Yankee Earl (32 page)

      
By the time they had hit the ground, Jason knew he had made a mistake of monumental proportions. And he also knew the shape and contours of the body beneath him. “Rachel?” he croaked stupidly, blinking straw and dust from his eyes as he stared down into her startled face, which by now was taking on the rosy hue of fury.

      
He tried to scramble off her. She assisted him with a sharp punch to his lower abdomen and followed through with a kick that landed wickedly close to his private parts. Thank heavens it only grazed his thigh as he rolled to his side. He put up his hands to ward off further mayhem, trying to grunt out an apology over her shrieks.

      
Soon a stableman came running into the barn, just in time to be knocked down by Sugar, who having had quite her fill of human escapades, bolted out the open door into the paddock. Araby continued to snort, but once his master and the other human ceased rolling around on the floor, he stood still, as if waiting to see what would happen next.

      
“You beetle-headed, hell-bent, cow-handed Bedlamite! My mouth tastes as if I swallowed a horse blanket. What on earth were you about? You could have broken my neck,” she yelled, gathering wind for another diatribe as she rolled up on her hands and knees, glaring at him through a tangle of straw-matted hair.

      
Regaining his own breath as he climbed to his feet, Jason could see the humor of the situation. "I believe this is called déjà vu, Countess," he said, extending his hand to assist her up. "The first time we met…er, collided, you were positioned just so."

      
“And 'twas you, you great buffoon, who occasioned what is becoming an habitual posture in your presence,” she gritted out, slapping his proffered hand away and scrambling to her feet unassisted.

      
“At least consider that straw is more easily removed than mud,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

      
“Yes, I am so fortunate. Why on earth did you attack me?”

      
“Why on earth did you lurk behind me without making a sound? I've grown overcautious since Forrestal began trying to have me murdered.”

      
Knowing her face was red, and not all of it from anger now, she shot back hotly, “I was not lurking.”

      
“Yes, you were. I can always sense when someone is contemplating my backside with hostile intent.”

      
“A pity your instincts work only when you're sober or you might have sooner noted those thugs encircling you in that tavern.”

      
“Touché, Countess. But just what were you doing spying on me, anyway?” he asked as he took up his shirt from a peg on the wall and deliberately began rubbing his chest with it.

      
She wished he would not do that. It quite destroyed her concentration. Now what had he just asked her anyway? Bits of gold straw glinted in the black pelt as he dried perspiration with the shirt, then started to slip it over his shoulders. Her mind whirled for an instant before she blurted out, “I have a message from Bristol.”

      
The instant the words escaped her lips, she gasped, realizing they were not alone. So did Jason, who raised his finger to his lips when the young stableman came stumbling down the long corridor toward them.

      
The lad was more than a little curious to see an earl and a viscount's daughter rolling about the stable floor and frightening the horses. The Quality really were a different breed, a bit drafty between the ears. “Every-thin' all right, m'lord?”

      
“Quite all right, thank you,” Jason replied smoothly as he patted Araby's neck and crooned to the big black, who instantly quieted. “Would you be so kind as to see to the lady's mount?”

      
“Yes, m'lord.” With a short bow, the youth left, still rubbing the shoulder that he'd slammed into the barn door when he leaped out of Sugar's path.

      
“Now, what news from Bristol?” Jason asked after the servant left the stable.

      
“I just received word this afternoon. Your ship sails the Friday after the wedding,” she said, trying in vain to ignore his strong brown hands smoothing his shirttails below the low-riding waist of his britches.

      
He took the missive from her and glanced at it, trying in vain to ignore her outthrust breasts as she ran her slender fingers over them, brushing away bits of straw clinging to the sheer fabric of her shirt. “Ah, the
Mirabelle
. Not as fast as a clipper but a good craft all the same. 'Twill be good to feel the pitch of a ship's deck beneath my feet again.”

      
“Do you miss the sea?” she could not help asking.

      
“Aye. At times I do,” he replied thoughtfully. “Twas an adventuresome life.”

      
“I have never been aboard anything larger than a packet going from Gravesend to Brighton. What is it like to sail across an ocean?”

      
His blue eyes took on a faraway expression for a moment as he remembered the past. “There is a sense of boundless freedom when you face that endless rolling blue horizon where sky meets sea. The keen salt scent of the air, the sharp sting of the wind are all unique when you're in the middle of the Atlantic. And the ports…heavens above, the sights and smells, so alien, so alluring.”

      
“To where have you sailed?” Rachel had given little thought to his life before he became the earl.

      
“Where have I not? The West Indies, South America. There is a lushness to the tropics that scents the air like nothing else. The sweetest fragrance blended with decay. The sky is so blue it blinds one, and the trees groan with exotic fruits just waiting to be picked.”

      
“You've been many places,” she murmured.

      
“Once I rounded the Horn and crossed the Pacific to the Sandwich Islands, then went on to China. Quite a lucrative trade in the East. If not for the war with England, I would've made a second voyage.”

      
“Far Cathay. I read about Marco Polo when I was a girl. Are the inhabitants really yellow-skinned with oddly shaped eyes?”

      
He chuckled. “Their complexions vary just as ours do. The more time they spend in the sun, the more they appear yellow, but 'tis not really yellow—more like golden brown. And many are as white as the palest Englishman. As to the eyes, they believe ours most peculiar, being what they call rounded.”

