Twice Tempted (42 page)

“Martha…” Martin was getting redder by the minute. “Why haven’t I heard about this? You boarding people here? What would Boswell say?”

Sarah tilted her head. “I imagine he’d say that he was glad for the eggs every morning for breakfast, Martin.”

For a second she thought Martin might have a seizure, right there on his gelding. “You’re not going to get away with abusing your privilege much longer, missy,” he snapped. “This land is…”

“Boswell’s,” she said flatly. “Not yours until we know he won’t come back.”

“Bah!” Martin huffed. “It’s been almost four months, girl. If he was coming back, he’d be here.”

Sarah stood very still, grief and guilt swamping even the fear. Instinctively her gaze wandered over to what she called Boswell’s arbor, a little sitting area by the cliff with a lovely view of the ocean. Boswell had loved sitting there, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had planted all the roses and fitted the latticework overhead.

His roses, though, were dying. His entire estate was dying, and Sarah was no longer certain she could save it.

“He will be back, Martin,” she said, throwing as much conviction as she could into her voice. “You’ll see. Men are returning from Belgium all the time. The battle was so terrible it will be months yet before we learn the final toll from Waterloo.”

It was the squire who brought their attention back with a sharp
harrumph
.

Sarah blushed. “My apologies, Squire,” she said. “You did not come here to be annoyed by our petty grievances. As for your question, I have seen no one here.”

“We’ve also been told to keep an eye out for a big man,” the squire said. “Red hair. Scottish. Don’t know that it’s the same man that’s raiding the henhouses, but you should keep an eye out anyway.”

Sarah was already shaking her head. After all, she hadn’t seen anything but a shadow. “Wasn’t it a Scot who tried to shoot Wellington? I saw the posters in Lyme Regis. I thought he was dead.”

The squire shrugged. “We’ve been asked to make sure.”

“I’m sure you won’t mind if we search the property,” Martin challenged.

He was already dismounting. Sarah’s heart skidded, and her palms went damp. “Of course not,” she said with a faint wave. “Start with the house. I believe the dowager will be just as delighted to see you as the last time you surprised her.”

Martin was already on the ground and heading toward the house. With Sarah’s words, he stopped cold. Sarah refused to smile, even though the memory of Lady Clarke’s last harangue still amused her.

“Just the outbuildings,” he amended, motioning to the men to follow him.

Sarah was a heartbeat shy of protesting when she heard it. Willoughby. The thudding turned into a great crash and the heartfelt squeals turned into a near-scream of triumph. She turned just in time to jump free as the pig came galloping across the yard, six hundred pounds of unrestrained passion headed straight for Squire’s horse.

Unfortunately, Martin was standing between Willoughby and his true love. And Sarah sincerely doubted that the pig could see the man in his headlong dash to bliss. Sarah called out a warning. Martin stood frozen on the spot, as if staring down the specter of death. Howling with laughter, the squire swung Maizie about.

It was all over in a moment. Squire leapt from Maizie and gave her a good crack on the rump. With a flirtatious toss of the head and a whinny, the mare took off down the lane, Willoughby in hot pursuit. But not before the boar had run right over Martin, leaving him flat in the mud with hoofprints marching straight up his best robin’s-egg superfine and white linen. Sarah tried so hard to keep a straight face. The other men weren’t so restrained, slapping legs and laughing at the man who’d brought them as they swung their horses around and charged down the lane after the pig.

Sarah knew that she was a Christian because she bent to help Boswell’s unpleasant relation off the ground. “Are you all right, cousin?”

Bent over and clutching his ribs, Martin yanked his arm out of her grasp. “You did that on purpose, you bitch.”

The squire frowned. “Language, sir. Ladies.”

Martin waved him off as well. “This is no lady, and you know it, Bovey. Why my cousin demeaned himself enough to marry a by-blow…”

Sarah laughed. “Why, for her dowry, Martin. You know that. Heavens, all of Dorset knows that.”

