Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) (25 page)

Sarah had to get to Ian. She had to warn him. She had to get him away.

“What is that?” Artie asked, reaching for the packet.

Before Artie could reach the neat, sealed square, Sarah slipped it into her pocket. Glancing at the cover letter, she smiled. “Lizzie says it is the recipe for the Ripton chef’s Chantilly cream I asked for.”

Artie’s eyebrow soared. “Chantilly cream?”

Sarah smiled up at her. “We may not have much, Artie. We do have a surfeit of cream. Why not enjoy it?”

Artie giggled. “Because Peg would be cooking it. That’s why.”

Sarah couldn’t help answering with a rather comical frown. “Good point. Perhaps we can convince her that I wish to train in the kitchen arts.”

Artie pointed to the letter again. “Does your friend mention her guests? At least tell me if she mentions my particular friends.”

“I fear not. Simply that she is happy to hear from me, and glad to share the recipe. Other than wishing us well, I fear that is all.”

To prove her statement, she handed off the letter. Artie took it and threw herself onto the settee. “She is not much of a correspondent, is she?”

She was, of course. Just not with Sarah.

Which meant that the inside note was important. “Artie,” she said, picking up her needlework, “I would love to hear the new Scarlatti you have been working on.”

Artie cast a quick look over to the table where the dowager and Rosie sat over the watercolors. “You know Mother doesn’t like to be distracted.”

It was true, of course, especially when Lady Clarke was perusing her paintings.

“A quieter piece then,” Sarah suggested, anything to distract the girl.

“I’m afraid she won’t have time to play anything,” came a voice from the doorway.

Sarah gasped, on her feet. Artie shrieked and fell against the settee. Lady Clarke waited a heartbeat and then clutched her heart with a pathetic little cry. It was up to Sarah to face the wild man standing in her doorway, a gun in each hand.

Evidently Ian had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Chapter 13

Ian saw Sarah go deathly pale and hated what he had to do. He wished he could have warned her. But he and George had agreed that to keep Sarah safe from Martin Clarke and the law both, Ian had to take her with him. And the only way to do that was to surprise her. Unimpeachable witnesses must swear that she was as shocked as her kinswomen to see him walk in the door.

Judging by her color, she certainly was that.

“What the devil is going on?” she demanded as she helped the girl up.

“We’re going to die!” the woman Ian assumed was Lady Clarke cried in fading tones, her hands in the air, posed like a tragedian in Act III. “Oh, Rosamunde!”

Ian noticed she poised herself over a pile of watercolors, as if that were the child she would save. Next to her, a storklike lady in gray was rummaging through a reticule. He knew how wild he looked, with three weeks growth of beard and his hair as snarled as a skein of red wool. Clad in his homespun clothing, and carrying a Manton dueling pistol in each hand, all he needed was an eye patch and a parrot to play pirate. He gave them all a big, mad grin to cement the image.

The old dame fluttered and screeched about her heart. No one but the stork paid attention.

“Dinna fesh y’rself, ma’am,” he said in his broadest brogue. “I willna be long. It’s just that I’m in a great need of victuals and weapons.” He lifted the guns for her perusal. “And a finer pair I canna remember seein’.”

Now the old lady went pale. “Those are my son’s. How did you get them?”

He’d been afraid of that. If the stark pain in Sarah’s eyes was any indication, they must have been the guns the old lady’s son had used to kill himself.

“Ach, woman. Ye dinna store fine weapons like this in a safe. Somebody lookin’ for a bit o’ loose change might know how tae get in.”

“Not much loose change,” Sarah muttered.

He laughed. “Enough tae get me down the road, lass. I’ll pay ye back, both cash and poppers, on my honor.”

“Honor,” Lady Clarke spat. “What honor is there in terrorizing helpless women?”

Ian couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Wheesht, woman, if ye’re nae a treat. If there was e’er a female who was nae helpless, it’s ye.”

The old lady glared at him. Now that he’d blown her disguise, she seemed to grow in her seat, her back ramrod straight.

“Where is our butler?” Sarah demanded, her eyes flashing at him. She never reacted to the dowager’s change of attitude. She must be used to it.