      
Rachel nodded. “That makes sense. Every race judges others by their own peculiar standards of beauty. Have you ever sailed to Africa?”

      
“No, but one day I would like to. There are ebony-skinned races with ancient civilizations and whole tribes of people no taller than children. Perhaps now I shall have the opportunity to see all of that for myself,” he said pensively.

      
“I had never considered how much you gave up to become an earl.”

      
The earnest tone of her voice resonated deep within him, surprising him. Jason could see that she understood, even sympathized with, his torn loyalties. “Being a ship's master is not unlike being an earl. In both cases, the man in charge must place the well-being of those under his protection above his own. Not an easy task, with some of the rowdy fellows who sailed with me.” He grinned fondly, remembering long-ago adventures.

      
“Once I had to bluff my way through an audience with a Chinese warlord to secure the release of two boatswains who had gotten…er, boisterous in a Shanghai brothel.”

      
Rachel returned his smile, feeling suddenly sad. “How narrow our world must appear to you. Balls, plays and routs, senseless frivolity. Gossip and social position are all Englishmen think about.”

      
“Considering the situation with Napoleon, I imagine the War Office and Admiralty have a few other things weighing on their minds,” he said, feeling oddly touched. He had always known that she was intelligent, but she could be surprisingly intuitive and sensitive as well.
      
“Thank you, Rachel.”

      
She looked at him, bemused. “Whatever for?”

      
“For understanding that I did not wish to be an earl. Even had matters worked out with my grandfather, part of me would always have been a simple American sailor.”

      
“There is nothing about you that is simple, Jason Beaumont,” she murmured.

* * * *

      
While twirling her parasol absently, Harry studied her sister across the seat of the caleche. Since it was such a lovely morning, they had decided to ask the driver to let down the top. Harry protected her fair complexion, but Rachel made no effort to keep the sun off her face as they journeyed back to London. Wanting to get some exercise, the baron rode his horse ahead of the conveyance.

      
“You were splendid with young Simmons, Rachel. I could not have handled the matter more adroitly…well, perhaps I might have lingered a bit longer when he bade us farewell. He is quite interested in you, you know. 'Twould appear you appeal to unconventional males.”

      
“Utterly unsuitable males, you mean. Father would have apoplexy if I showed interest in a Cit, even though he is a decent and intelligent man. Besides, I have no intention of using Garnet's son,” Rachel replied.

      
“More fool, you. Especially considering how often you've remarked on the arrogance of your betrothed. Nothing takes a man down so handily as seeing the lady of his heart being attended by another man.”

      
Rachel snorted. “I am not the lady of the earl's heart. According to him, I am no lady at all. Nor do I claim to be,” she quickly added.

      
Harry did not snort but instead gave a delicate cough, which served the same purpose. “Balderdash. I marked the way Falconridge scowled when Mr. Simmons took your hand before we boarded the caleche.”

      
“Jason always scowls unless…he's in a towering rage, in which case he screws up his face and bellows.”

      
“And you love him to distraction—never deny it.”

      
Rachel sighed at her sister's tone. “You are positive that Jason desires me and that such physical longing will lead to genuine affection. But I know better. He desires nothing so much as to return to his sailing ships and resume his old life. Nothing else will make him happy. Nor would I be happy playing dutiful wife. No, I don't want him to remain here after the marriage has been consummated…if it is consummated,” she added softly.

      
“You do not doubt Jason. You doubt yourself,” Harry admonished. “All men—”

      
“Jason Beaumont is not like any man alive,” Rachel blurted out impatiently.

      
“Indeed he is not. That is why he is your perfect match. I must give credit to the marquess for seeing it first, but I now quite agree with his decision.”

      
Rachel looked at her sister as if she'd grown a second head. “Cargrave saw his grandson and me as a love match?”

      
“Do not look so incredulous. Raising your eyebrows thus causes wrinkles. And yes, his lordship did point out to Father that a gel such as you required a firm hand—and,” she hastened on, forestalling Rachel's angry retort, “a wild young rapscallion such as Jason required a woman of spirit to gentle him.”

      
“How did you learn such a preposterous thing?”

      
Harry's pink lips plumped up in a self-satisfied grin. “How do I ever learn what Father and his friends are plotting? I eavesdropped on their conversation the other afternoon in Cousin Roger's study. The two of them thought no one else was about. Anyway, I'd made earlier inquiries about the marchioness.”

      
“Lady Mathilda?” Rachel risked more wrinkles, frowning in concentration. “Fox once mentioned something about his grandfather showing him her portrait at Cargrave Hall.”

      
Theirs was a famous love match, according to the Dowager Duchess of Chitchester.”

      
“She is certainly old enough to remember,” Rachel replied dryly. “But even if 'tis true, Jason and I are not Cargrave and Lady Mathilda.”

      
“I suppose we shall have to wait until the wedding night to find that out, shan't we?” Harry said impishly. “I do believe the cream silk night rail with bronze lace will do the trick…”

Chapter Seventeen

      
As Rachel and her sister and brother-in-law made their way back to London, Jason prepared to depart for Falconridge. His marriage was less than a week away. And he was more confused than ever about Rachel Fairchild. They had played at cat-and-mouse, taking turns bedeviling each other, taunting, teasing, and in the process discovering that there was physical desire between them. But was there something more?