One Night for Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

more than a friend. She is Sergeant Doyle’s daughter, and he respects Doyle even though they are from different social classes. But besides that, Lily is an innocent, and it is his duty to protect her honor, not take it. And she too, of course, is of a different class from his own. Such things do matter in the real world, unfortunately. Rebel as he still is, he has nevertheless not broken with his own world and never will. He has too much of a sense of duty for that. He is a gentleman, an officer, a viscount, a future earl.
    He can never be Lily’s lover.
    “Lily,” he asks, trying to cling to the friendship, to suppress the other, unwelcome feelings, “what do you look forward to? What will you do with your life? What are your dreams?”
    She cannot stay with her father forever. What
does
the future hold for her? Marriage to a soldier chosen carefully for her by her father? No. He wishes he has not thought it.
    She does not immediately answer. But when he turns his head to look at her again, he sees that she is gazing upward and that her wonderful dreamy smile is lighting her face again.
    “Do you see that bird, sir?” He turns his head and glances at it. “I want to be like that. Soaring high. Strong. Free. Borne by the wind and friend of the sky. I do not know what will become of me. One day you will be gone, and one day …”
    But her words trail off and her smile fades and what she has just said hangs in the air before them like a tangible thing.
    Then the silence is broken by the crack of a single gunshot.

    One of the pickets has caught sight of a rabbit out of the corner of his eye and has imagined a ravenous French host. That is Neville’s first thought. But he cannot take a chance. His years as an officer have trained him to act from instinct as much as from reason. It works faster, and sometimes it saves lives.
    He jumps to his feet and hauls Lily to hers. They are running back to the company, Neville protectively hunched over her from behind, even as Sergeant Doyle bellows to her and everyone else is grabbing rifles and ammunition. Neville checks for his sword at his side even as he runs. He yells orders to his men, Lily forgotten as soon as he has her back in the relative safety of the makeshift camp.
    He has misjudged the picket. It is not a rabbit that has caught his attention; it is a French scouting party. But the warning shot was a mistake. Without it, the French probably would have gone peacefully on their way even if they had spotted the British soldiers. Nothing can be gained for either side by engaging in a fight. But the shot has been fired.
    The ensuing skirmish is short and sharp but relatively harmless. It would have been entirely so if a new recruit in Neville’s company had not frozen with terror on the bare hillside, a motionless, open target for the French. Sergeant Doyle, cursing foully, goes to his assistance and takes the bullet intended for the boy through his own chest.
    The fighting is all over five minutes after it has started. With a derisive cheer the French go on their way.
    “Leave him where he is!” Neville shouts, racing across the slope of the hill toward his felled sergeant. “Fetch the first-aid box.”
    But it will be useless. He sees that as soon as he is close. There is only a small spot of blood on the dark-green fabric of his sergeant’s coat, but there is death in his face. Neville hits seen it in too many faces to be mistaken. And Doyle knows it too.
    “I am done for, sir,” he says faintly.
    “Fetch the damned first-aid box!” Neville goes down on one knee beside the dying man. “We will have you patched up in no time at all, Sergeant.”
    “No, sir.” Doyle clutches at his hand with fingers that are already cold and feeble. “Lily.”
    “She is safe. She is unhurt,” Neville assures him.
    “I should not have brought her out here.” The man’s eyes are losing focus. His breath is coming in rasping gasps. “If they attack again …”
    “They