God and the Bruce, the girl was magnificent. The woman he’d thought plain absolutely shone when she was in a rage. So taken was Ian by the flash of her earthy eyes and the high color in her cheeks, he almost forgot to answer.

“I have nae quarrel with old men, lass. He is safe, along with your cook and scullery.”

“You will address
me,
” the old bat demanded. “It is my house you have invaded.”

If Ian hadn’t seen the frank terror lick the older woman’s eyes, he would have laughed again. No wonder Sarah didn’t get along with her. Nothing worse than two queens in the same beehive. Sliding one of the guns into his waist, he stepped back and bent for the loops of rope he’d left on the footman’s chair in the corridor.

“All right then,” he said instead with another small bow. “Much as I’d love tae linger, you’ll be glad to know I canna. Which of ye is good at tying knots?”

“Tying knots?” Lady Clarke echoed, straightening even more. “Don’t be absurd. We are ladies, not stevedores. Tie your own knots.”

“Ah, now, that I canna do, not and hold this wee popper.”

“If it will get you on your way,” Sarah offered, letting go of the girl, “I’ll do it.”

“You will not,” Lady Clarke retorted. “Not one of us will cooperate with this dastard. After all, what can he do but leave?”

Damn the woman. “Aye well, ya have me there.” He deliberately turned the gun on the wide-eyed blond girl. “But I’d have to leave with the young lass here, if I did. And who knows if I could return her as easy as the popper?”

He would do nothing of the sort, of course. He tried to make it a point never to terrify children. But sadly, he suspected a threat to Sarah wouldn’t produce cooperation.

When the blond girl’s eyes rolled back in her head, he almost gave the game away by dropping everything to catch her. Fortunately, Sarah was there ahead of him, easing the girl to the floor. The tartar gave a small cry and dropped to catch the girl’s head in her lap. If the surprise on Sarah’s face was any indication, not a normal reaction.

“Oh, now, Artemesia,” the woman commanded in a suspiciously thin voice as she briskly patted the girl’s pasty cheek. “Fainting is so overdramatic. You will have this beast convinced that we are poor Janes indeed. Besides—” Even Sarah looked surprised when the older woman looked up at her. “Sarah will take care of everything, won’t she?”

“I will,” Sarah said, turning to Ian. “And no one is taking my sister anywhere.” He was surprised his hair didn’t catch fire at her glare. “Such a brave man,” she sneered.

“If my mission were nae more important than just the four of us, lass, I’d nae terrify anyone. But I dinna have a choice. The Duke of Wellington himself is in danger, and I’d be a muckle fool tae keep the news from him.”

“You’re the one who tried to shoot him,” the stork protested, on her knees next to the mother, her arm around her shoulder. “I recognize you from the posters.”

He smiled. “A small misunderstanding, don’t ye ken. Which is why I need a wee bit o’ help getting’ tae the duke.”

Sighing as if she were at the end of her patience, Sarah held out her hand. “Give me the rope, then. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you will leave us alone.”

He didn’t smile for her. “Ye’ll need to tie them good, lass. So they can’t get out too soon and stop me.”

She didn’t budge. But Ian would never lose the memory of the disdain in her eyes. “Fine.”

The young girl whimpered and turned her head. Her mother looked up. “You cannot do that,” she protested. “We are isolated here. No one will find us.”

And he couldn’t tell her that Old George had their rescue timed to the minute.

Sarah accepted the rope and stepped back. “Don’t worry, Mother Clarke. Between you and me, we’ll manage.”

“Ah, well now,” Ian disagreed with every evidence of reluctance. “I fear the others will have tae manage by themselves. I’ve decided that ye’ll be the one to have the pleasure of my company. Yon child is a wee bit too delicate for the trip, I’m thinkin’.”

In the process of tying the stork’s hands behind her back, Sarah froze. “I what?”

He almost smiled again, entranced by her eyes. “Ye need nae fear me, lass. I’ll nae harm ye. But if I’m tae get as far as the duke, I’ll need a guide.”

She stood there, the rope dangling from her fingers. “A guide? Where?”

She couldn’t have played it better if he’d given her a script.

