She’d been aware of him beside her all day, sure and effortless in the saddle. He never tried to rule his mount with brute strength, but urged it onward with masterful control like the Berber tribesmen of the desert. The sight of his hands on the leather reins made her stomach give a funny little flip.
It was impossible not to notice the way his breeches outlined his narrow hips and thighs, the hard ridges of his muscles clearly visible through the fabric. He was so vital, so exhilarating. Just being near him caused her heart to catch in her throat.
This was what she’d been missing, she realized. Uncle Jasper had been a wonderful traveling companion, but she’d been lonely without someone her own age. She’d missed Harry and his easy banter, his lazy smiles and his infuriating teasing. She felt more alive when he was in the vicinity.
Her spirits drooped. For months now she’d had a niggling sense of dissatisfaction, a feeling that she was searching for something elusive that kept evading her, no matter where she looked, how far she traveled.
She tossed the last stone and missed the rock. She’d be expected to marry when she got back to England. Was it too unrealistic to expect friendship, security, even love from a marriage? A partner with whom to have adventures, not someone who would barely tolerate her presence?
Impatient with herself, Hester stood and searched for more pebbles. It was hard to see the ground beyond the warm glow of firelight, but she persevered. She’d just collected a suitable handful when she felt a sharp stabbing sensation in her ankle, just above the protection of her boot.
“Ouch!”
She leapt sideways and caught a flash of movement as a scorpion scuttled under a nearby rock.
“Damn and blast. I’ve been stung!”
She scowled, furious at herself for not paying closer attention. She half hopped, half hobbled back to her rug by the fire. “Owww, it hurts!”
Tremayne had jumped to his feet at her shout and rushed forward to help her sit.
“What was it? A snake?”
“A scorpion,” she gasped, hastening to unlace her boot. “I need to remove this before my foot starts to swell.”
With an impatient sound he pushed aside her fumbling fingers , cut through the laces of her boot, and yanked it off.
“What kind of scorpion?” he urged. “Did you see it? Was it black or brown? Someone told me that the dark ones are less poisonous than the light-coloredones.”
Hester winced against the pain. “It was hard to see in the darkness. But I think it was the dark kind.”
He bent and took hold of her ankle, pushing up her skirts to expose her stockinged leg.
“A scorpion sting is rarely fatal for an adult, Tremayne,” she said breathlessly. “It just hurts. Like a bee sting. Or a hot needle in my leg.” She tried to push her skirts back down, but he ignored her struggles.
“Don’t be missish, Hester. I’ve encountered scorpion stings before. A fellow in my regiment was stung in Portugal. We need to extract the poison. Take off your stocking, and I’ll suck it out.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” The flush that seared her cheeks was nothing to do with the effects of the sting and everything to do with the thought of Harry Tremayne’s mouth on any part of her—even somewhere as innocuous as an ankle. “There’s a medicine kit in my saddle bag. Get that.”
Harry shot her a look of pure frustration but went to do as she commanded. He rummaged around in her leather satchel and withdrew the box of medicines.
“You look very pale.” A frown creased his forehead as he opened the leather case. “God, these all look the same.” He squinted at the small bottles. “I can barely read the labels.”
Hester managed a weak smile. “Uncle Jasper’s handwriting was never very legible. Look for the one called ‘Brown’s Linctus.’ It’s a tincture of Laudanum. It should relieve the pain a little.”
Harry angled the bottles toward the firelight, selected one, and unstoppered the cork. Hester took a deep swig and sank back against her bedroll with a sigh.
The pain in her calf was a sharp throb, and she felt nauseous and shaky. She sucked in a deep breath. Thankfully, the tincture began to work almost immediately. A wonderful feeling of calm washed over her, and the pain lessened considerably. She became warm and languid, almost drowsy.
Hester frowned. She’d taken this medicine before, when she’d fallen from Bahaba and bruised her bottom. She didn’t recall feeling quite so . . . relaxed. She lifted the bottle Harry had given her and tried to decipher Uncle Jasper’s execrable scrawl.
“Oh dear.”
Tremayne glanced at her sharply. “What is it? What’s the matter?” He placed his palm on her forehead and pushed her hair back from her face.
His features swam in her vision. Hester waved the bottle in his direction and tried to summon up a proper sense of outrage. “Tremayne, you great idiot! You’ve given me the wrong one!”
Chapter 11