Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) (29 page)

And even if Ardeth walked away, with every good will in the world, he could never accomplish what he needed if he married Sarah, either for him, for his people, or for her. He could never expose her to the world of politics, a bastard of an unknown peer. The women would excoriate her, their tongues far more deadly weapons than any knife. They would forbid their husbands his association, as if Sarah could personally stain a worthy cause, and isolate Sarah’s children as pariahs. He would see her shrivel, hour by hour, day by day, until his strong, witty Sarah was no more. He had no right to do that to her, no matter how much he needed her.

Nor could he give in to the basest temptation and set her up as his mistress. It didn’t matter that she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, or that she’d been married and was supposed to know the rules of the game. It didn’t matter that she must know that any real relationship between the two of them was impossible. She was a lady to the marrow, and a gentleman did not make that kind of offer to a lady.

He would finish this mission and send Sarah back to her family. And then he would marry Ardeth—funny, committed, sensible Ardeth—and, just as he’d planned, he would change the world. Only three weeks earlier, he had seen their future together as productive, powerful. They would be friends, and they would be partners, and that had been enough. Three weeks ago. Before he met Sarah.

Which meant he had to keep his head about him and his prick in his pants. Even if he could smell the soap and fresh wind in her hair, the lush weight of her breast against his arm, and the elegant sweep of her bottom on his thighs.

They had at least another day of travel ahead of them. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

And then the rain started. First a mist, enough to bead up in Sarah’s hair and slide down his neck. “
A bhidse,
” he snarled, bending lower to shield her.

“I assume that doesn’t mean, ‘oh look, rain.’” Somehow Sarah sounded amused.

“It was more an opinion.”

She huffed. “A little rain won’t melt us.”

It seemed nature considered that a dare. Suddenly the skies opened. There was no wind, no noise except the steady, soaking torrent of rain that even trees couldn’t break.

“You had to say something,” Ian said, ineffectually wiping his face.

She chuckled. “I thought things were going too well. Which reminds me. You should know that we have been on Martin Clark’s land for about the last two miles.”

Ian sighed. “It only wanted that. Well, we have to find shelter.”

“I believe we’re well south of the manor,” she offered.

Ian did his best to see through the darkness and rain, hoping to see shelter before he saw enemies. Even so, Sarah saw it first.

“Ah, good,” she said, pointing. “I thought so. There’s a barn down there.”

And there it was at the bottom of the hill, an untidy lump of a stone building that would have won no awards for beauty. It had a roof, though, which was all that mattered. Pulling Sarah more securely against him, Ian kicked Harvey into a trot.

By the time they reached the building, they were both soaked to the skin. Ian swung off Harvey and helped Sarah down. She unlatched the door and swung it open. For being so worn, the barn door was well oiled and opened easily, revealing a surprisingly neat interior filled with stored hay and two disinterested plow horses. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm and clean, and boasted a ladder to a very tempting loft.

Ian led Harvey inside and began to untie the supplies. He should have been feeling better to have Sarah off his lap. At least his cock should have been relieved. Instead he felt oddly bereft, as if she had left him alone out in the dark.

He should have been used to the feeling. He had been left alone enough times in his life. But he couldn’t remember such an acute feeling of abandonment. He wanted to grab her, pull her back into his arms, bury his face into her neck so he could smell the warm, female scent of her.

“Would you like me to clean out the stall?” she asked, startling him.

He realized he had been standing in the middle of the barn with the rolled bundle in his hands staring at her.

They didn’t have time for this. They had to get warm and dry and decide what to do next. He sucked in a steadying breath and wished his cock understood. But his cock was saluting the surprising curl of Sarah’s wet hair, the shape betrayed by her soaking gown. Soft, comfortable breasts, narrow waist that swept out to lovely rounded hips. He knew without a doubt that if she turned about, he would be privileged to see the sweetest bottom in Dorset, and it struck him hard in groin and brain and heart.

“Uh, no,” he said, struggling to regain control over his body. “You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She frowned.

“We can’t have a fire, Sarah,” he said. “And you’re soaked. Your woman sent along an extra dress.” Finally remembering the bundle, he shook the water off and handed it over to her. “It’s in the roll. I’ll see to Harvey while you change.”

She looked between him and the horse, as if for an explanation. “I still don’t understand how you made friends with him.”

He flashed a grin. “We understand each other. And Peg gave me plenty of scones.”

She managed a return grin. “He does love scones.”

It took her another minute of hesitation, but finally she accepted the bundle and stepped into the adjoining stall, closing the door behind her.

“All of your clothes, Sarah,” Ian said in what he hoped was a disinterested voice.

She would have caught him out if she’d seen him. He was so distracted by the idea of her disrobing that his hands shook. He gritted his teeth against the pain of anticipation. Against the greater, more demoralizing ache of honor. It wouldn’t be fair to take her. It wouldn’t be right.

His body didn’t give a damn.

“I think we are more than halfway to Ripton Hall,” she was saying, her voice muffled by the dress she was shucking. “If we start soon, we should make it tonight.”

“We’ll wait here today,” he said.

“We cannot. The grooms will be here soon to check on the horses.”

“They’d have no reason to climb into the loft.” He finally took the time to give the barn a serious look. For such a tumbledown place, it really was surprisingly tidy. “How far away is the manor, do you think?”

The
shush
of sliding material almost took Ian’s breath. “Not close,” Sarah finally said. “If I remember correctly, about a mile.”

Ian tilted his head, the hair on the back of his neck rising. No farmer kept his animals this far away from supervision. Just what were these horses for?

“I changed my mind,” he said, leading Harvey into an empty stall. “As soon as this rain lets up, we’ll get back on the road.”

Sarah peeked over the wood partition. “What changed your mind?”

