Since the Surrender by Julie Anne Long Read Free Book Online Page A

sophisticated, and could be ironic in five Continental languages. The two young women spent a good deal of time in hushed, bright-eyed conversation together behind painted silk and ivory fans—Rosalind’s fan a gift from Lady d’Aligny. They engaged in a ceaseless exchange of teas and drives and dinners.
    Chase wasn’t convinced the d’Alignys weren’t spies; he was wary of the impulsive Mrs. March’s friendship with them; he considered her little better than a child.
    He’d been in search of the punch bowl at one of the d’Aligny soirees at their magnificent palais when he’d heard Rosalind’s voice mingled with a man’s near the flung-open doors leading to the terrace. Their words had the unmistakable lilt of flirtation. He shamelessly hovered near one of the pillars flanking the double doors to listen and watch.
    Rosalind and the soldier shared a low laugh, and when it faded, the soldier said, “It’s funny, but Colonel March is such an arrogant old sod that he—”
    “Sergeant Maris.”
    Her words were soft. But they dangled icicles. Very disconcerting from Mrs. March. She of the gossamer charm and too-easy laughter.
    Chase had straightened alertly.
    “What…makes you think I would tolerate hearing such a thing about my husband?” Her voice was soft and even.
    There was a short silence. Broken finally by a short surprised laugh from Sergeant Maris. Who clearly hoped she was jesting. But when she said nothing—simply seemed to actually be waiting for an answer—he began to stammer. “But—But…Mrs. March—I thought—but he’s so—”
    Chase remembered how very, very gentle her tone was. It was the compensating sort of gentle employed by people who had great respect for the power of their own tempers. She was gentle because she was furious.
    He had been fascinated.
    “You thought wrongly, Sergeant Maris,” she continued in that gentle, gentle tone. “He is my husband and your commanding officer, and as such he will have your respect at all times and you will refer to him with respect at all times. I have enjoyed our conversation him with respect at all times. I have enjoyed our conversation because until now you have been all that is respectful. I shall forgive you this one transgression and I shall not share our conversation with my husband. If I ever hear you saying such a thing about him ever again, I will make very certain you are flogged.”
    All said nearly apologetically. All said quite softly. But she impaled that soldier with a stare.
    For a long moment he seemed helpless to move away from it. Finally he slunk tentatively, awkwardly, away from her, bowing and muttering apologies, as if she were indeed armed with a pike. She had stared after him, pupils flared, delicate jaw set, cheeks pink. Apparently lost in thought. And then at last she took a deep breath and seemed to sigh it out.
    She flicked her eyes up. They flared in surprise when she saw Chase.
    She knew instantly he’d witnessed all of it.
    She went very still, and an interesting variety of emotions chased each other across her face, as if in that moment she could not decide whom to be.
    And then she gave up; she’d been caught. She shrugged one shoulder. Then, chin up, held his gaze for an inscrutable moment or two, awaiting his reaction, his verdict.
    He hadn’t been able to help it: he smiled crookedly, and brought his hands together in slow, silent applause. Bravo, he mouthed. She’d done almost precisely what he would have done.
    She bit back a smile. White teeth sinking briefly into her full, soft bottom lip: he remembered that image for a long time after. And then she gave a deep, theatrical, sardonic curtsy, which deepened his smile, and she glided away toward one of her sisters, who’d been flirting a little too overtly with another soldier for most of the evening, which is what they did most evenings. Rosalind March, he’d realized then, was forever looking after her sisters. A détente of sorts had been