Stand and Deliver Your Love (14 page)

One of the other lords interrupted. “Like a charity of some sort?”

“My wife does some charitable works,” replied another with a snort, “Each month she gives away half of her wardrobe to the needy and appeals to me for more blunt to replace the items.”

There was a hardy round of guffaws and Byron could not help but feel consoled he wasn't married to the man’s wife.

The king smiled. “Are you saying, Lord Dublin, I should give half of my wardrobe to the orphans? Could you just picture the little wretches walking the streets in a pair of my fine doeskin breeches?” The group of men laughed even harder.

When the laughter faded Byron grinned sheepishly at the king. “I just thought there might be something of those who are better off than the rest, could do to help.”

The king’s expression grew sober. “You are quite right, Lord Cobbett, we should do something. It is our responsibility to better those who cannot better themselves, would you not all agree?”

Everyone was quick to agree with their monarch and numerous ideas were tossed about.

A tap on the door interrupted their discussion. A butler entered and informed the king that the ladies and the evening entertainment awaited the men in the theatre room.

The king nodded to Byron as they left the room. “Rest assured, Lord Cobbett, I will think more on this problem.”

“I appreciate you giving it your valued attention, Your Eminence.”

Chapter
Fourteen

Byron looked up as the clock struck twelve. It was time for his meeting with Sarah. He made his excuses to the few couples and the king who had yet to retire, then wended his way upstairs to his room. Luckily, Lady Livington had retired earlier ple
ading a headache. He feared he would have had a difficult time rejecting her persistent advances. When he reached his room he turned the door knob, entering with stealth, so as not to alert the woman who occupied the room next to his of his presence. After shutting the door he crossed the room to the dressing table to remove the pin holding his cravat. His valet had left his night clothes hanging on the back of the chair and thoughtfully added wood to the fire. Tossing his neck cloth to the table top he heard a muffled cough. He spun around. The sound came from behind the curtains drawn shut around the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. With a chuckle he draped it over the back of a chair and crossed to the bedside.

“When you requested me to meet you in my chamber I did not expect you to desire a late night tryst, mistress,” Byron teased. He drew bac
k the curtains with a flourish. Instead of Sarah, he found Lady Livington awaiting him, totally naked.

She sprawled in a seductive pose
across the silk sheets, smiling up at him without a trace of modesty. “You lingered so long downstairs I began to think you were not interested after all,” she purred.

Byron quickly recovered from the shock and frowned at the woman. “Lady Livington, what are you doing here?”

She giggled. “Were you expecting someone else? Really darling, there is no reason to pretend to be so shy when we are alone.”

Byron snatched up the pink silk nightdress the woman left lying on the floor by the bedside and held it out. “I think you need to put this back
on.” The lady grinned, but made no move to take the robe from him. Taking a deep breath he leaned over the bed to drape the garment around her. She reached up as if she were going to pluck it from his hand and pulled him down onto the bed beside her instead.

“See here, I—”

“Shhh, someone might hear,” she whispered bringing her lips to his.

He tried to move away but she caught his head between her hands to still him, as her lips ravishing his in a practiced but openly wanton way. Byron’s mind raced. He had to get r
id of her before Sarah arrived! He sat up, tearing his mouth from hers. “Lady Livington, you have to leave.”

The lady stared at him open mouthed
for a moment and then sat up. With a coy smile she slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her small breasts against his naked chest. “Do not be so prude, my lord. I want you and I know you want me.” She gave him a lust-filled smile and thrust one of her hands down the front of his trousers. His manhood jumped and swelled as she applied a knowing caress. “See? You do want me.”

Byron struggled to maintain his control and composure as her fingers worked their magic.

“Only a fool would not want you,” he said his voice husky with desire. He pushed her away, at the same time he heard a light tap on his door.
Damn! It has to be Sarah at the door.

 
He turned as the door inched open and Sarah slipped into the room. She gasped when she caught sight of the naked woman in his bed. With a look that could scorch butter, she ran from the room. “Sarah!” Byron leaped from the bed, scrambling to button his trousers and follow her. By the time he reached the corridor she was nowhere to be seen. He returned to his room and gave Lady Livington a frosty look. “Get out!” Jerking his shirt from the back of the chair he turned his back on the naked woman. He shrugged into his shirt and buttoned it. Stalking to the bedside table he poured himself a glass of brandy. Lifting it to his lips he paused, glaring at her over the rim.