Ian busied himself removing the saddle and wiping Harvey down with straw. “I’m not sure. It just doesn’t feel right.”

He was sure. He just didn’t want to force another burden on her right now.

He should have known better. She took her own look. “It’s too far away, isn’t it? Um, did I remember to tell you that Martin is undoubtedly involved in smuggling?”

He made the mistake of turning to answer. Oh, Christ. Her shoulders were bare. All he’d have to do is take two steps . . .

“Get dressed, Sarah,” he barked, turning away. “Use the blanket to dry yourself.”

Her face disappeared. “You mean I shouldn’t rub myself with hay?”

His heart seized. He knew she hadn’t meant to make a double entendre. One look in her eyes told him she recognized it.

Christ.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the voices.

“Well, Sarge, at least we’ll be out of the rain a while,” a deep voice said outside.

“Bloody hell,” Ian snapped.

“Militia,” Sarah whispered, frozen, the blanket held against her chest.

Ian looked desperately around. The stalls were too open for cover. The ladder was the obvious choice, but the loft would be the first place a searcher would look. There was no place to hide.

Harvey bumped against Ian, and inspiration struck. Before he could second-guess his decision, he ran for Sarah. “Come along.”

And before she could protest, he scooped her up along with the blanket and her loose clothes and swept them all back into Harvey’s stall.

Sarah squeaked in surprise. “What…?”

“
Sssh.
Harvey looks like he belongs here. Excellent camouflage.”

He hoped to hell the soldiers wouldn’t look in the stall. Relying on instinct, Ian closed the door and latched it. Then, burying the supplies beneath the feed trough, he dropped down with Sarah right against the stall door just as he heard the barn door open. It was only when he laid down against her and covered them both with the dun-colored blanket that he realized just how big a mistake he’d made.

She was naked. Day-she-was-born naked. Every-fantasy-he-could-name naked. Pressed-right-up-to-his-frustrated-body naked.

Christ.

“Ian, I can’t—” Her whisper was thin and breathy.

“Quiet.”

His cock had just begun to settle down. It went rock hard again, and his balls clenched. Damn it, what had he been thinking? She was too soft, far too warm. He could feel every inch of her skin against his screaming body. Oh, God, her nipples were tight little pebbles from the cold, and they were pressed against his chest. His hand was perilously close to them, and the urge to take advantage was stealing his breath.

Pay attention.

The door closed. Ian could hear the rain and the rattle of horses’ tack. Disaster was no more than ten feet away, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Not only that, he was lying atop a naked woman. How could any sane man focus on danger when he was wrapped around a fantasy? He wasn’t sure whether the situation was terrifying or ludicrous.

“This better be a good tip,” somebody groused, shaking out a coat.

“Well,” another man said, “at least we’re inside. I don’t fancy drownin’.”

“That’s enough,” came a brisk voice. “Miller, check the loft. Thompson the stalls and storage area. Parsons, you and I will look for this trap door.”

Ian was so distracted by the feel of Sarah beneath him that he almost missed the import of the words. Trap door? He hoped like hell he hadn’t mistaken his strategy.

He hadn’t. He could hear Thompson approaching, shoving open every stall hard enough that doors banged as he passed. Ian held his breath. Next to Ian, Harvey shifted. A perfectly innocuous movement. But then Thompson reached their stall. He must have reached for the latch. Suddenly Harvey exploded into motion. Trumpeting a challenge, the big horse lunged over the stall, great teeth snapping.

“Yow!” Thompson screamed, stumbling back and thudding to the ground. “Bastard bit me!”

“Try again,” somebody said.

“
You
try.”

The other man did, only to suffer the same indignity. Ian couldn’t help but grin, and he could feel Sarah’s shoulders shake. Oh, for the love of God, he thought, gritting his teeth. Don’t move now.

“Nobody in there, Sarge,” Thompson groused. “Let me look for the trap door.”

“What if the trap door’s in there?” the sergeant demanded.

“It isn’t!” Parsons called from the other side of the barn. “It’s here.”

Ian damn near lifted his head. He stopped breathing.

“The shipment has to be in here,” the sergeant said. “This barn is just too convenient.”

Shipment? Ian almost laughed out loud. The soldiers weren’t looking for him. They were looking for contraband. On Martin Clarke’s land. So Sarah was right.

Beside him, Sarah stirred. He bent right up to her ear and shushed her. He could feel a shudder go through her at the action. Fear? Distaste?

Pleasure?

His cock went even harder and his hands began to shake. What a bloody foolish time to be courting disaster. He couldn’t help it. He kept his head where it was, so his face was against the angle of her neck, where he could taste the warmth of her skin and smell the woman on her. He kept his hands where they were, taunting himself with the sleek landscape of her waist. He felt the thrum of her heart beneath his hand and knew that she was as disturbed as he was. He felt her hands clench on either side of her waist.

He knew he should be ashamed. Hadn’t he just decided that taking her would be dishonorable? Hadn’t he planned to kiss her hand and send her on her way?

Well, as his old friend Bobby Burns was wont to say, the best laid plans o’ mice an’ men, gang aft agley.

“Goddamn it!” the sergeant suddenly barked, his voice muffled. He must have been down the hole. “He must have just moved it! I can still smell the damn brandy!”

There was general stomping around. “What do we do?” one of the men asked.

The door slammed. “Wait out the storm and go home.”

Wait out the storm? Ian almost groaned out loud. If he didn’t move soon, he would simply explode. If he didn’t ravage Sarah’s soft mouth and feast on her lush breasts. If he didn’t drive into her until both of them were spent, shaking and smiling.

“We know he holds it here,” the Sergeant was saying. “We’ll be waiting the next time the moon is dark. Now, tend to your animals and get comfortable. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”