the challenges of the day. A battle-scarred veteran who has faced death again and again and wonders if this time his luck will run out. Any viewer who looks at this must wonder if these two men will survive what lies ahead."
From his voice, Rebecca knew he had been both of those men at different times in his career. As a youth he had found the courage, as an experienced officer his luck had held, and the forge of battle had tempered him into what he was now. He was utterly different from anyone she had ever known, and that difference fascinated her. She wanted to lean back against him, to absorb his warrior power and determination.
Mouth dry, she pulled out the second drawing. "The second picture is the defense of the Chateau de Hougoumont." The fight for the chateau had become a vicious battle-within-a-battle, with a small number of allied troops withstanding two and a half French divisions. Her father had chosen the moment when the French had broken into the courtyard and the defenders were fighting savagely to push them out before it was too late. "He wanted a scene of furious hand-to-hand combat."
"Soldiers at their most primal. it's a fitting companion to the grandeur of the cavalry picture."
She nodded, impressed. Not only was he a warrior, but he was very perceptive about paintings.
Her father looked over from the Wellington picture. "Do you think this series will tell the story of Waterloo ?"
To Rebecca's relief, the captain moved away from her.
"It says as much as four pictures can," he replied.
"I hear a reservation in your voice," Sir Anthony said shrewdly. "I've done the beginning, the end, the infantry, and the cavalry. What other scenes do you think should be included?"
"If I were you," Wilding said hesitantly, "
I
would do two more. The next would be Wellington shaking hands with Prince Blucher when the British met up with the Prussians near La Belle-Alliance. The Waterloo campaign is the story of many nations standing against a common enemy. If the Prussians hadn't arrived late in the day, the victory would not have been decisive."
"Mmm, an interesting possibility," Sir Anthony mused. "And what would be as the final painting?"
"Show the price of victory," the captain said flatly. "Show exhausted, wounded soldiers sleeping like the dead around a campfire. In the darkness beyond them, show the tangled corpses and broken weapons. Show how all the victims of battle lie together in the democracy of death."
There was a long silence before Rebecca said softly, "You have a vivid way with words, Captain."
"And a good mind for pictures," her father added. "I shall consider what you have suggested. Indeed I shall."
In the pause that followed, a surge of desire swept through Rebecca, the most powerful emotion she had felt in months. She must possess Captain Wilding, capture his essence so that something of him would always belong to her.
Beyond caring for propriety, she crossed the room and touched his cheek, her fingertips skimming along the scar. It was smooth and hard to her touch. "I surrender, Captain," she said huskily. "I'm afraid that I simply must paint you."
----
Chapter 7
"Rebecca's words and light, sensual touch startled Kenneth so much that all he could manage was a feeble, "I beg your pardon?"
"I've been yearning to have you for a model since you came here." She moved back a step. "You're quite irresistible."
The words would have sounded suggestive coming from most women. Rebecca Seaton, however, looked more like a frugal housewife eyeing a chicken and deciding it would do nicely for Sunday dinner. Dryly he said, "Should I be honored or alarmed?"
"Oh, certainly alarmed." She glanced at her father. "Do you mind if I borrow Captain Wilding for an hour or two a day?"
Sir Anthony smiled. "I understand perfectly—in fact, I'm tempted to repaint the sergeant in my prebattle scene to look like Kenneth." His keen gaze went to his secretary. "They say a soldier's eyes show how much