The only thing people didn’t know was the identity of her real father, who’d set up the trust for her. But then, knowing had been no benefit to her.

“What Dorset knows,” Squire said, his face red, “is that you’ve done Boswell proud. Even kind to his mother, and I have to tell you, ma’am, that be no easy feat.”

Sarah spared him another smile. “Why, thank you, Squire. That is kind of you.”

The squire grew redder. Martin harrumphed.

“Climb on your horse, Clarke,” Squire said. “It’s time we left Lady Clarke to her work. We certainly haven’t made her day any easier.”

Martin huffed, but he took up his horse’s reins. He was still brushing off his once-pristine attire when the soldiers, bantering like children on a picnic, returned brandishing Willoughby’s lead, the pig following disconsolately behind.

With a smile for the ragged soldier who’d caught him, Sarah held her hand out for the rope. “Thank you, Mr.…”

The man, lean and lined from sun and hardship, ducked his head. “Greggins, ma’am. Pleasure. Put up a good fight, ’e did.”

She chuckled. “I know all too well, Mr. Greggins.” Turning, she smiled up at her neighbor. “Thank you, Squire. I am so sorry you had to send Maizie off.”

The squire grinned at her, showing his gap teeth and twinkling blue eyes. “Aw, she’ll be at the bottom of the lane, right enough. She knows to get out of yon pig’s way.”

Tipping his low-crowned hat to Sarah, he turned to help Martin onto his horse. Sarah waved farewell and tugged a despondent Willoughby back to his pen. She was just pulling the knot tight when she caught sight of that shadow again, this time on her side of the coop. Casting a quick glance to where the squire had just mounted behind the pig-catching soldier Greggins, she bent over Willoughby.

“I wouldn’t show myself yet if I were you,” she murmured, hoping the shadow heard her. “And if it was you who let Willoughby go a moment ago, I thank you.”

“A search would have been…problematic,” she heard, and a fresh chill chased down her spine. There was a burr to his voice. A Scot, here on the South Dorset coast. Now, how frequently could she say she’d seen that?

“You didn’t by any chance recently shoot at someone, did you?” she asked.

As if he would tell the truth, if he were indeed the assassin.

“No’ who you think.”

She should turn around this minute and call for help. Every instinct of decency said so. But Martin was the local magistrate, and Sarah knew how he treated prisoners. Even innocent ones. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sarah listened to the jangle of the troop turning to leave.

“Give you good day, Lady Clarke,” the squire said, and waved the parade off down the drive.

Martin didn’t follow right away. “This isn’t over, missy,” he warned. “No thieving by-blow is going to keep me from what is mine. This land belongs to me now, and you know it. By the time you let go, it will be useless.”

Not unless the shingle strand sinks into the ocean
, she thought dourly. The only thing Martin wanted from Fairbourne was a hidden cove where boats could land brandy.

Sarah sighed, her mind made up. She simply could not accommodate Martin in this or anything. Straightening, she squarely faced the dyspeptic man where he stiffly sat his horse. “Fairbourne is Boswell’s,” she said baldly. “Until he returns, I am here to make sure it is handed back into his hands in good heart. Good day, Martin.”

Martin opened his mouth to argue and then saw the squire and other men waiting for him. He settled for a final “Bah!” and dug his heels into his horse. They were off in a splatter of mud.

Sarah stood where she was until she could no longer hear them. Then, with a growing feeling of inevitability, she once more climbed past the broken pigpen and approached the shadow at the back of the coop.

And there he was, a very large redheaded man slumped against the stone wall. He was even more ragged than the men who had ridden with Martin, his clothing tattered and filthy, his hair a rat’s nest, his beard bristling and even darker red than his hair. His eyes were bright, though, and his cheeks flushed. He held his hand to his side, and he was listing badly.

Sarah crouched down next to him to get a better look and saw that his shirt was stained brown with old blood. His hands, clutched over his left side, were stained with new blood, which meant that those bright eyes were from more than intelligence. Even so, Sarah couldn’t remember ever seeing a more compelling, powerful man in her life.

