The Earl’s Intended Wife

by Louise Allen

  That made him laugh, a sudden gasp of amusement. ‘I wish I could show you.’

  ‘So do I.’ It was out before she realised she was going to say it. Her hands flew to her mouth and her grey eyes stared at him aghast over the shield of her fingers.

  ‘Hebe!’ He sounded every bit as shocked as she would expect Sir Richard to be if he had heard her scandalous declaration.

  ‘Oh!’ Hebe buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. She was so tired, so confused and now she had shown herself up as wanton and shameless.

  The next thing she knew, she was gathered firmly into Alex’s arms, her wet cheek pressed against his shirt front. One arm held her tightly, his free hand stroked the nape of her neck with a comforting pressure. ‘There, there, poor Circe. Cry all you want.’

  But the tears seemed to go as rapidly as they had appeared. Hebe made no move to free herself. The pressure of Alex’s arms felt wonderful, strong, reassuring, not at all threatening or confusing. He smelt of the cologne she remembered, and of himself with an overtone of brandy, which prickled her nostrils. Hebe snuggled her cheek against the warm linen and listened to his heart while his hand gentled her nape.

  She was vaguely aware of his fingers moving upwards into her hair, then there was the sound of falling pins and her hair tumbled free out of its knot.

  ‘Aah!’ He sighed and she felt both hands lift to run through the rippling mass. ‘I had imagined what your hair would look like down.’

  Hebe looked up at him through wet lashes. ‘Mama says I should have it cropped. It is very unfashionable.’

  ‘Never, never do that, Circe. Promise me?’

  ‘I promise,’ she said softly and the words seemed to echo in the room. The promise about such a trivial thing was charged with meaning.

  Alex stooped and kissed her, gently as he had in the garden, then, as her lips parted under his, with fierce intensity.

  It seemed to Hebe that she stopped breathing. The touch of his mouth had excited her before, but now the invasion of his tongue between her parted lips ignited feelings she had only glimpsed in her dreams of him. Instinctively her tongue flickered out to touch his and he groaned deep in his throat, his hands locked in the heavy mass of her hair. Alarmed at his reaction, and shaken by the intense feeling that intimate contact aroused in her, she closed her lips, then hesitantly yielded to the demands of his mouth.

  Hebe found her hands were flattened against Alex’s chest and began to tug aside his shirt, careless of flying buttons, until she could spread her fingers on the heated skin beneath. The light tangle of hairs against her palms was intriguing, she let her fingers roam further as he showed no sign of freeing her mouth. Then her fingertips found his nipples and froze in surprise as they hardened to her touch.

  He freed her mouth and raised his head. For a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, both of them breathing hard. Alex opened his hands and freed her, then tried to step back.

  ‘Let go, Hebe.’

  ‘What, I’m not… Oh!’ She found her hands were clenched tight on either side of his shirt front. With an effort of will she opened her fingers, releasing the creased linen.

  ‘Hebe darling, I must go—stop looking at me like that with those great grey eyes.’

  ‘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.

  Maria came back in, something folded in her hands. ‘The neck cloth, Miss Hebe. Shall I wash it and iron it?’

  Thank goodness. If the girl had intended mischief, surely she would have kept the thing. ‘No, thank you, Maria. Just give it to me.’ Hebe waited until the maid had gone, then folded the cloth and slipped it into the bottom drawer of her dressing table. After a moment she took it out again, laid it against her cheek and breathed deeply. Citrus, brandy, Alex.

  Mrs Carlton and Hebe took a leisurely luncheon, both feeling somewhat heavy eyed and disinclined for much activity after their late night. Chatting in a desultory manner about people they had seen, flirtations observed, and some disastrous gowns, they eventually took themselves off into the garden. Sara had some lace to sew on handkerchiefs, Hebe a new novel.

  She curled up in one of the hammocks while her stepmother took a high-backed wicker chair. ‘Look, Mama, Sense and Sensibility, I had heard it is very good, but I only found it at the bookseller the other day.’

