Page 19 of The Earl’s Intended Wife

‘Alex…’

‘Hush, I’ll call tomorrow. Hebe, I must go—if I don’t go now I won’t be answerable for what will happen next.’

She backed slowly away as if to make it easier for him. Her knees met the edge of the bed and she fell back on to the covers. Alex closed his eyes and turned away, through the door and out on to the balcony. Hebe hastily got to her feet and ran out, frightened that after all that brandy he was going to fall. But he reached the ground with no more than the sound of ripping fabric and a muffled curse.

She watched him shrug on his coat, the gold lace glittering in the moonlight. He picked his way through the dark shrubs to a point where he could climb out over the wall. Then he was gone.

Something brushed against Hebe’s ankle and she jumped. It was only the grey tomcat. He snaked around her bare legs, then jumped up on to the balcony rail, regarding her with eyes that gleamed amber in the candlelight.

Hebe stared at it for a long moment. ‘I love him,’ she said at last, as much to herself as the cat. ‘I love Alex Beresford.’

She turned and walked back into the room, pulling the doors closed behind her. The cat watched her with insolent, ancient eyes, then jumped lightly down on to a branch and began to hunt again.

Chapter Eight

Hebe slept deeply, and, if she dreamt, she had no recollection of it when she woke. She drifted up sleepily through a sort of haze of happiness, which gradually resolved itself into an image of Alex Beresford and a memory of the feel of his lips on hers. There was sunlight on her closed lids and the clock in the church across the square, which was always a minute faster than any of the others, began to chime.

‘One, I love him, two, he wants me, three, he’s going to ask…’ Hebe drowsed on while the chimes stopped at ten, and a ragged chorus of more distant bells straggled to an end.

It was a muttering voice that finally brought Hebe fully awake. Someone was in her room, scurrying about on light feet, talking to herself under her breath. ‘Where is it, oh, dear, where did I drop it? Oh, where is it?’

Hebe uncurled herself reluctantly and sat up against the pillows, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Maria, a laundry basket under one arm, was straightening up from peering at the floor.

‘Maria, what are you doing?’

‘Oh, Miss Hebe, scusì, I did not mean to wake you. I was looking for a silk stocking, one of the ones you wear last night. It is not with the other I took out when I undress you, and I must have dropped it. Madame will be angry, it is the new pair, you understand?’

The vivid memory of Alex standing with the stocking in his hand came back to Hebe. ‘Oh. I…I have no idea where it is now.’ That was true enough. She just hoped he had not dropped it in the garden. The thought of the gardener wandering in with it, having found it caught in a shrub, was too awful to think about. She saw the anxious expression on the maid’s face and added soothingly, ‘Not to worry, Maria. I will tell Mama I have misplaced it. It will turn up.’ It most certainly would, just as soon as she demanded that Alex give it back. Although the thought of the Major carrying her stocking about with him, perhaps next to his heart, was undeniably, wickedly, flattering.

‘Thank you, Miss Hebe.’ Maria was still looking puzzled. ‘But what is this, Miss Hebe?’ She held up a long strip of heavily creased white muslin in the folds of which there were flecks of blood.

‘That…that is…I mean to say…it is…’ Hebe floundered to a halt, then realised her mistake. If she had simply said, ‘A rag, put it down’ in a confident tone, the maid would have obeyed her. Now Maria was watching her with wide eyes which showed a dawning comprehension.

She smoothed out the long strip and said, ‘But, Miss Hebe, it is a gentleman’s neck cloth.’ Her brown eyes grew wider. ‘Oh! It belongs to that beautiful man with the blue eyes? The soldier who looks like a saint?’ She giggled. ‘Perhaps not a saint after all?’

‘Maria, can I trust you to be discreet?’

‘Discreet? What does that mean? Oh, I see, Miss Hebe, you do not want me to tell your mama that you have had this man in your room last night?’

‘He was not in my room…well, yes he was, but not in that way.’

Maria shrugged amiably. ‘I do not think it would be so bad if he was here “in that way”. If he makes the love to you, then he must marry you, sì? And that would be a fine thing. But even if it was not to marry, I do not think I would say no if he was in my bedroom.’ Her expression became knowing, and she moved her body with a sensuous little shiver. ‘He looks so fierce, so passionate. Very exciting.’

Hebe wondered if Maria had ever… No, she could not ask her about it, it was too shocking. ‘He came here to talk for a short while, Maria. It was very wrong of us

, and my mother would be most angry with me if she knew, so I hope you will not mention it.’

‘Of course not, Miss Hebe,’ Maria assured her.

‘Thank you. Maria, that sprigged muslin, the one with the blue ribbons.’

‘Yes, Miss Hebe?’

‘I have grown tired of it, you may have it.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hebe, but you do not have to give me presents, I will not tell tales. Do you want the hot water now?’

Hebe got up, washed and dressed with the unpleasant feeling that she had mishandled that encounter. She did not believe Maria was a blackmailer, but a maid with no scruples could expect to receive many tips and presents in such circumstances.

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