She stared back at him with shocked bewilderment. “Out? Do you mean to tell me you do not want to make love to me because a maid might gossip?”

“No,” Byron growled. “I mean get out!”

Her face twisted into an ugly sneer.
“Oh, I see now. You planned to share your bed this night with a common serving girl.”

Byron gulped down the drink and glared at her. “No. She was to meet me here, but not for that reason, I—
never mind. Please leave.”

She slipped on her nightdress and flounced past him. Without a backward look she left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Byron cringed as the noise echoed through the quiet halls. Now what was he going to do?

He had to find Sarah, but how? He wasn't sure where the servant's quarters were. People would certainly ask questions if he were to venture
there at this hour. Byron ran a hand through his mussed hair. With any luck there might still be a few servants up whom he might ask to take a message to Sarah. He set down his empty glass and headed out into the dimly lit hall to the main stairway.

Damn Lady Livington, he thought, picking his way down the stairs and heading for the back of the palace where the kitchen would be. He should have known she was up to something when she arranged to have the bedchamber next to his and pleaded a headache. When he opened the kitchen door he found a serving girl still attending the fire in the big cooking hearth.

She jumped to her feet when she heard him, her mouth forming a large ‘O’ of surprise when she realized he was not another servant. “My lord,” she managed with a quick curtsy, “Is there something I can get you?”

“No
… I mean yes.” Byron grimaced at his lack of savoir-faire. His shirt was hanging out of his trousers and his hair was mussed. He certainly didn't look, or sound, like the commanding marquis he was supposed to be. Clearing his throat he tried again. “Yes there is. I am looking for a serving girl, a red-haired one.” When the blonde girl eyed him with distain, he realized she mistook his intentions. It was obvious she thought he was looking for a body to warm his bed for the night, and that he preferred redheads. “I um, I have some news of a sick relative for one of the serving girls here. Maybe you know where I can find her…or you can have her sent to me. Her name is Sarah.”

Th
e girl looked him over as if she was unsure whether or not to believe his story.

“Sarah is not a regular servant of the king’s.”

Byron gave the girl what he hoped passed for a winning smile. “Yes, I know. I am going home in the morning and have not yet had the chance to pass on this much anticipated message from her dear mother.”

“Oh,” the girl breathed giving him a polite smile. “I will go fetch her to the small

parlor.”

 
Byron turned and made his way back through the maze of corridors to the small informal parlor. A fire still crackled in the hearth when he entered the room. Relieved to see the room was unoccupied, he crossed the small cozy area and took the chair nearest

fire to wait for Sarah. The tick-tock of the clock began to grate on his nerves as the minutes passed. Finally there was a discreet tap on the door.

Byron stood. “Enter.”

When the door opened, instead of Sarah, the little blonde maid
stood on the threshold. “My lord, it seems the Sarah you are looking for has left suddenly.”

Byron puzzled the information. “Left? When will she be back?”

“I was given the impression she would not be coming back, my lord. All of her things are gone.”

“Damn her,” Byron swore under his breath. “Where did she go?”

The girl wrung her hands at his obvious displeasure. “I do not know, my lord.”

Byron stomped from the room, making his way back up the main stairs. A footman was about to knock on his door when he reached the hall.

“Oh, there you are, my lord. The king has asked if you would escort Lady Livington back to London. It seems she is feeling ill and wishes to seek the advice of her own physician.”

Byron stared at him. “Now?”

The footman shrugged looking apologetic. “Yes.”

“Good God, why me?”

The footman shrugged again and turned to leave. Byron hel
d up his hand to stop him. “Is His Excellence still up?”

“He has just retired, my lord. He did say it was most fitting for you to escort the lady home since you are in charge
of finding the highwayman. His Excellence said you are to take as many of the men as you see fit.” With that the footman hurried back down the hall and disappeared down the servants’ stairway.

