Stand and Deliver Your Love (9 page)

He smiled at her
. “I am yours. Touch as you please.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He was hers. If only it were true she thought as she ran her fingers across his cheek bones. If only he could be hers to keep, she fancied, running them down to trace his jaw and the small cleft in his chin. When he swallowed, she traced his Adam
’s apple then carried on down his neck to his chest. Carefully skirting his injured collarbone she let her fingers drift over his nipples and across his washboard stomach, stopping to play a minute in the indentation of his navel. When she looked back up he smiled and slid his free hand down the curve of her hip to her knees and slipped it under the hem of her cotton nightdress. She shivered at the feel of his rough warm hands against her cool bare skin.

When he recaptured her lips in his, she grew bolder and slid the tips of her fingers lower still until they brushed the hair in which nestled his manhood. He tensed for a moment and she stopped thinking she had done something wrong.

“Go on,” he encouraged, in a husky voice. He began to caress his way up her inner thigh with his hand. A tension started to build in Sarah she couldn't explain. She moaned and moved her hips toward him.
What is he doing to me? I should tell him to stop, but I know deep down I do not want him to.
When his fingertips brushed the soft furry mound between her legs she gasped, squeezing her legs tight together. She shouldn't let him touch her this way, she tried to reason with herself. His hand stilled, his lips slipping from hers to kiss and nibble his way down her neck. The sensation was so pleasurable Sarah relaxed and forgot about his hand.

He resumed stroking his way back to her mound. At the same time he kissed a path to her right breast, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to it, until the tip of his tongue touched her swollen nipple through the thin material of her night dress. She felt, rather than heard, his smothered chuckle when she gasped and arched up off the bed. When his fingers touched the soft hair of her mound again, she tensed, bu
t this time allowed him access. The tingling of her body lulled Sarah into a slumber-like state as Byron’s fingers slid further. She cried out when he finally found the swollen bud nestled in the now damp folds of her womanhood. He moved up and took her lips in his to muffle her cries as he stroked and teased the sensitive nub.

The tension built at an alarming rate and
Sarah almost sobbed in frustration at her need for the unknown. Her hips began to move in a primal dance of their own accord, against his hand to bring about a release to the unfamiliar but intoxicating pressure building inside her. Her hands roved his chest frantically seeking what her body craved.

It was then her inner dam burst. Her head seemed
to be filled with the sound of rushing water. Tearing her lips from his she screamed her release until she was sated. Her body was limp and exhausted when she drifted back into the present. Clutching him, she began to sob into his chest with a mixture of awe, completion, and shame.

“Shhh, love,” Byron soothed. “Just rest here in my arms until you are yourself again.”

The warmth and the low rumbling vibration of his chest as he spoke comforted Sarah and she snuggled closer to him with a soft whimper. After a few moments her sobs subsided into a soft sigh. “What have I done?” she lamented.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, cradling her against his chest. The enormity of the situation hit her. “How can you say that? I was horrible and wanton!” She scrambled from the bed. Giving him a horrified look, she snatched up her robe and fled out the door.

“Sarah!” he called, “Sarah, wait!”

Not wanting to face him with her shame, she ducked into the lean-to and hid in the straw behind Dickie’s pony. It was quiet for a few minutes before she heard him exit the cottage.

“Sarah?”

Crouching lower in the straw, she silently willed him to go away.

“Sarah, I am the one who should be ashamed. I knew you were an innocent. I should have realized I would frighten you with my experienced caress. I am sorry.”

His experienced caress? He is a rake! He probably deflowers innocents like me all the time and I fell for his beguiling tricks. I am such a cake.

His footfalls stopped at the door to the shed, his voice was soft and cajoling. “Sarah? I had no right to touch you. I have not been with a woman for so long I forgot myself. Please forgive me.”

“Oh please! Just go away!”

“Please, let me explain. When Clarissa died I—”

She clapped her hands over her ears to block out his excuses. “Go away and leave me be. I do not care to hear anything you have to say.” Her voice cracked, tears threatening to undo her.

“Go, find your horse and leave.”

“I am sorry.”

