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She let herself be concealed behind a screen while the maids laid the table and brought breakfast in, hardly listening to Jack’s explanation that she must not be seen in men’s clothes by the inn staff in case they were questioned later. It must be, she concluded, that he saw the problem as his own desire for her—and she had too much experience of the instinctive masculine response to any halfway attractive woman to be greatly flattered by that—and did not have any concept of how much she was coming to want him.
Eva could feel the bedrock of her preconceptions, of the limits she had set on her life, her rules of conduct, begin to shift subtly. It was disturbing, like sensing that the ground you were on might slip, yet not being able to see any fissures yet. Was it just that she was too weak to resist temptation? Or that something had changed?
‘Safe to come out now,’ Jack called, and she emerged, frowning, to take her seat.
‘What is it?’ Jack put out a hand as though to smooth the line she could feel between her own brows, then turned the gesture by pulling out her chair. ‘Are you very tired after yesterday?’
‘I am well, a little stiff, but that is all. It is nothing. No, perhaps not nothing after all. Something I need to think over and perhaps talk to you about later.’ When she had some idea if she was just overwrought and adrift, or whether she really did need to think again about her life and how she lived it. ‘Where are the horses?’
‘At a livery stables on the Lyon road. We will travel that far with Henry, and then you and I will leave him to the post road and we will take to the minor roads that parallel it.’ Jack cut a healthy slice off a beefsteak and bit into it with the appetite of a man who had exercised hard.
Eva toyed with the preserves spoon. ‘And we meet at the inn tonight?’
‘No. We travel separately, with rendezvous points we have already agreed. It will be easier then to spot danger, see if we are followed.’
Henry finished chewing his mouthful of ham. ‘I called on our agent here first thing this morning. Word is that Bonaparte’s moving troops towards the frontier. Thought you said they aren’t expected until July, guv’nor.’
‘Well, Wellington certainly wasn’t expecting the French until then,’ Jack said, frowning at his coffee cup. ‘That timing was what persuaded us to plan for this route, otherwise I would have organised some convenient English smugglers at Calais.’
Eva supposed she should be anxious about this news, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. She trusted Jack to get her back, and after last night she was half-convinced he
could work miracles. In any case, she felt too strange to worry.
He put down his fork and eyed the slice of bread and butter she was nibbling. ‘Eat! That is not enough to keep a sparrow alive. Eggs, ham, black pudding.’ Jack pushed the platter towards her. ‘Goodness knows when we will get our next square meal.’
Obediently Eva helped herself, piling the food on her plate until Jack nodded approval. Jack was the expert—if he said eat, she would eat, even though she had little appetite. Possibly it was the water she had swallowed last night, or perhaps it was the unsettling, hot, ache inside her that had started last night and now would not leave her. When she looked at him it got worse.
Desire. I should be ashamed. But where, exactly, was the shame? she pondered, dutifully chewing her ham like a small child told to eat up. She set her own standards, it was herself she was letting down if she fell short of them, and it was her own conscience she must consult.
But there were two people in this equation. Eva looked down and saw her plate was empty. Suddenly finding her appetite restored, she reached for the bread and butter and spread a slice with honey. There were Jack’s standards to consider, as well, his conscience. She gave herself a little shake. They would ride, it would clear her mind. Then they would talk. Frankly.
The horses Jack had hired were fine animals, strong, sound and looked fit enough to carry them to the frontier, provided they kept to a steady pace. Eva stayed with the carriage until they were some distance from the stables, then Jack, leading her saddle horse and a laden pack animal, caught up with them and she was able to shed her cloak and mount.
‘Oh, you lovely thing.’ She ran her hand down the arching, satiny neck of the bay gelding, settling herself in the saddle while Jack checked the girth and adjusted the length of the stirrup leathers for her. ‘It seems so long since I was able to ride anything so big and powerful. Since Louis died I have been expected to ride side-saddle at ceremonies, or on gentle hacks around the vicinity of the castle on a nice, quiet mare.’
‘You can mange him, then?’ Jack swung up on the black horse, a good sixteen hands, with a wicked glint in its eye. ‘I hoped perhaps you could, because of the distances we need to cover, but I did have one in reserve.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘A gentle, solid little mare.’
‘An armchair ride?’ Eva enquired indignantly. ‘Certainly not.’ She did feel an inner qualm that perhaps she was so out of practice that she might not manage, or that she would slow him down. Jack’s high expectations of her reinforced her determination to live up to them, gave her courage, even while part of her wondered sceptically if this was just good management of the forces under his command. She decided to test him. ‘Why do you think now that I can ride this horse?’
‘Because you’ve got guts, determination and a certain natural athleticism,’ he said matter of factly, neck-reining one handed to turn his horse towards the track that led away from the post road. Eva stared at his retreating back. ‘Come on.’ Jack twisted in the saddle. ‘Don’t you believe me? When have I ever flattered you or been less than honest with you?’
‘Never.’ Eva dig her heels into the horse’s flanks and cantered up alongside him. ‘I don’t think so. Thank you.’
‘Thank me later, when your muscles are remembering that they have not worked like this in months—’
‘Years,’ she said ruefully.
‘Years, then. You will be convinced your posterior is one big blister and your shoulders will ache like the devil and then it will all be my fault.’
‘I’ll just have to look forward to a good deep hot bath,’ Eva said without thinking, then went red to her ear tips at the recollection of last night’s bath.
But Jack was already forging ahead, up the slope. ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ she thought he said. But that could not be right—any inn would be able to provide a tub.
The pace Jack set was steady but fast, wending their way between the small ponds, thickets and fields on the east side of the wide river. They would canter, then drop to a walk to spell the horses, then canter again. From time to time he would check a compass, glance at the sun or stop to study the black notebook he kept in his pocket. He took half an hour at noon to eat from the packages of food that were stowed in their saddlebags, then watered the horses and walked, leading them for half an hour before mounting again.
They spoke little, although Eva was aware of Jack’s eyes on her from time to time. Something strange was happening to her as the lush countryside unrolled beneath their horses’ hooves, as the wildfowl rose in honking panic from the pools or the cattle raised their heads and watched them pass with great liquid brown eyes.
The wind was in her hair, the air was sweet in her lungs and it was as though she was stripping off some heavy, uncomfortable robe, freeing her limbs so she could run and laugh. Reality narrowed down to the landscape around them, the feel of the horse beneath her, her awareness of the man by her side.
