AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Do you mean to say you walked here all the way from your house? Where is your maid?’
‘I rarely trouble with
a maid,’ she explained. ‘And I like to walk. Malta is very safe, you know.’
‘What, no impudent officers to ogle you?’ he teased, pulling on the mooring rope to bring the boat tight against the quayside. ‘Come on, I will take you wherever you want. Give me the basket first.’
Hebe handed it down, then, wrapping her skirts tight around her, sat on the edge and reached out a hand. It was a drop of several feet to the bottom of the boat, but she felt no qualms about jumping.
‘No, keep still,’ the Major ordered. He reached up, took her firmly round the waist with both hands and lifted her bodily down into the boat. Hebe gasped at the ease with which he held her, for she was slightly above average height and by no means the ethereally slender sylph that Mrs Carlton considered to be the ideal.
The little vessel rocked, but Alex Beresford seemed perfectly balanced. He set her down on the bottom boards, but did not at once release his hold and Hebe was suddenly aware not just of his strength but of the warmth of his hands through the cotton of her gown and the nearness of his body. His shirt was open at the neck, baring several inches of tanned chest, and her eyes seemed fixed on the curl of dark hair that showed there.
Then she was free and he was helping her to sit. ‘Your feet are going to get wet, I’m afraid,’ he said, matter of factly, apparently untouched by their closeness, which had left her breathless and disconcerted.
Hebe swallowed. For goodness’ sake, she scolded herself, pull yourself together! You are simply not used to being held like that, nothing more. ‘It does not matter,’ she replied, managing to sound no more than slightly breathless. ‘They are an old, worn pair—which is why I have such sore feet.’
Alex Beresford paused with one hand on the sail. ‘Where would you like me to take you?’
‘Just round to the fish market, if you would be so kind, Major Beresford.’
‘Will you not call me Alex?’ he asked, his eyes crinkling into that sudden smile which transformed his face. ‘I have, after all, slept in your hammock—I think that justifies some degree of informality.’
Hebe, with the fleeting thought that for once Mama would not scold her for her impetuous friendships, smiled back. ‘Very well, but only if you will call me Hebe.’
It seemed a long moment passed while Alex Beresford stood looking down into her upturned face, then he said, ‘I would be delighted, although perhaps Circe would be more appropriate.’ Hebe sought desperately through her rather sketchy memories of Greek myths for the reference and failed to find it before he added, ‘But is your house not on the far side of Palace Square, near the Archbishop’s Palace? I am still getting myself lost in the streets here, but I think I am right about that.’
‘Umm…yes,’ she agreed, still puzzling over who Circe was.
‘Then unless you have any more business near the fish market, would it not be closer if I took you round to St Elmo Bay? It must hardly be more than a few minutes’ walk up from the sea gate there.’ He was unfurling the sail as he spoke, shaking it out, then hauling it up with strong, skilled hands.
‘That is right around the Point,’ Hebe protested, but her eyes were sparkling at the thought of the sail, however short.
Alex cast off the mooring rope, pushed them away from the side with an oar and coaxed the sail round to catch the breeze. ‘Do you mind that? Will you be seasick?’
‘Certainly not!’ she protested. ‘I just did not want to take you so far out of your way.’ In reply he only smiled. They sailed for a minute or two in silence while Alex tacked three or four times to find the wind to take them out of the harbour. Hebe watched him, noting again the growth of stubble on his chin and the faint tiredness around his eyes. He had been out for more than a night’s fishing, that was certain.
‘Do you not have to report back?’ she asked innocently.
‘What?’ He looked at her quizzically, although she noticed his gaze had sharpened. ‘After a night out fishing?’
Before she could think about what she was doing, Hebe said, ‘More than one night, surely? Three, perhaps. And for that length of time, not a very good catch. I would hazard a guess that you did not have your mind on it.’
Alex was silent for a moment while he adjusted the tiller to keep clear of a larger boat heading into the docks. ‘And what makes you think I have been away for three nights?’ His voice was perfectly pleasant, but Hebe felt a sudden tingle of apprehension. ‘The fact that I have not called?’
‘Certainly not! But I cannot believe you have gone without shaving for only one night,’ she said tartly, suppressing the internal voice which was saying Careful! ‘And your eyes look tired again—although not like they did the other day. But then you had had a much longer voyage, had you not?’
This time there was no mistaking the hardness in the look he bent on her. ‘And what do you deduce from that?’
‘That it would be better if you shave before anyone else sees you and draws the same conclusion.’
‘I would suggest that you do not treat this as a joke, Miss Carlton.’ His blue eyes searched her face and she felt herself colouring. ‘Perhaps I am a French spy and will simply continue out to sea where I can drop you neatly over the side with no one to see me.’
So chilly was his voice, and so sinister the threat, that Hebe found herself looking round rather wildly. They were now clear of the harbour and she could see the bulk of Dragutt Point far out to their left. In this freshening breeze they would indeed be well out to sea in only a little while longer.
Then she pulled herself together. ‘What nonsense! I know perfectly well that you are an English intelligence officer.’
‘And how do you know that?’
