Page 25 of Betrothal Between Enemies

A feminine hand reached down: Ismay, her expression stern. ‘Get up, you’re more scared than hurt. We don’t want to linger here now that the ground has destabilised. The summit is near.’ It was hardly the greeting he’d expected after his dangle with death.

It was impossible to speak again as they navigated the last of the steep ash fields waiting them at the top. ‘Could be worse,’ Monticelli said as they reached the crater. ‘The wind isn’t buffeting us, and it is keeping the gas clouds to a minimum. I’ve climbed when it’s been almost impossible to breathe.’ Alistair couldn’t imagine it being worse than this, but apparently he was wrong.

As impressive as the crater was, Alistair was more concerned with Ismay. He moved to stand beside her, watching the volcano churn. ‘Are you angry with me?’

‘You scared me to death,’ she snapped, arms folded, refusing to look at him. But as usual, her anger fuelled his own.

‘I did not choose to fall off the mountain. If anyone should be angry, it’s me with you. You should have gotten away from the edge immediately. I could have accidentally pulled you in.’ He couldn’t bring himself to think about what might have happened if that had occurred, all that weight on the rope. Would the rope have held? Would anyone have gotten to them in time?

‘I couldn’t very well leave you there. You asked me not to let you fall.’ And she’d taken his joking request to heart. She swiped at something on her face. Ash? Dirt? No. A tear. Alistair caught the glint in the moonlight. She wasn’t angry. She was upset, perhaps even frightened, a condition Ismay Rose likely seldom found herself in. And she’d had the wherewithal to save him anyway. Fear had not ruled her in the crucial moment. He put his arm around her and drew her close, pressing a kiss to the top her head. ‘Thank you, Iz. That’s the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me.’ It made her laugh, as he’d intended.

‘Don’t make me do it again.’

‘Fair enough. I won’t be falling off mountains anytime soon. I don’t care for heights.’ He might as well tell her.

‘But you climbed across the balconies,’ she sputtered, trying to make sense of his confession. ‘You came tonight.’

‘Because you needed me to. It was important to you.’

Her voice was quiet. ‘Well, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.’

‘Then, we’re even. Two nice people doing nice things for each other,’ he joked, not wanting to look too closely at his remark, which sailed awfully close to Ismay’s description of love—people making sacrifices for each other. That was not what this was. ‘Now, tell me all about this volcano of yours we’ve spent half the night ascending.’ The fear had passed. They were both safe. He could have released her, but he didn’t want to.

Chapter Fourteen

Ismay didn’t want to bring up the discussion she’d had with her mother, but she had to. Their plan required it. She’d meant to tell Alistair before their visit with Monticelli was over, and now it nearly was. There hadn’t been a good time to discuss something so mundane as their engagement ruse, what with Alistair nearly falling off the mountain.

Ismay stood on the veranda of Monticelli’s villa, coffee mug in hand, staring at the mountain, which continued to smoke and belch and rumble. She could not stop seeing those terrible moments two nights ago in her head. One moment Alistair had been there, right behind her, and the next he’d simply disappeared, vanished. He’d nearly died because of her. She’d been the one who wanted to go up the mountain, and he—who didn’t like heights, which had been a shocking revelation to her—had come because she’d asked him. Just as he would leave soon because she’d asked him.

‘I think I like the mountain better at a distance.’ Alistair stepped out onto the veranda to join her. ‘Are you cold? I brought your shawl.’ The mountain had changed them, softened them. Alistair was more solicitous; she was less sharp. Perhaps there was something to the French concept of venire ensemble. They had come together as a result of their climb. She let him drape the shawl around her shoulders. There was a bitter wind this morning. While the chill would never equal the biting cold of an English winter, the weather had definitely turned.

‘Thank you. I wanted to speak with you, privately.’ Verandas were good for that. A couple could be seen, thus satisfying the need for respectability, while not being heard satisfied the need for privacy.

‘Is everything all right?’ He was immediately concerned, another sign of the softening between them.

‘My mother spoke with me before we left. The ruse is succeeding. She and my father are concerned about the quality of our attachment. We are too wild together. She has asked me to consider the wisdom of marriage to you. I am to decide before the engagement party.’ She studied him cautiously, looking for signs of a reaction. How would he take the news? How did she want him to take the news? If it was a relief for him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him celebrate being rid of her simply because she was not exactly celebrating being rid of him. And yet, that was what they’d worked for, wasn’t it? To be rid of each other?

‘You don’t sound like this is good news to you.’ Alistair leaned his elbows on the railing and looked out to the olive groves on the slopes. He was clearly being careful with his words, careful not to commit himself one way or the other. In short, he was being careful with her.

‘It’s the way it has come about that bothers me. It’s being shaped as entirely your fault. You have led me astray and caused me to act in ways that are against my better judgement. I am your victim.’

He considered this with a nod. ‘It’s better that way. Society will forgive you, and it will be your parents breaking the engagement, just as we wanted.’

‘But the blame will fall on you alone. That was not intended,’ Ismay countered. She wanted him to understand she was not happy with that development.

‘Iz, it’s all right.’ It was the fourth time he’d called her that. He’d started doing it on the mountain, and it did queer things to her stomach, causing it to flip and flutter. He made the nickname sound warm, intimate. ‘Smile, you shall soon be free.’

‘Just when I was getting used to you,’ she teased to lighten the moment.

He grinned. ‘Were you? Getting used to me?’ He elbowed her. ‘I was getting used to you, too. You’re not as bad as I remember. But you know where this ends if we don’t end it. Neither of us is looking for long-term commitments.’ They were silent for a long while, listening to the wind soughing in the olive trees. ‘It’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow, Iz. We have two weeks until you have to formally break it off. We can still have fun.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘We can really take advantage of our situation. We can’t let up now, or your mother will change her mind.’ He was right about that. If Alistair should ostensibly reform, her mother would reverse course.

That made her smile. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I am suggesting we break a few rules before it’s over. Just to keep the pressure on, of course. Then we’ll cap it off with a spectacularly bad wager at Danton’s horse race the day before the party.’

Or not. It was all up to her now. Her mother’s ultimatum had put it all squarely on her shoulders. It wouldn’t be fair to trap Alistair at the last by not crying off. He would despise her for it, and she would hate herself for the duplicity. ‘Here’s to one last prank, then.’ Her voice trembled, and she felt her throat tighten. No, no, no. Not now.

‘Breathe, Iz.’ Alistair spoke softly. ‘You’ve got this. Don’t let it conquer you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ The mountain chose that moment to rumble, as if in disapproval, the ground shaking. She lost her balance, but Alistair was there to steady her, to hold her close until the tremor passed.