  ‘Well, with a title like that, at least it sounds a respectable book,’ Mrs Carlton observed, threading her needle.

  Hebe had hardly read more than the first few pages when Maria appeared. ‘Major Beresford, Madame.’

  ‘Ah! Show him through, Maria, and bring some lemonade.’ Thank goodness, whatever little tiff he and Hebe had had last night, here he was to make it up. ‘Major, good afternoon. I do hope you will excuse me, I have just realised I have not yet written to Mrs Forrester, and I must not neglect to do that. Hebe will be glad of your company.’

  She fluttered off inside, passing Maria who put down the tray of lemonade, making exaggerated grimaces at Hebe as she did so. Hebe gave her a repressive frown. ‘Thank you Maria, that will be all.’

  Hebe put down her book and looked up at Alex as he stood by the hammock; her mouth felt dry and a strange sensation seemed to tingle all the way up her body. It was extraordinary—until Alex had touched her she had rarely been conscious of her body at all unless she was ill.

  His eyes appeared somewhat heavy and there were three parallel scratches down his right cheek. ‘Good afternoon Major. Do you have a headache?’

  ‘A damnable…I mean, yes, I have a headache, Miss Carlton.’

  ‘Would you like a Jameson’s powder?’ she asked with mock concern. ‘Or perhaps a glass of lemonade? Do you have a touch of the sun?’

  ‘No, I have a thundering hangover, Circe, as well you know,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I slept very well.’ She glanced up and met his quizzical blue eyes and blushed. ‘Surprisingly well.’

  ‘Well, I slept very badly. Can’t you guess why?’ He poured out some lemonade and sank into the hammock opposite her. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

  Innocently Hebe was considering what he had intended as a rhetorical question. ‘Does kissing someone make it difficult to sleep?’

  ‘Damn it, you little witch! Do you really expect me to answer that?’

  ‘You asked me first,’ she pointed out reasonably.

  ‘Very well, just don’t tell me off for shocking you. Men find it very difficult to simply…er…stop when they have been kissing a woman. Our bodies are not made for flirting, they are made for—’ He broke off. ‘Stop watching me with those big, innocent grey eyes! This is the sort of thing your mother ought to be explaining to you. The long and the short of it is, when we stop like that, things…ache.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘Yes things, and I am definitely not going to say another word on the subject.’

  ‘Very well, if I am embarrassing you.’ Hebe sipped her lemonade, the happiness and excitement fizzing inside her. This was the power she had felt last night. Somehow, something about her made this strong, tough, confident man unsure of himself, vulnerable. It was very exciting. But even more exciting was the certainty that today he was going to make her a declaration, and she knew exactly what she was going to say when he did. ‘Alex? What did you do with my stocking?’

  He glanced across at her, and a faint colour touched his cheekbones. He did not reply, simply touched the breast of his coat. After a moment he said, ‘And my neck cloth?’

  ‘In the drawer of my dressing table.’

  They lay in the two hammocks swinging gently, their gaze touching, caressing, breaking away and then joining again. The water in the fountain trickled and splashed, a Sardinian warbler scolded angrily from a tangle of bamboo and the sounds from the square drifted faintly into the shady courtyard.

  ‘Circe?’

  ‘Yes, Alex?’

  Maria’s voice cut through their peace. ‘Miss Hebe, the Commodore is here and I cannot find Madame.’

  ‘Show him through, please, Maria, and go and find Mrs Carlton. She may have gone upstairs to lie down and rest, but she will want to know Sir Richard is here.’ Hebe swung her legs out of the hammock and stood up, beside her Alex did the same, straightening his uniform coat at the approach of the senior officer. She was disappointed, but after all, what did it matter, they would be alone again soon enough.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sir Richard, would you like a glass of lemonade? Mama will be down directly.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear, but I have some news for her—and for you, too, Hebe.’ Her eyes flew to his face, and he nodded at her quick comprehension. ‘Yes, my dear, I am ordered to England and your mama and I must make plans. Major Beresford, the mails arrived while I was at the port office. A package for you, it looks as though it has been on its travels a long time, so I thought you would like to have it at once.’ He opened the leather portfolio under his arm and extracted a stained and battered package with several seals and superscriptions on it. ‘I can hear your mama, excuse me, Hebe.’

