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Hester’s own body prickled in awareness as she imagined Harry’s strong, sensitive hands strokingherthe way he caressed the horse.
She forced herself to exhale. “The Bedouins certainly appreciate fine horseflesh. They have a saying: ‘My treasures do not chink or glitter. They gleam in the sun and neigh in the night.’ And when they gift a horse to someone, they say, ‘I give thee flight without wings.’”
Harry’s smile made her heart miss a beat. “I like that. Flight without wings. That’s very apt.”
He mounted in one swift, easy movement, a move he’d obviously perfected over a thousand instances in the Horse Guards, and they set off.
* * *
They lapsedinto a companionable silence as Hester led them out of the village and found a barely-discernible trail that led off into the hills. Harry would have thought it was nothing more than a goat track, but she seemed confident of their bearings, and he had enough confidence in her abilities to allow her to lead.
For now.
After a while she glanced sideways at him. “You ride very well.”
Harry fought not to smile at the grudging compliment.
“You were in the Horse Guards, were you not?” she prodded.
“Yes. I love horses, so it made sense to join a cavalry regiment. It was a stupid mistake, in hindsight. I hated seeing them killed.”
Harry frowned, amazed that he’d said such a thing. He never would have admitted to such a weakness back in London, but Hester was so easy to talk to, and they were in the middle of nowhere. Maintaining a stiff upper lip seemed rather pointless.
He shrugged. “I learned not to get too attached to them. It was less painful when I lost one, that way. Some died of battle wounds, others from not enough to eat.” He stared straight ahead, concentrating on the stony trail they were following.
“I had a horse shot out from under me at Badajoz. It fell and pinned me, and I couldn’t escape. The French came to finish off the wounded, but I was saved by darkness falling. I managed to crawl back to my own line.”
He noticed the look of pity and concern on her face and sent her an easy smile to lighten the tone. “You, too, ride very well. Although I can’t quite picture you riding that monstrous beast down Rotten Row. You’d give the ladies of thetonheart palpitations.”
He smiled when she snorted in amusement.
“I’m not sure my reputation would recover from the scandal. An unattached heiress can be forgiven a great deal, but riding a dromedary in Hyde Park might be taking it too far.” She sighed, as if the thought of being back in London depressed her. “I suppose I could always learn to drive a curricle and pair. I do enjoy acquiring new skills.”
Harry glanced at her profile, at the lush perfection of her lips, and his mind—naturally—wondered whether she’d extend that enthusiasm to learning new sexual experiences. God, the things he could show her.
Her fair skin had been caressed by the sun’s rays, and he found her freckles ridiculously attractive. He wanted to lick them, like cinnamon sprinkles on an iced bun. In London she would be decried as a sun-browned heathen, but compared to the semi-transparent watery misses of theton, whose skin was so pale you could see their blue veins beneath their sallow skin, Hester was a vibrant, sun-kissed goddess.
Why should the sun be the only one to kiss her? Harry’s eyes roved the curve of her jaw, the straight line of her nose. Was she that beautiful peachy color all over? Or did she have paler areas on the places that seldom saw the sun?
He readjusted his position in the saddle.
“Napoleon was a dreadful rider, by all accounts,” he said, to give himself something to think about other than his hands on her skin. His voice held a telltale roughness, but he hoped she’d ascribe that to a parched throat, rather than to a terminal case of lust. He patted Makeen’s neck. “He had an Arabian too, a grey named Marengo.”
“You saw him?”
“A few times, but only from afar. He slouched in the saddle and never kept his heels down. Rumor has it he was always falling off.”
Hester frowned. “Perhaps if Drovetti gives him the necklace, he’ll be able to ride as well as—” she stopped suddenly, and Harry had the distinct impression she’d been about to say ‘as well as you’ but then decided she didn’t want to flatter him and amended it to, “—as if he was born in the saddle.”
They entered a rugged gorge and started following a rocky riverbed in a vaguely southerly direction. Harry glanced upwards at the towering hundred-foot cliffs that rose on either side. It was starkly beautiful. They hadn’t seen another living creature for the past hour, save a few goats, but at least it was shady.
A couple of birds of prey that looked rather like vultures drifted lazily in the warm air currents above them, and he wondered if they were some kind of ill omen. They reminded him of the fortune hunters back in London, making a tour of the ballroom, circling toward their prey.
Hester, with her fortune, had always been in their sights. He’d had a hard time of it, steering them clear of her without her noticing his interference. He hadn’t wanted her hurt, trapped into a marriage with someone who only wanted her money and couldn’t appreciate the vibrant, headstrong woman he knew her to be.
After another mile or so, she pulled her mount to a halt and unrolled her precious map. She squinted out at the horizon then back down. “Not far now.”
Harry couldn’t resist teasing her. “Admit it. We’re lost.”
