from him again. "No one does when they first begin. But you show promise."

He laughed rather loudly. "And how is that?"

"I saw the drawing you did... Before we left England. You left in on the cherry table in my parlour. It was a ship."

He was afraid that he might blush at the thought of her seeing his scribbling. He swallowed a long sip of tea from the cup that the maid had brought him. "I... I find myself rather at a loss for words."

Her eyes twinkled. "You shouldn't be. I think that it could be just the thing to help you. What else will you do while we are abroad?"

"Drink, gamble, smoke..." he made a shrugging gesture with a smile. "All manner of vice."

"Oh, la, I shall put you to something much more productive. If you let me." She smiled at him.

He could not help but to smile at her in return. "How could I refuse you?"

She grinned. "You couldn't. We will begin our training today."

"But you have already been painting today," he said.

This time she looked surprised. "How could you tell?"

He laughed loudly. "You are covered in paint, my dear. And you are still wearing your smock."

Her mouth curved into that perfect o that she did, and he was quite sure that her cheeks turned a shade pinker. But still she made a wry face at him. "I forgot! Maman would be scandalized if she knew that I did not clean myself off before coming to the table."

"Well, I am not scandalized," he reassured her. "I rather like your disarray."

"Well, you two are up early this morning." Nicholas entered the dining room suddenly, a friendly smile plastered to his face. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, the curls sticking out under his lobes. His eyes seemed to twinkle. Like everyone else, he must think that Marlowe and Miss Jennings were well on their way to being a matched pair. His ignorance was bliss, Marlowe thought, drumming his fingers on the table.

"They didn't have breakfast at your own house, Balfrey?"

Nicholas snorted. "I would not apply the word 'breakfast' to what the cook offered me this morning, no. It's some local woman Arabella found only heavens knows where. The fact that she remembered to find us a cook is no small feat, however. She was... bordering on negligence with her carefree approach to planning."

"And where is Lady Balfrey?" Marlowe asked before he could stop himself.

"Still not feeling well. I suspect that she will be abed for many hours yet...Traveling did not agree with her."

To be sure, the journey had not been easy for any of them. Traveling from England to the Italian Peninsula was a weeks-long undertaking, complicated by the weather, the state of the roads, the condition of the carriages... But it had been particularly arduous for Arabella. She had been sick almost every day that they had been at sea and had not fared much better in the long carriage rides. Marlowe thankfully had not had to share a coach with her. He did not think that his nerves could have borne the strain of being in such close proximity. It was like being too near the sun, he reckoned. A little bit of exposure went a long way.

"Why the glum face?" asked Nicholas settling in at the table. "You're looking rather morose for our true first day in Florence."

"I've told him that he must start drawing lessons with me," cut in Miss Jennings. "He's desolate."

"Well, then we shall have to cheer him up. Shall we go out when we've done with breakfast? I would love to see some old sights before the crowds get too heavy. Its been years since I've been in Florence."

"You took a grand tour?" asked Miss Jennings.

"When I was seventeen. Marlowe remembers I'm sure."

Kate sucked her lip between her teeth and frowned. "I've always found it rather insulting that young men get to carouse around the continent as a right of passage while we ladies are cloistered at home."

"You're here now."

Miss Jennings grinned and finished her tea. "Yes, I prodded and shamed Papa about it until he felt he must let me come. It's a grand tour of my own, I suppose. I'm grateful for the chance, although if I had my way, I should never return. I would much rather wander about for years, live in Paris perhaps, study painting."

Nicholas laughed. "Living among the French would not suit such a genteel woman as yourself, Miss Jennings. They have a rather corrupting way of life."

Marlowe snorted. "She would corrupt them, Balfrey."

Nicholas laughed. "Then she may be almost as wild as my wife."

Marlowe licked his lips. "I thought the idea of a walk a marvelous one." He always did feel restless in the mornings. Miss Jennings nodded her assent.

