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ground. ‘Pull yourself together, Hetherington,’ he ordered himself. ‘This is going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.’
    But try as he might to be sensible, he couldn’t quite quell the hopeful clamour inside him. He hailed another carriage and returned to the booking office.
    He did not tell a straight-out lie. He mumbled just enough information to let the clerk believe that he and Miss Colebrook had married the day before, but that Miss Colebrook had not expected to be able to leave her position at such short notice. However, she had been given permission so …
    In other words, he dissembled. He deserved to be struck dead. Not that he had got through life by telling no white lies at all, but he had just told the biggest one ever.
    To his embarrassment the clerk smiled indulgently. ‘Congratulations, sir. May I wish you both happy?’
    Colly stalked back to the inn feeling like the lowest scum in Porto. But at least he now held two tickets in the names of ‘Brigade-Major and Mrs Hetherington.’
    Next morning he intercepted Juliana as she rushed towards the hospital.
    â€˜I’m late,’ she warned him.
    He grinned. Association with him was turning Little Miss Neat and Tidy into a less-than-bandbox-perfect young lady. Yesterday she had been damp and dishevelled. This morning she looked rumpled. The poor thing had probably lain awake all night worrying, then slept late
this morning. There was little point in reassuring her she had nothing to fear – not from him anyway. All he could do was keep his distance and gradually she would learn he meant her no harm.
    Harm! He would give her the world if he could. ‘I have the tickets,’ he said. ‘The Maximus has docked and the Resolution is hove-to within the harbour mouth. When they have both been provisioned we’ll set sail. We must travel in convoy to avoid French privateers.’
    An anxious expression crossed her face and he cursed himself for mentioning privateers. She simply wanted to get to England and hadn’t given a thought to the dangers of the voyage.
    â€˜Have you told Dr Barreiro yet?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes. Last evening. I feel bad about it because he and his wife have been very kind to me.’
    â€˜So they should. Dr Barreiro will find it very difficult to replace you.’ He reflected that finding another such convent-trained nurse who would work amongst filth and death uncomplainingly would be nigh on impossible. ‘You are a true heroine, Miss Colebrook. But I dare say many men have told you that,’ he finished, off-handedly.
    She grinned, her slightly imperfect front teeth clenching on her lip. ‘No. Most men either gasp for the laudanum or the … er … chamber pot.’ Then she sobered. ‘That is something I must forget when I reach England. I am sure that nice young ladies never , ever mention chamber pots.’
    He threw his head back and laughed. ‘No, Miss Colebrook. I can’t say I’ve ever heard one mention the humble chamber pot.’
    She smiled, then gasped as a bell tinkled in the distance. ‘Oh! I must go.’ And with a flurry of skirts she rushed out of the sunlight into the dimness of the hospital.
    Colly shut the doors behind her.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    F OUR DAYS LATER Juliana unpinned her apron for the last time. From habit she placed it in the sluice bucket. Dr Barreiro was unlikely to find a replacement nurse for a while, and in the meantime one of the maids would no doubt snaffle the apron. She was welcome to it and to the spare one already at the laundry.
    As she pushed open the front door of Sao Nazaire for the last time, Juliana’s hand shook on the doorknob. She had burnt her bridges. She was leaving the place where she had toiled for three years and was throwing in her lot with a man who had been accused of rape. She was so very frightened, but she was glad too; glad to be quitting the death and