“Back down tae the coast, I thought. The land has nae worked so well for me, so maybe I can catch a wee boat to London.”

Sarah scowled and pointed. “The coast is right over that cliff. Be my guest.”

He could truly love her. “No boats there. I looked. Weymouth is just up the road, though. Sure they have a few extra boats that willna be missed.”

She turned back to finish securing knots. “You’ll be recognized and shot.”

“Not if I have a…guest.”

She straightened slowly. “Hostage, you mean.”

He shrugged.

She stood perfectly still, hands on hips. “No.”

He pointed the pistol back at the blond girl, who whimpered. He swore Sarah growled. She went back to her knots, though. She had just moved to the woman she’d called Mother Clarke when that woman abruptly reared to her feet.

“No,” she said, standing there like a saint set for martyrdom. “You don’t need Sarah. She will do you no good. She is not as familiar with the area as I. Besides, if we are followed, the militia would not dare shoot a Clarke of Fairbourne.”

“Oh, Winnifred, no!” the stork protested, pulling on her bonds. “Your heart!”

The older woman didn’t precisely smile. “I cannot run the estate,” she said, not looking away from Ian. “I cannot even sell eggs. But I am an excellent walker. I might as well be useful for something.”

Was that what an apology sounded like from her? Ian would have to ask Sarah.

“You’ll go nowhere without me, Winnifred,” the stork protested, jumping up.

Lady Clarke patted the woman’s shoulder.

“I canna say I’ve ever heard such a grand offer,” Ian said, and then gave another small bow. “Still, my decision stands. Come now, lassie, keep tying.”

Sarah tied. She made sure all three women were as comfortably situated as she could make them on the settees, and Ian checked to make sure her knots were real.

“Now,” he said amiably, showing Sarah an empty bag he’d found in the stables. “If ye’d fill this with a bit of food, we’ll be off. And remember.” He lifted the gun. “If you do anything I dinna like, I have a surfeit of hostages. One less willna matter at all.”

Sarah’s glare could have shattered glass. Even so, she snatched the bag from Ian’s hand and marched from the room. When she reached the kitchen, he hoped she would be a bit mollified.

“Well noo, ladies,” he said, settling into one of the lacquer chairs and crossing one leg over the other. “How can we pass the time? Would ye like to hear a wee bit o’ Scottish verse?”

The three of them turned their heads from him in a unified motion that almost made Ian laugh. Imagine. Being given the cut direct by his own hostages. He couldn’t wait to share that with Sarah.

Sarah walked into the kitchen and gasped. “You aren’t even tied up,” she protested.

In fact, Peg and Parker were comfortably seated at the staff table, enjoying a mug of tea. The minute they saw her, they were on their feet.

“Are you well, Miss Sarah?” Peg demanded. “That blue-eyed devil hasn’t upset you too much?”

Sarah gaped at them. “But . . .”

Peg chuckled and came around to relieve Sarah of the bag. “Wasn’t he the very gentleman when he showed up in the kitchen, Mr. Boswell’s guns in his hands. ‘I don’t mean to bother you all,’ says he, as if we’re in a sitting room. ‘But I need help getting away.’ It came to me then as how we’d been losing eggs and you’d been losing sleep. Well, says I to Mary Sunday, If Miss Sarah takes his side, then he must be all right.”

“What made you think I’d taken his side?”

Busy stuffing apples into the bag, Peg cocked her head. “Haven’t you been feedin’ him, then?”

Sarah knew her face went crimson. “I might have. But this is different.”

Peg’s eyes twinkled. “A fine strapping man, isn’t he? ’Tis a pleasure to help him.”

Sarah stared at her cook. “You believed him because he’s handsome?”

“Course not. Old George came in with him.”

Sarah plopped down on one of the chairs. “Of course he did,” she moaned, her head in her hands. “They could have told me.”

“Oh, no, Lady Clarke,” Parker wheezed as he helped Peg stuff the bag with food. “You had to be surprised, didn’t you? They told us that. You couldn’t stay here, they said. You were in danger from Mr. Clarke. But you couldn’t be seen willingly helping Colonel Ferguson. That is why he surprised you.”