"After I break my fast then," Nicholas said, receiving a slice of buttered bread from the maid. The sun was streaming in through the open windows. The conversation turned while Kate chattered amicably away about a cousin they would be meeting in Venice. Marlowe watched the dust motes drift through the sunbeams and felt at ease.

And then the door opened again. He stood so quickly that he almost clattered out of his chair. "Lady Balfrey."

Arabella stood at the doorway, slender and pale. Her white dress emphasized her pallor, the flush of pink on her cheeks. "You might have woken me, Nicholas." Her red lips twisted in a pout.

"You were resting, my angel. I thought that you needed more time to recover from our journey."

"I am not so frail," she scoffed. Her bright eyes paused on Marlowe's, just a moment too long. "What business are we about today?"

"A long walk," said Nicholas. "To take in the sights. It has been too long since I roamed the streets of Florence!"

Her nose wrinkled, almost imperceptibly. "A walk! In this heat!"

Miss Jennings smiled. "It is not so bad. You will acclimate." Marlowe saw that there was a smudge of blue paint on her neck. He imagined himself wiping it away.

"What do you say, Lieutenant Hughes?" Arabella rested her palm against the back of a chair.

Marlowe drank in the sight of her, wide eyes concentrated on his face. Lashes batting. If he said that the heat was too much, what would she do? Tell the others to go on alone? Invite him to her house... He blinked. It was too much of a risk, and besides, he did rather fancy getting the lay of the land, continuing the pleasant conversation that had been flowing between Nicholas and Miss Jennings. Indeed, he would feel quite sore about it if he should miss out on their adventure. "I quite like a morning stroll," he said. "And besides, the heat will be much worse in the afternoon."

Arabella smiled broadly. "Well, if the Lieutenant shall brave it, then so shall I."

Nicholas went to her, taking her small hand in his. "Very well. Shall you eat first?"

She seemed to turn green at the thought. "I would prefer not. Let us be away if everyone is ready."

Miss Jennings stood. "I must only put away my smock."

"And wipe that bit of paint off your neck," said Marlowe with a teasing grin.

He thought he saw her neck turn pink and she clapped a hand over her pulse. "I'll be ready in just a moment."

*******

The streets of Florence unfolded before them, gilded Renaissance columns, marble facades, plaster and stone fences, shutters painted bright, and orange-tiled roofs baking in the sun. The smell of bread and flowers floated on the air, the sounds of morning flowing around the bends of the streets. Nicholas led the way, pointing out the bits of history that he knew, the names of statues, the squares where battles had been lost and won, the bits of architecture that were worth noting. Marlowe drank it in.

Arabella was at his side, making some sort of small conversation with Miss Jennings, but he could barely listen. His eyes scanned the streets, noting the columns and arches, pilasters and lintels made of stone. All over the city were magnificent domes and windows. He wondered how he had never truly noticed buildings before, the art to them, the shape. He thought perhaps that it was because of Miss Jennings and her paintings, though he could not say how.

"And what do you think, Lieutenant Hughes?" Arabella's voice broke into his thoughts. Her green eyes were trained upon him.

"I..."

Miss Jennings made a scoffing sound. "The poor Lieutenant has not been paying any mind to us," she said to Arabella. "I fear he finds our idle prattle dull."

"No, it is only that there is so much to see," smiled Marlowe. "I cannot seem to take in the sights and listen at the same time."

Nicholas laughed from ahead of them. His voice echoed against the bricks. "You will have to pardon our Lieutenant Hughes, my dear. He is a simple man."

Marlowe tensed but chose to shrug it off. "I'm no match for your wit, 'tis true, Balfrey. I do always find myself a bit struck dumb by beauty." He accidentally caught eyes with Arabella, and then with Miss Jennings. He felt the back of his neck heat.

Kate watched him studiously. "You've been looking at the buildings."

He smiled ruefully.

She licked her lips. "That is what I shall teach you to draw first. We will make some architectural studies if that is where your interest lies. The lines will challenge you, but... I'm sure I shall prove a skilled tutor."

"I would like that," he said.

