Page 33 of The Earl’s Intended Wife

Hebe squared her shoulders and climbed on, beginning to realise that, despite taking far more exercise than most of her friends, long rambles on Malta were not at all the same as scrambling over the foothills of a mountain range. She could feel her face glowing and damp and her hair, despite being tied back, kept blowing irritatingly into her eyes.

She flopped down when they finally reached the natural rock step that Alex had pointed out and tried not to look up. Above them the surface seemed to be entirely composed of frost-shattered rocks through which the narrow mule track was a hardly visible thread, looping its way to the top.

Alex threw his leg over the pommel and slid to the ground, stretching with a deep sigh of relief. He looked so much better Hebe could hardly credit it. She supposed that underlying strength and fitness told, even after his sharp bout of illness. He pulled the remains of their food from the saddlebag and came to sit beside her, pulling the knife from his belt to cut the bread and cheese.

They ate in companionable silence, so quiet that a blue rock thrush flew down in a flash of iridescent wings and perched on a rock for a few moments, and the mewing of the buzzard circling overhead reached them clearly.

Hebe looked up at it, then pushed her hair out of her eyes irritably.

‘Let me.’ She could feel Alex untying the knot in the strand of wool that held her hair back at her nape, and then his fingers began to comb through the long, tangled mass, carefully teasing it out. ‘What have you been doing to it?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘It is remarkably clean, but it feels as though it has never been combed.’

The rhythmic movement was strangely soothing, despite the occasional tug when his gentle teasing failed to untangle a knot. ‘I had just washed it when the French came. I was sitting on the edge of the terrace in the sun, drying it when I saw them. I suppose it never got combed out properly.’

‘Hmm. Well, I have done the best I can, but it is hardly…I know.’ She could feel his fingers working again, more purposefully now, and realised he was braiding her hair into a long tail. The closeness of him and the touch of his fingertips against her nape made her want to lean back into his embrace, twist in his arms until she could kiss him…

‘Where did you learn to plait?’ Hebe said, trampling firmly on the clamorous demands her body was making.

‘It is no different than plaiting a horse’s tail,’ Alex said prosaically, knotting the thread at the end of the long braid. ‘There, that will keep it out of your eyes.’

Hebe stood up. The sooner they got going again the better. The closeness of him, the warmth of his body so near to hers, the touch of his fingers were all potent reminders of last night.

‘You ride now, Hebe.’ He stood by the mule, obviously waiting to toss her up into the saddle.

‘No! I am perfectly all right, and it is far too early for you to be exerting yourself.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Hebe, come here and get on this mule. Now!’

‘No. And do not shout at me, I am not one of your troopers.’

‘More’s the pity, they do as they are told.’ There was a long pause, then he turned away sharply and said, in quite a different tone, ‘Hebe, please do as I ask. If you fall and break your ankle on that slope I will never be able to lift you on to the mule. Can’t you tell I am half-crazy with worry about you? Don’t make me have to beg you to help me.’

Hebe choked down a shocked sob. ‘Alex, I am so sorry, yes, of course I’ll ride the mule if you think that is best. I don’t mean to be a burden to you.’ She felt quite sick at the reproof and at the thought that she had forced him to admit his weakness. His face was unreadable as he lifted her into the saddle, but as he picked up the long rein and turned to start walking Hebe caught a glimpse of an expression of wicked amusement on his face, transforming the lean, strained, heavily stubbled countenance.

‘Major Beresford!’ she stormed, kicking the mule to try to bring it alongside him. ‘That was the most unprincipled, dishonest, ungentlemanly trick to play on me!’

‘I agree, Miss Carlton,’ he replied calmly, but with a hint of a laugh in his voice. ‘But it worked.’

Hebe subsided into fulminating silence. She knew she was sulking and that it was a completely unworthy thing to be doing, but she was suddenly tired of coping and being cheerful and pretending that last night had not happened. She just wanted to be taken in Alex’s arms and to have a good cry. As that was obviously impossible, being furious with him was the next best thing.

For the next hour she sat on the mule, hanging on to the pommel as it lurched and clambered up the slope, glaring at Alex’s back and keeping herself from worrying by rehearsing all his numerous faults. Unfortunately she could not find any, other than being as stubborn as the animal she was riding, and having the poor judgement to fall in love with a red-headed beauty called Clarissa.

They reached the pass so suddenly that it was a shock to find the mule standing on level ground. ‘Downhill all the way now,’ Alex said with satisfaction, leaning against the animal’s shoulder. He twisted round to look at Hebe. ‘Are you talking to me again?’

‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘You almost made me cry.’

‘I can’t believe that, Hebe, you are much too brave to cry. Come on, we’ll be with friends by evening.’

He set off down the track into Spain and Hebe kicked her heels and followed him, biting her lip. She knew he was not intending to be unkind, and was trying to bolster her spirits by complimenting her on her courage, but his words were having quite the opposite effect to that he had intended.

She blinked hard and swallowed. Hebe, capable, sensible Hebe wouldn’t cry, of course. And as for Circe, well, whenever she was upset she probably just went out and turned a few more hapless sailors into animals, so she didn’t need to cry. But she was not either any longer. She was a new Hebe: a ruined woman, a woman in love with a man who did not love her, an Englishwoman cast adrift in a foreign, enemy-occupied country—and this new Hebe wanted a good weep.

‘Wait!’ she called. Alex stopped and turned round. ‘I want to get down.’

‘Why?’ He came and lifted her from the saddle.

Hebe glared at him. ‘Because that shrub over there is the first bush I have seen in over three hours and I intend to take advantage of it.’ She stalked off and took refuge behind the spiny foliage, not emerging until she had rubbed all the tears out of her eyes and blown her nose.

The track snaked down into the valley, becoming wider and less rocky as they descended. It was much easier going and they seemed to be covering miles after the steep climb of the morning. Hebe noticed that the slopes were greener on this side and that great stands of sweet chestnut cast welcome shade from the sun, which was now low in the sky.

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