The Officer's Temptation | A Regency Romance

Chapter One: A Chance Encounter

Chapter One: A Chance Encounter

Marlowe hummed quietly as he walked, feet springing against the damp earth. His dark hair hung in thick curls against his forehead and the air was heavy in his lungs, still ripe with the smell of the afternoon rain and the fresh spice of the birch trees that lined the road. He was glad that he had waited in the tavern for the rain to pass. It had turned out to be quite the downpour. He was now late, of course, but he was willing to risk his father's irritation and his mother's disapproval. And as for the girl... well, he had disappointed women before.

He should have taken a carriage perhaps, or even a horse. But he had wanted to stretch his legs, to feel the solid earth beneath his feet, to walk the roads of his boyhood. And to forget, of course. To pretend the war had never happened, that he had never seen the blood or smelt it against the baking earth. It was odd to be here now, to be home again, where the scent of wildflowers tickled his nose instead of the scent of unwashed men.

He wondered, somewhere at the back of his mind, if that wasn't the real reason he had gone into town on foot. He had felt the humid languor in the air before leaving. And when the first light drops had fallen like small pins in the streets, he could have rushed home before the downpour. But perhaps he had lingered on ulterior motives-- to avoid the whole meeting. To keep pretending that he was simply himself, not a soldier returned home, distinguished, and now in sudden need, according to his family, of a wife.

It wasn't that Marlowe wished to disappoint his parents. It was just that he wasn't interested in what they wanted. The poor girl they were trying to fling at him, a certain Miss Katherine Jennings... It wasn't her fault, either. He did not want a wife; he wanted time. But to try explaining that to his parents... they simply didn't understand.

He had thought that it would be wise to return home, to the familial estate of his childhood for a time. But now London was sounding better and better. The press of the crowds, the laughter and liquor of the ton. Easier to forget when you were never alone.

He squinted against the sky, though it was dim, heavy with the clouds that had rolled in earlier that afternoon. There would be no beautiful sunset tonight. Just the quick fall of darkness. He flexed his fingers at his waist and sighed. Still stiff, but healing. His family would be dressing for dinner now, and wondering where he was. Well, it was what it was. His boots splashed in the mud.

That was when he heard the sound of hooves, the wild rush of beating against the earth. He looked behind him, but saw no one on the road. Then, faster than he could think, he heard the rustle of the leaves, the thud of the steps. A red horse bolted from the hedgerow, saddled, but with no rider. It startled as it saw him, reared back its head in fear.

"Whoa there," he flung his hands up at the horse, which had paused its flight after its jump and was now stamping the ground nervously, eyes wide. Marlowe approached it cautiously, and the horse seemed to calm as he lifted his hands towards the beast. He patted its neck soothingly. "There boy, where is your rider?"

The horse snorted and stomped its foot, flicking its ears back with wide eyes. Marlowe glanced towards the copse of trees behind the hedgerow. He heard something as well. His muscles tensed as the brush parted.

It was not at all what he had expected. A woman, in a dove grey riding habit. Her fair hair was mussed under her hat. Her face was pink with exertion, her eyes sharp.

He found that his mouth was unfortunately open. He snapped it shut, and grabbed the horse's reins. "Good evening. Does this belong to you?"

Her dark eyes flashed. Green, he saw, dark as emeralds. "I should say so." She gestured down at the riding habit with the crop she held in her hand. "Although I've half a mind to give him away to the first person I see. I suppose that's you. Do you want him?"