Read Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman for Free Online Page B

Mercy couldn’t deny that he was very different from the cocky young man she’d first seen at the Barrack Hospital. But then she had changed as well. It was John who had made her feel like herself again. After what she’d experienced, what she’d witnessed, she’d thought never to smile again.
    But he made her smile. At first it had been only a small smile, but it had widened with each passing day as she’d watched John grow, as she’d held him near, as she’d seen him marvel at the world surrounding him. Eventually, he would become more adventuresome and she wanted to experience those moments with him. She wanted to teach him to climb a tree, as unladylike as it was. She wanted to watch him master his first horse. She wanted to watch him become a man to be reckoned with. Like his father.
    When the maid finished with her hair, Mercy carefully stepped into the pale green gown. She’d worn nothing beyond black in two years. It had seemed somehow important, as though the somber color would reflect the seriousness of her purpose. But tonight, it was far more important that she catch Major Lyons’s eye, that she do all in her power to ensure he accept her into his life. For John’s sake.
    Green had always flattered her, accentuated the red of her hair. The harsh red had made her easy to spot as she’d walked among the wounded men. They’d begun to refer to her as the Red Angel.
    To her shame, her reason for going with Miss N had not been entirely altruistic. She’d had no marriage prospects and she’d thought—foolishly hoped—that she might meet someone who would fancy her. She’d even had a romantic notion that she would be wiping the brow of a wounded soldier, and as they gazed into each other’s eyes, love would immediately blossom.
    But love was far from a man’s mind when he was retching, shivering, unable to control the simplest of bodily functions. There was no romance when a man lost a limb and was wallowing in pain. The soft words spoken were all hers, to give comfort when illness reduced a man to a shell of his former self, until he faded away to nothing. She’d forced herself to withhold tears because she’d known the moment they started flowing, she’d have no success at stopping them. She’d loved every man in her ward, but it had not been the emotion written about in romance novels or sonnets.
    It had been a love born of gratitude for service to country, a desire to ease the suffering, to grant comfort. She’d begun her journey as an idealistic young woman in search of adventure and the attentions of men. She’d quickly fallen into the routine of serving a greater good, until her needs mattered not at all, until what she’d been had ceased to exist and a woman she barely knew began to inhabit her skin. And then the night when her world tumbled . . .
    Once again, she looked in the mirror as the maid adjusted the sleeves of her gown, her petticoats, and her skirts. She should tell Stephen Lyons everything—but by doing so she would risk losing John.
    “Thank you. That’s all I require at this time,” she said to the abigail, dismissing her. Once the girl had left, Mercy walked over to the bassinet that the duchess had somehow managed to secure for her. John lay there, sucking on his tiny balled fist in slumber. She needed to summon the wet nurse she’d hired in Paris and who accompanied her wherever she went with John. Jeanette had traveled with Mercy and her father in the coach. While they’d had their audience with the duke and his mother, Jeanette had been served tea in the kitchen. When it had become apparent that Major Lyons wished that Mercy stay, her hosts had provided the wet nurse with a bed in the servants’ quarters. Jeanette had lost her babe and husband to cholera. She’d been only too willing to leave France, and Mercy had welcomed the help she would provide with John. She’d known very little about caring for an infant, but she’d been determined that nothing would