After a couple minutes of silence she removed her hands from her ears. All was quiet except for the crickets chirping to each other in the dark. The pony shifted and made a snuffling sound. Sarah stood and brushed the straw from her robe. Listening for any sign of the marquis, she crept to the lean-to door and peered out. The man was nowhere to be seen. She hurried across the yard and peeked in the cottage window. The room was empty. He was gone. Even though she had told him to go she could not help feeling forlorn and used.
He touched me as no man but my husband should and left without a care. He did not even offer me marriage.
She bit her lip.
Of course he didn’t offer for me. I am a nobody, just a loose woman from the gutter, a thief.
Nothing more.
Anger replaced her self-pity.
I am somebody to the children. I will not use and abandon them. They need me. He does not.

She slipped inside and climbed into bed. Tossing and turning she lamented her rash behavior, until finally she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter
Nine

Sarah snuggled deeper into the so
ft mattress and sighed.
It is so warm and cozy. It is nice to sleep in a bed again instead of the hard floor.
Her eyes snapped open.
Oh God! What have I done?
Her face burned with shame as she recalled the events of the previous evening.
I gave myself to a man I hardly even know like some dockside doxy! How could I have done such a thing? I am truly immoral!

A chair creaked and
Bert cleared his throat, alerting her to the fact she was not

alone. She scrambled upright
, hugging the bed clothes to her chest.

Byron sat, fully dressed, in a chair nearest the fire staring into the flickering flames while Bert bent over
one of Dickie’s shoes sewing up a hole in them.

 
The old fellow gave her a disapproving look. “'Bout time you awoke. Sun’s been up for near on an hour now.”

Sarah climbed
out of bed and drew her wrapper on over her nightdress.
Oh Lord!
Did he know what she had done with the marquis? “I am sorry Bert,” she stammered, “I guess I was just tired.”

Bert grinned, “Aye, don’t blame you lass, getting a chance to have the bed all to yourself must be a real treat.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Bert apparently had no idea what had gone on between her and the marquis the evening before. She glanced over at Byron. He gave her a sharp look and stood. She glared at him then dropped her gaze and hurried to her trunk to find some clean clothes.

Bert finished the shoe he was repairing and picked up the mate. “We’ll go check to see the boy has the horses saddled while you get dressed,” he offered and headed for the door. The marquis clutched his injured shoulder with his good arm and made to follow.
Sarah sighed and reached for a long woolen scarf at the bottom of the trunk. “Wait. Here, I can make a sling out of this for your shoulder. It should help keep it stable.”

Byron stopped where he was and waited for her to come to him. Crossing the few feet between them seemed like trekking up a steep mountain side. Looking at her feet, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until she finally stood toe to toe with him.

Her hands shook as she raised the material and slid it around the back of his neck. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm rise and his breath brushed across her forehead. As she pulled the fabric across his chest their eyes met and locked. He stared at her with such raw, unveiled desire she blushed. She should be furious with him. He had taken advantage of her. Swallowing, she looked down at her hands and willed her suddenly clumsy fingers to twist the ends of material together into a knot.
What is wrong with me?
She cautioned her voice trying to sound matter of fact, “There. Put your arm in this sling and it will help stabilize your shoulder.” Taking his elbow she slid the sling under his forearm. When he was quiet she lifted her gaze back to his.

 
His eyes searched hers for a brief moment. “Thank you.”

With a curt nod she
turned away. Hurrying back to her trunk she proceeded to busy herself, pulling out various articles of clothing. Once the men left, closing the door behind them, she stopped and sat down on the cot to ponder the situation. No decent man would want a woman so wanton as she, not that there had been any suitors beating down her door so far. If Bert found out he would lose all respect for her. A horrifying thought struck her.
What if a man could tell what I have done? How will I explain it? Dare I ask Byron if an astute man could tell just by looking? After all he had known I was … how had he put it? Inexperienced? How should I ask him if one could tell without looking as if I am not trying to extort a marriage proposal out of him … not to mention Bert finding out?

The knock on the door startled her. “We are ready and waiting, mistress,” Bert called.
Sarah hurried to change. She pulled on her bottle-green riding habit and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Ann had found the habit in a bunch of discarded outfits some lady of fashion deemed out of style and kindly taken in the seams to fit her. Looking at her reflection she noted a rosy glow about her that did nothing to betray her worried state. Did giving herself to a man in such a shameful fashion have outward effects? She certainly couldn't tell. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. She twisted her hair up into a knot on top of her head securing it with her hat pin. Inwardly the effects of the previous

night would haunt her every minute of the day and probably longer.
“Mistress?” Bert called, from the other side of the door.

