The Soldier's Dark Secret
THE TRUTH BEHIND THE HEROOfficer Jack Trestain might have been one of Wellington’s most valued code-breakers, but since Waterloo he’s hung up his uniform. If only he could just as easily put aside the tortured memories he carries deep within… Perhaps enchanting French artist Celeste Marmion might be the distraction he so desperately craves?Except Celeste harbours secrets of her own, and questions that she needs Jack’s help to answer! With Celeste’s every touch an exquisite temptation, how close can Jack get without revealing his darkest secret of all?Comrades in Arms: war heroes, heartbreakers… husbands?
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COMRADES IN ARMSWar heroes, heartbreakers ⦠husbands?
The close friendship between Lieutenant Colonel Jack Trestain and Major Finlay Urquhart was forged in the heat of Waterlooâs battlefield.
Famed for their daring and courage, these are Wellingtonâs most elite soldiers, but now theyâre facing their biggest challenge yetâfalling in love!
If you enjoy
The Soldierâs Dark Secret
you wonât want to miss the second instalment of this fabulously intense and dramatic duet from Marguerite Kaye!
Look out for Finlayâs story
Coming soon
âA poignant, sensual historical romance that kept me reading late into the night.â
âRomance Junkies on Rumours that Ruined a Lady
âKaye offers up another sexy romp ⦠with characters who stay with fans long after the last page.â
âRT Book Reviews on Unwed and Unrepentant
âEach novella is a passionate love story in its own right; each a testament that love can survive everythingâeven war.â
âRT Book Reviews on Never Forget Me
âDaring. Dangerous. Delightful. Kayeâs new Regency romance is a riveting and thrilling adventure.â
âRT Book Reviews on Outrageous Confessions of Lady Deborah
Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practise. Instead she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining first-class honours and a masterâs degree. A few decades after winning a childrenâs national poetry competition she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write, and submitted her first historical romance to Mills & Boon>®. They accepted it, and sheâs been writing ever since. You can contact Marguerite through her website at: www.margueritekaye.com
Contents
EnglandâAugust 1815
The small huddle of women and the bedraggled children who clung to their skirts stared at him as one, wide-eyed and unblinking, struck dumb and motionless with fear. Only the compulsive clutching of their motherâs protective fingers around the childrenâs shoulders betrayed the full extent of their terror. He was accustomed to death in combat, but this was a village, not a battlefield. He was accustomed to seeing enemy causalities, but these were civilians, women and young children...
Jack Trestainâs breathing became rapid and shallow as he tossed and turned in the throes of his recurring nightmare. He thrashed around on the sweat-soaked sheets. He knew he was dreaming, but he couldnât wake from it. He knew what was coming next, but he couldnât prevent it unfolding in all its horror.
His boots crunched on the rough sun-dried track as he walked, stunned, around the small village, his brain numb, unable to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. The sun burned the back of his neck. He had lost his hat. A scrawny chicken squawked loudly, running across his path, making him stumble. How had the mission turned into such a debacle? How could his information, his precious, carefully gathered knowledge of the enemyâs movements, have been so wrong?
It was not possible. Not possible. Not possible. The words rang in his head over and over. He was aware of his comradesâ voices, of orders being barked, but he felt utterly alone.
The cooking fires were still burning. From a large smoke-blackened cauldron the appetising aroma of a herb-filled stew rose in the still, unnaturally silent air. He had not eaten since yesterday. He was suddenly ravenous.
As his stomach growled, he became aware of another, all-pervading smell. Ferrous. The unmistakable odour of dried blood. And another. The sickly-sweet stench of charred flesh.
As the noxious combination seared the back of his throat, Jack retched violently, spilling his guts like a raw recruit in a nearby ditch. Spasm after spasm shook him, until he had to clutch at the scorched trunk of a splintered tree to support himself. Shivering, shaking, he had no idea how long the girl had been looming over him...
It was the fall that woke him. He was on the floor of his bedchamber, clutching a pillow. He had banged his head on the nightstand. The ewer had toppled over and smashed. The chambermaid would think him one of the clumsiest guests sheâd ever encountered. His nightshirt was drenched, the contents of the jug adding to his fevered sweat. His head was thumping, his jaw aching, and his wrists too, from clenching his fists. Wearily, Jack dragged himself to his feet and, opening the curtains, checking the hour on his pocket watch. It was just after five. Heâd managed to sleep for a total of two hours.
Outside, morning mist wreathed the formal lawns which bordered the carriageway. Opening the casement wide, he leaned out, taking ragged breaths of fresh air. Damp, sweetly herbaceous air, not the dusty dry air of far-off lands, that caught in your lungs and the back of your throat, that was so still all smells lingered, and you carried them with you on your clothes for days afterwards.
