The Officer and the Proper Lady

‘He could try,’ Hebden acknowledged without the slightest sign of alarm. ‘He would be sorry.’

‘So, not content with trying to murder my husband, you decide to harass me?’ Julia watched his face closely. If she had not, she would have missed the brief, betraying flicker in the dark eyes. He was surprised and Stephen Hebden did not like finding himself at a disadvantage.

‘Murder? I have not touched your husband.’

‘Through your agent then.’ But she believed him, believed the surprise and the denial.

‘I use no agents. The French had a good attempt at killing Carlow, they did not need my help.’

‘Someone gave it to them, Mr Hebden. You would seem to have an ally—or perhaps a rival—in your campaign of hatred.’

‘It is not hatred,’ he said, the intensity in his voice sending cold chills that were most definitely not sensual down her spine. ‘I am the agent of a foretelling—you would call it a curse, perhaps.’ He stared deep into her eyes, and it seemed to her, caught in their darkness, that another personality was within him, reaching out to touch her. His voice became lower, intense. ‘I call guilt to eat you alive and poison your hearts’ blood. That is what is promised for your father in law, for his children.’

‘No.’ Julia shook her head in denial. ‘I do not believe such superstitions.’ But she found—caught in the web of his voice, those eyes—that she did.

‘You do not have to believe something for it to be true,’ he said with an absolute certainty that shook her. But she would not run, if that was what he wanted, she would not give him the satisfaction of showing him fear. She was a soldier’s wife.

‘Tell me,’ he said, stepping forward and seizing her right wrist. Julia twisted in his grip, the cold silver cuff he wore chill against her pulse. Close-to the intensity and force of his personality took her breath away. ‘Tell me what happened to Hal Carlow.’

‘Let her go or I will run this hat pin through your ribs,’ Nell said, stepping round the end of the shelves behind him.

He winced and opened his hand. ‘Lady Stanegate, a pleasure to see you again.’

‘It is all yours, believe me,’ Nell said.

‘The memory of your lips warms me at night,’ he murmured, turning with wary grace to face Nell. ‘I will leave you ladies to your browsing. Do, I beg you, remember me to your husbands.’

‘Oh, Nell!’ Julia leaned back against a row of lurid romances and caught her breath. ‘He was demanding to know what happened to Hal and denying having any thing to do with it.’ She could not bring herself to repeat that curse. Not to a pregnant woman. ‘Nell, what did he mean about your lips? He never—’

‘He kissed me briefly when he kid napped me,’ Nell said, sticking her hatpin back with some force. ‘And that is all.’

‘What a relief.’ Julia patted her armful of books back into order. ‘He is a very attractive man, though,’ she added thought fully. ‘And he knows it.’

‘If you are thinking of trying to make Hal jealous, you are playing with fire,’ Nell warned, walking towards the counter. ‘If he thinks Hebden has so much as breathed on you, he will try and kill him.’

‘I

just thought I would tease him,’ Julia said, handing her books to the assistant. An idea was beginning to form, although whether she had the nerve to carry it through, she had no idea.

‘Do you require both copies of this, ma’am?’ The man held up Byron’s Corsair.

‘Why no. Have I picked up two in error?’

‘No, ma’am. But the gentleman has already paid for this one for you.’ The assistant held up a neat parcel.

‘Typical,’ Nell muttered. ‘That is all we need, a vengeful Romany who sees himself as a romantic hero!’

Hal seemed to be dealing with the previous night’s events by pretending that nothing had happened. He was polite, attentive and remote. Alert for every opportunity to carry out Nell’s suggestions, she became acutely aware that he was making great efforts not to touch her.

So she touched him. When he held a door or a chair for her, she paused and laid her fingertips on his hand for a fleeting moment. When they were close, she reached up and brushed imagined flecks from his lapels; and when she handed him his tea cup after dinner, she let her fingers tangle with his. Yet all the time, she kept her eyes modestly downcast.

The results were fascinating. She found she was physically aware of him as she had never been before and, out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that he was watching her, his gaze dark and intense.

At half-past ten she went up to her room, changed into the new rose-pink silk night gown, draped a pretty shawl around herself and went to lie on the chaise in the parlour with a book, making sure that not only was the door into Hal’s room ajar, but that a candle was left burning on a shelf close to it.

Time passed and she became so immersed in her book that the sound of the door opening wide made her look up in surprise. Hal stood in the doorway, fully dressed, staring at her.

‘What is the matter?’