“Yes, Bert,
I am coming.” She turned away from the mirror. Like it or not she would have to live in silence with whatever consequences arose from her night of stolen passion.

As Ann would say ‘there was no use crying over broken eggs.’ Sarah smoothed down the collar of her riding habit and hurried out of the cottage.

  Bert was waiting patiently holding the reins to both her horse and the lord’s. He jerked his head toward Byron who was already seated, bareback atop his horse. “I think we should blindfold him.”

Byron glowered at him. “Do you really think it is necessary? After all, what reason would I have to come back here when you have the evidence of my thievery to protect your secret?”

Sarah considered his question for a moment. They would have to find another hideout on the other side of London anyway, since people would be leery of travelling without weapons along this road thanks to her botched robbery attempt. Then there was the fact she had the papers to ensure Byron’s silence hidden well in the lean-to. Carrying them on her was too risky, and she thought it better to send someone to retrieve them later. She retrieved the satchel from the lean-to, minus the incriminating ledger and handed it to Byron. “I do not see any reason to blindfold the marquis.”

 
He held her eye for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Ah, my papers.”

“Do not be so pleased with your lot,” Sarah snipped, “I still have the ledger, but I see no reason I should keep the records pertaining to your personal holdings. Besides, if you should try to harm me or follow us beyond the edge of London, Bert would be happy to put a bullet in the back of your head.”

With one last black look at Byron, Sarah turned on her heel and mounted her horse. She sat straight in the saddle and kicked her mare into a brisk trot without a backward glance. Did the man actually think she might have been returning his ledger to him just because she laid with him one night? Did he think his wily charms would make her cave and risk everything?

How like a man to think all his problems could be solved by a quick roll in the hay. If there was one thing she had learned from this experience, it was intimacies with a man just led to more problems.

Once they came to the main road Sarah kicked her mare into a rough canter along the drier of the wheel ruts. She had to stop thinking about the previous night or she would drive herself insane with worry. Crouching lower over her horse’s neck she urged the mare on as fast as she dared in the soft footing. Closing her eyes she let the mare run, relishing the feel of the crisp morning air on her face. How she wished she could outrun her life, leave it all behind and start anew. After a mile or so Sarah slowed her puffing mare to a sedate walk, allowing the men and Dickie to catch up.

Byron reined in his winded horse beside hers. “You run like the hounds of hell are
after you.”

Sarah kept her eyes trained on the road ahead. “Shadow loves to run.”

He chuckled. “As does her rider, I suspect.” He lowered his voice, his tone becoming serious, “No problem was ever solved by running, you know.”

Sarah pasted a bright smile on her face in an attempt to look light hearted. “What makes you think I have a problem?”

“Then you do not regret last night?” he persisted.

Sarah darted a glance over her shoulder to see if Bert could hear. He trailed farther behind with Dickie’s shorter legged po
ny. It was improbable he could overhear any of the conversation. “I do not know what you mean.”

“It seems unlikely to me you would not remember last night,” Byron jested lightly.

She lowered her voice. “I do not care to speak of your attempt to seduce me.”

He laughed. “My attempt to seduce you? As I recall mistress, you were the one who kissed me.”

Sarah's face burned. Why did the man insist on bringing up the previous evening when she was trying so hard to forget it? “I prefer never to speak of the unfortunate incident again.”

“You cannot deny what you felt, Sarah. What w
e both felt.”

She tried to appear nonchalant. “I did not feel anything. If you thought I did then you are sadly mistaken.”

Byron spurred his horse forward and brought Bacchus around directly in the path of her mare, causing her to pull up. “Liar,” he growled. Sarah glared at him. He stared back at her the trace of a smile on his lips not matched by his blazing gaze.

“Is there something wrong, mistress?” Bert asked, riding up behind.

“No, when we get to London would you ensure his lordship gets to his townhouse safely? I will take Dickie home before Ann starts to worry over his whereabouts.” Guiding her horse around Byron’s, she carried on down the road without looking back. The sooner she was back in the comforting confines of her daily routine at the orphanage, the better.