Byron swore under his breath
, as he entered his room to ring for his valet. Was this all another ploy by Lady Livington to get him into her bed? It could very well be, he decided. Well what was stopping him? Sarah had no claim to him, nor he to her, so what did he care what she thought? If Sarah wanted her jewels back she knew where to find him. Let her play her highwayman games. He just wanted to go back home and forget he ever laid eyes on the woman. He would escort Lady Livington home because it was the king’s order, then continue on to his own estate. When the valet arrived, he informed him of his plans and commanded all his things be packed and made ready to leave immediately.

A little over an hour later, Byron was dressed, packed and mounted on Bacchus. Four of the king’s men sat on their mounts beside him waiting for his orders to ride out. He shifted in his saddle
, impatiently checking and rechecking his pistol load as he waited for Lady Livington. If the woman was in such a panic to get back to London, why was she taking so bloody long to get ready, he thought letting his sour mood rule him. Finally when he was about to dismount and go in search of the woman himself, she strolled down the lantern lit steps, looking anything but ill.

She gave him a disdainful look. “What are you doing here?”

  Byron put away his pistol, pretending he did not notice her animosity. “The king ordered me to see you safely to London.”

“I see.” A footman opened the coach door for her. She tipped her nose in the air and
climbed inside.

It seemed he had made an enemy. Byron signaled for the coach-and-four to head out. He
maneuvered his horse to trot alongside, wanting to stay within the meager light of the carriage’s lanterns. After about an hour the wind picked up and it started to rain. Byron grunted, hunching his shoulders against the driving rain. Just when he was thinking they should turn back and return to their warm beds, Lady Livington called to him from inside the carriage. He signaled the driver to pull up and leaned down to the window to see what she wanted.

She gave him a smile dripping with sweetness
showing none of her earlier displeasure. “Lord Cobbett, you poor dear. Come inside where it is dry.”

He eyed her
, wondering what she was up to. “I am fine out here, Lady Livington.”

She affected a pretty pout. “Come now. Can we not forget our earlier misunderstanding?” When he hesitated she continued. “There is no reason for you to ride out in the rain when there is plenty of room here inside.”

Byron sighed. She was right. He dismounted, tying Bacchus to the back of the carriage then hopped inside. Both interior lanterns were lit displaying the carriage’s luxurious cushioning to its fullest. The lady sat facing him with a rather smug look on her face, her lap covered with a light fur robe. She held two glasses of champagne in her hand. When he was settled across from her, she handed one of the glasses to him. He took a swig of the bubbly, relishing the feel of the liquid as it tickled his throat. He nodded his thanks and stretched his legs out in front of him. She just smiled and glanced at her maid who was sleeping beside her. The carriage lurched into motion and Byron pushed the window curtain aside to check his horse followed obediently. When he was satisfied with the animal’s behavior, he dropped the curtain back in place and finished his drink.

“Would you care for something to eat? I had the cook pack a lovely basket in case we got hungry. I do so hate to stop at one of those terribly dirty little inns.”

  Her exaggerated shiver of distaste made him frown with annoyance.
Of all the nerve.
The woman actually woke the king’s cook to pack a picnic for her. When he didn't respond she gave him a pretty pout and plucked a slice of greenhouse peach from the wicker basket at her feet. She took a small bite licking her lips in a blatant attempt to be seductive, making small moaning noises of enjoyment.

Byron set his champagne flute down by his feet and leaned back, closing his eyes. He might as well try to get some sleep if possible. The last time he thought to catch a nap in a coach had turned out to be d
isastrous he reminded himself. The steady tapping of the rain, clip clop of the horses’ hooves and jingling harnesses lulled him into a pleasant mood. Byron let his mind drift, wondering where Sarah had gone and why she had been so upset at finding a woman in his bed. She must have been shocked by the sight, he mused, since she no doubt had a well-bred lady’s sensibilities. His thoughts strayed to the night in the cottage. Her response to his touch had been so innocent and unschooled, not like Lady Livington’s touch. The difference he supposed being the latter was a woman already loved and schooled by a man. A woman who wanted and encouraged a man’s touch. He corrected himself, Sarah wanted his touch, he had clearly felt her desire.