"Oh Miss Jennings, could you also teach me to draw?"Arabella eyed her intently. "I never had the patience for it at all, but perhaps with you as my teacher I might learn."

"Of course! And what about you, Lord Balfrey? Shall you join my class as well?"

He half-turned his head, and Marlowe thought for a moment how melancholy he suddenly seemed. "I haven't the time, I'm afraid."

He turned his back to them again, his solitary figure moving further away from them with each long stride. Marlowe paced ahead to catch up with him, leaving the ladies to speak amongst themselves. "Are you quite alright, Balfrey?"

Nicholas gave him a half-hearted smile. "Just feeling sorry for myself."

Marlowe shrugged. "I do the same from time to time..." He looked at his hand. "Nothing has been the same since the war. I'm not the same. You've faced your own hardships, I'm sure. Your parents..."

Nicholas nodded, though he was facing forward, squinting against the sun as they turned East down a narrow cobbled lane. "You

are

different. I remember, when we were young, how loud and brash you were. Nothing could stop you. You would have faced down any number of demons and survived. Now there is something still in you. Something I can only begin to guess at."

Marlowe swallowed tightly. "I was careless. I still am."

Nicholas's gray eyes glinted. "But learning, it seems."

"The lesson was difficult."

"Life is difficult."

"When did you become so morose?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I've always been. You've changed, as you said. But have I?"

Marlowe's steps echoed against the stone walls. A woman called out in Italian as her children ran ahead of her on the street, laughing. Marlowe could hear the women behind them, Arabella's high laugh, Kate's steady voice as she told some amusing story. "I thought that you said you were happier now."

Nicholas sighed. "From time to time... I catch moments of it. Traces." he half-turned for a moment. Marlowe followed his gaze. Arabella's hair shone in the sun, glinting like gold. Her cheeks were flushed with the exertion of the walk. Nicholas turned back to Marlowe. "I think that... I should not say this. It is most indelicate, but I must tell someone... I think Arabella may be with child."

Marlowe nearly tripped over his own feet. "What?"

"She was so sickly on the voyage. We've traveled before, you know, and she was not so unsettled by the sea or road then."

Marlowe's throat seemed to close up. He found it difficult to think. "I... congratulations, then, my friend."

Nicholas's dark brow furrowed and he bit his lip. "I find myself worrying about it. And of course, she has told me nothing. But she, too, is different than she was. She is furtive, secret. I wonder if she is unhappy... if there even is a child. And if there is why she would say nothing to me."

"I... I don't quite know what to say." A church bell tolled, long and sonorous, the brassy music swelling through the street, clouding Marlowe's thoughts, already confused.

He looked behind him again. Arabella caught his eye. She was holding flowers in her hand. She smiled alluringly as the church bells reached a crescendo. Beside her, Kate dipped her fingers into a fountain. The droplets clung to her fingertips, slipping slowly down her skin to drip back into the pool. Marlowe blinked. The bells ceased their clamoring.

"Don't say anything," said Nicholas in a low voice at his side. They had all stopped with the bells, as if the music were too overwhelming, too overpowering to move through. The women were approaching them. He pulled a hand through his long hair."I... thank you for listening," he said, his words fading into silence as the women entered hearing range.

*******

Marlowe was drunk. He was not quite sure how it had happened, or when. After the morning walk, the foursome had returned to the rented lodgings, meeting the rest of their families for luncheon. And then there had been visits, introductions made in a club after tea. And there had been drinks, of course, among the gentlemen. And dinner, and more drinks. His memories seemed to smear together. Nicholas's long face laughing over whiskey, and then his eyes going dark the longer the night had gone on. Marlowe's father and Mr. Jennings sending for another bottle of port after dinner over cigars. There had been music and women and laughter down the street. And now they were all gone and Marlowe was sitting alone in a courtyard. His courtyard? There was a glass by his feet. It was empty. He thought that Nicholas had been with him for a while. They had been sitting swapping stories of the years that had passed since they had last spoken. But Nicholas was gone, had been gone, for how long?