“Hello,” she greeted him, her own hands clenched on her thighs. “I assume I am speaking to the Scotsman for whom everyone is looking.”

His grin was crooked and under any other circumstance would have been endearing. “Och, lassie, nothin’ gets past ye.”

“I thought you were dead.”

He frowned. “Wait a few minutes,” he managed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And then, as gracefully as a sailing vessel slipping under the waves, he sank all the way to his side and lost consciousness.

Also by Eileen Dreyer

Barely a Lady

Never a Gentleman

Always a Temptress

It’s in His Kiss
(e-original)

Once a Rake

Praise for the Drake’s Rakes Series

Once a Rake

“Dreyer dazzles readers with her incomparable gift for creating heartbreakingly real characters and her inimitable flair for fusing sexy passion and dangerous intrigue in a richly emotional, wickedly witty, and altogether enthralling historical romance.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

“4 ½ stars! Dreyer is a master storyteller who merges intrigue and passion perfectly…
Once a Rake
is hard to put down and difficult to forget.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“This series is so thoroughly engaging, so emotionally taut, that it’s difficult to wait patiently for each new adventure. Her fans will be ravenous for this one.”

—
Library Journal

“Entertaining, well-written, and emotionally satisfying.”

—LikesBooks.com
 

Always a Temptress

“4 ½ stars! [Dreyer’s] novels have every hallmark of a memorable historical romance: passion, unforgettable characters, an engrossing plot. May she continue to deliver her fantastic historicals!”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Fueled by a surfeit of sizzling sensuality, chilling suspense, and delectably dry wit…Dreyer again deftly combines deadly intrigue and sexy romance in a swoon-worthy read.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

“A perfect ten! The characterizations make
Always a Temptress
an awesome read…a tantalizing tapestry of romance.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“One of the jewels within the story is the wonderful band of supporting characters we encounter…I enjoyed this book for the suspense, the romance, and the humor that was beautifully mixed together in a wonderful story.”

—Fresh Fiction.com

“A super Regency undercover romance starring a tough combat veteran and a courageous heroine. Their pairing make for a fun thriller, but it is the support cast at Rose Workhouse and an orphanage that brings a strong emotional element to an exciting, complicated historical.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews.blogspot.com

Never a Gentleman

“Exquisite characterization; flashes of dry, lively wit; marvelous villains; and a dark, compelling plot that unfolds in tantalizing ways.”

—
Library Journal

“A pure joy to read! Dreyer displays her phenomenal sense of atmosphere in an emotionally powerful and beautifully rendered love story…the consummate storyteller makes the conventional unconventional. Combining beautifully crafted, engaging characters with an intriguing mystery adds depth.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“As always, Ms. Dreyer has written an engrossing story which will entice the reader into the world of the Regency.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Superb…an intoxicating read.”

—The Romance Readers Connection.com
 

Barely a Lady

One of
Publishers Weekly
’s Best Books of 2010

A Top Ten
Booklist
Romance of the Year

One of
Library Journal
’s Best Five Romances of the Year

“Dreyer flawlessly blends danger, deception, and desire into an impeccably crafted historical that neatly balances adventurous intrigue with an exquisitely romantic love story.”

—
Chicago Tribune

“Vivid descriptions, inventive plotting, beautifully delineated characters, and stunning emotional depth.”

—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“Romantic suspense author Dreyer makes a highly successful venture into the past with this sizzling, dramatic Regency romance. Readers will love the well-rounded characters and suspenseful plot.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“
Barely a Lady
is addictively readable thanks to exquisitely nuanced characters, a brilliantly realized historical setting, and a captivating plot encompassing both the triumph and tragedy of war. Love, loss, revenge, and redemption all play key roles in this richly emotional, superbly satisfying love story.”

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Booklist
(starred review)

“Top Pick! 4 ½ stars! An emotionally powerful story…unique plotline…intriguing characters.”

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RT Book Reviews

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