  Alex stood turning the package over in his hands. ‘Do open it,’ Hebe urged. ‘It might be news from your family.’ She felt so confident in what he had been about to say to her that a slight delay was of no concern. Happily she curled up again in the hammock and watched him slit the seals and take a letter out of the travelworn wrapper, which must have followed him around the Mediterranean for months. What was his family like? Would they welcome her into the household? Would she grow to love them? She felt sure she would, for, after all, they belonged to Alex.

  Alex drew a sharp breath as he looked down at the handwriting. Hebe caught her underlip in her teeth, suddenly afraid that he had received bad news from home. Slowly he ran his thumb under the wafer and unfolded the single sheet. She saw the colour go out of his cheeks as he read, and sat up, suddenly cold inside. Abruptly he walked away from her into the tangle of shrubbery.

  Hebe sat and waited. If he wanted her, he would call for her. At last he came back. The colour was in his face again, but his eyes were wide and dark. ‘Alex, what is wrong? Can I help?’ She scrambled out of the hammock and took a quick step towards him.

  ‘No. No, nothing is wrong, Hebe. I have just had very unexpected news.’ He stood, his lower lip caught in his teeth, then he smiled at her as if he had made up his mind about something. His eyes were fiercely blue.

  ‘Hebe, before I left England for this posting I proposed marriage to Lady Clarissa Duncan. I had no real expectation that she would accept me. My birth is good, but I am only a younger son in a risky profession. And Lady Clarissa is a great beauty, the t
oast of Society, and very much admired and courted. As I expected, she would not give me an answer there and then.’

  He broke off, bending to pick a sprig of rosemary and twirling it in his fingers. Hebe found she was holding her breath until it hurt. Slowly she exhaled. ‘I gave up hope, of course,’ he said simply. ‘I had no real expectation she would return my love. I doubted that Clarissa even took it seriously. It is so long ago since I saw her, since I proposed. She writes to say she accepts my proposal. I had given up hope,’ he repeated incredulously.

  Clarissa. The name he had breathed when he saw that red-headed woman at the party. ‘Does she have chestnut hair?’ Hebe asked, amazed, through a sea of pain, that she had any voice at all.

  ‘How did you know?’ He looked at her as if she truly was the witch he had jokingly called her just now.

  ‘A guess.’ Hebe struggled to control her voice and her face. He must not know how she felt; suddenly that was the most important thing. Thank goodness she had not spoken of her love for him. Thank goodness Sir Richard had come in when he did. It was bad enough as it was, but at least Alex did not have to extricate himself from a declaration to a girl he was proposing to on the rebound from his true love.

  If he guessed how she truly felt, he would pity her. That was unbearable. ‘Congratulations, you must be very happy,’ she said warmly. ‘How anxious Lady Clarissa must be, not knowing when you would get her letter. She must have realised as soon as you left how she felt, how she valued you.’ There, it was perfect, he could never tell that inside her something was breaking, that instead of a heart there was a gaping, aching hole. ‘You will be so anxious to return to her.’

  ‘Hebe…I—’ Alex broke off, apparently unable to continue in the face of her smile.

  ‘I know what you are going to say,’ she said reassuringly. ‘We have been flirting, and you feel badly about it. But you must not, you know. I enjoyed it very much and you have made me so much more confident about myself. I was such a little mouse. Now, when I feel intimidated, I shall think, I am an enchantress, and unfriendly débutantes and haughty matrons will be as nothing to me!’