Jane Feather - [V Series] by Virtue

after information among the fleeing crowd. “Wellington’s falling back on Brussels. The Prussians are retreating to Wavre.”
    “Hell and damnation!” George Bannister grabbed up his hat. “We’d best be about our business.”
    “Berthold!” Marcus bellowed as the innkeeper ran for the door again. “Have my nag put to the cart.” He strode to the stairs leading to the bedchamber and took them two at a time. Judith stood in the now-empty taproom, listening to the roar of humanity outside. Then she ran up the stairs after Marcus.
    He was shrugging into his coat, checking the contents of his pockets. He glanced up as she came in and said curtly, “I’m going to Quatre Bras. You’ll stay here. I’ll pay our shot when I come back for you.”
    “You seem to be forgetting that
I
was going to Quatre Bras, too,” she said, swallowing the lump that seemed to be blocking her throat. With what was happening at the moment, it was hardly feasible for them to discuss the personal mess they were in, but the coldness of his voice was surely unwarranted. And she couldn’t believe he intended simply to take off and leave her stranded, cooling her heels in a lonely inn, not knowing anything of what was happening.
    “Well, you’re not going now,” he said in clipped accents. “It’s too dangerous with that horde out there, and you’ll only be in the way.”
    Judith lost her temper. It was a relief to do so since it banished her feeling of helplessness and concealed for the time being the apprehension that something very hurtful lurked around the next corner of her relationship with Marcus Devlin.
    “That’s
my
horse and
my
cart,” she said with furious emphasis. “And I’ll have you know, Lord Carrington, that I go where I please. You have no right to dictate to me.” She snatched up her jacket and gloves. “If you wish to hitch another ride in my cart, then you’re welcome todo so. Otherwise, I suggest you find your own transport.”
    Before he could respond, she had turned and run from the room. With a muttered oath, Marcus grabbed up his whip and sprang after her. He reached the stable-yard on her heels. Judith leaped onto the driver’s seat of the cart, standing ready as ordered, and snapped the reins. Marcus grabbed the bridle at the bit and held the horse still.
    “You’re behaving like a spoiled child,” he said. “A battlefield is no place for a woman. Now get down at once.”
    “No,” Judith snapped. “You really are the most arrogant, high-handed despot! I told you, I go where I please and you don’t have any right of command.”
    “At this moment, I’m exercising a husband’s authority,” he declared. “A battlefield is no place for a woman and most definitely not for my wife. Now, do as you’re told.”
    For a moment Judith was speechless. “I am not your wife,” she managed to get out finally.
    “To all intents and purposes you are now. And as soon as I can find a damned priest, you will be in the eyes of the church.”
    It was too much for a saint to bear. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!” she cried.
    “As far as you’re concerned, my dear Judith, that’s exactly what I am,” he announced aridly. “The first and last man you will know, in the fullest sense of that word.”
    White-faced, Judith stood up in the cart and whipped at the horse with the reins. The animal plunged forward with a snort, catching Marcus off guard. He stumbled, still holding the bit as the horse lunged. He regained his balance just in time and released the bitbefore he was dragged forward by the now caracoling animal. He grabbed the side of the cart and sprang upward, seizing the reins from her. The horse shot off as if a bee were lodged beneath his tail.
    “Monsieur … monsieur …” came the outraged screams of the innkeeper’s wife behind them.
    Judith looked over her shoulder. Madame Berthold was pounding up the road in their wake, waving a skillet at them, her apron