Mary Jo Putney (5 page)

He frowned as he studied her. “You’re still shivering. We need to use the oldest form of heating. Animal warmth.”

Confused, she asked, “Sleep with the horses?”

He grinned and looked far less intimidating. “With each other, in a very chaste way. We’ll burrow into the hay and I’ll hold you and we’ll both be warmer for it.”

Sarah blinked at him. In other words, she’d sleep with a man for the first time in her life, and a relative stranger at that. Oh, well. She was long past the stage of being shocked, so she just nodded and crossed to the piled hay in the corner.

She settled gingerly into the pile. The dry stems and leaves prickled a bit, but the hay was soft and sweet scented. With a sigh of relief, she curled up in a compact ball to generate what warmth she could.

Rob blew out the candle, then moved across the barn to join her in the hay. Even though Sarah trusted him to behave, she tensed as he stretched out beside her.

“Relax,” he murmured as he pulled hay over them both like a light, gently fragrant blanket. Then he tucked her against him, her back against his front. He was large and warm and comforting.

Sarah sighed with pleasure as she stopped shivering and began to unwind. There was nothing passionate about his embrace, only warmth and protection.

For the first time since Sarah’s abduction, she slept well.

M
r. McCarthy’s kitchen looked like a war zone, with overturned furniture and smashed crockery. Flannery paced the length of the room, roaring at his battered and bloody troops. “The three of you let one man break in and carry off the duchess? You’re a bunch of bloody bog dwellers!”

Curran said feebly, “Me and Donovan was sleeping. He took us by surprise.”

“There were still three of you! And him not even carrying a gun.” He glared at Donovan. “Not until he took that fine pistol I bought you!”

“How was I to know the duchess would smash a cast iron skillet over my head?” the driver asked defensively. “I thought she was a lady.”

“She’s more of a man than any of you!” Flannery bellowed. “Her rescuer must be someone who works for Ashton to come after us so quickly. Wherever the two of them are now, they’ll be laughing their heads off.”

“The damned fellow wasn’t one of Ashton’s men,” O’Dwyer said sullenly as he washed blood from his face. “I recognized him. The name’s Carmichael and he’s a bloody Bow Street Runner. One of their best.”

“A Scot?”

“Worse. An Englishman. Has quite a reputation for retrieving runaway heiresses and other delicate problems.” O’Dwyer grimaced as he explored the massive bruise on his temple. “Does a lot of special commissions for rich blokes.”

“Describe him,” Flannery ordered. “I’ll send word to Free Eire members along every road and turnpike from here to the coast. Carmichael may be a Runner, but traveling with little Miss Duchess will slow him down. Get yourselves cleaned up and fed. As soon as it’s light, we’re going after them. Remember, no duchess, no reward.”

“It was all going so well,” Curran muttered.

“That’s when you need to be most careful,” Flannery growled. “Remember, all we need is the duchess. The Runner you can kill.”

 

 

Reminding himself that Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend was a client and a damsel in distress, not a sweet little armful, Rob concentrated on mutual warmth instead of her femaleness. Except for the small part of his mind that was always alert, he fell into exhausted sleep, grateful that she wasn’t the sort to have vapors. In that, she resembled her sister. From what Rob had seen, the duchess was admirably levelheaded and down to earth, traits Sarah shared, even if they both did resemble fluffy golden chicks....

He awoke with a burning erection and a soft female body locked in a heated embrace, only clothing preventing them from joining. His “Good God!” sounded at the same time as her “Merciful heaven!”

Shocked into wakefulness, they scrambled apart. Rob lay on his back and knotted his hands as he cursed himself. He was a grown man, not a hot-blooded youth!

Once more giving thanks that Miss Sarah wasn’t given to vapors, he managed to say in a level voice, “I’m sorry. I don’t generally seduce the females I rescue.”

Sarah made a breathy sound as if she was also clenching her fists. “I don’t think that was a seduction. Just . . . animal warmth in action. Because I’m very warm now!”

“So am I.” He forced himself to consider how Ashton would react if he learned that Rob had bedded the duchess’s sister. That helped his pulse go down quickly.

“You said you don’t usually seduce the females you rescue,” Sarah said, her voice curious. “Does that mean you do sometimes?”

“Of course not! When I’m hired to save girls from being ruined, I certainly can’t ruin them myself.”

“Saving runaway heiresses from their own folly, I presume.” Sarah chuckled. “That doesn’t apply to me. I’m no heiress.”

Rob smiled a little into the darkness. “But the principle remains. My job is to return you uninjured and unruined to your family.”

“I know, and believe me, I’m grateful.” She sighed. “But sometimes I fear that I’m destined to die a virgin.”

Rob choked. “This is not a discussion we should be having!” He drew a deep breath as he tried not to imagine educating this lovely and willing young woman. “Even if you’re not a great heiress, any girl as beautiful as you can’t lack for suitors.”

The light note that had been in her voice vanished. “I don’t. But I loved and lost, and I . . . don’t think that will happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” The pain in her voice made him find her hand and hold it comfortingly. “But a man fool enough to leave you doesn’t deserve endless mourning.”

“He left me by dying, not by an inconstant heart. With him, I felt like the most beautiful, fascinating woman alive. The betrothal ball was to be on my eighteenth birthday. He . . . he was killed in the hunting field a fortnight before.” Her voice broke. “I’d been choosing my bride clothes.”

“Oh, Sarah.” He rolled onto his side and gathered her to his chest. “I’m so sorry. But if he truly loved you, he wouldn’t want you to mourn forever.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. Gerald believed in enjoying life to the fullest.” She sighed. “After mourning for a year, I told myself it was time to start looking. But when I did, I couldn’t find anyone I wanted to marry a fraction as much as I’d wanted to marry Gerald. I’ve been looking for over seven years without success. Solid, worthy men don’t interest me, and I realized that the dashing sorts would break my heart sooner or later.”

“As Gerald did,” Rob said softly.

“Exactly.” Her voice was rueful. “We were both young, and I think we could have grown up well together. But I’ll never know. Because I never had time to fall out of love with him, he still . . . holds my heart. Being a maiden aunt will suit me very well, though. In many ways, I prefer being an independent woman.”

He wondered if that was really true, or if she was just good at making the best of her lot. “Independence has many advantages,” he agreed. “But don’t dismiss the possibility of finding a man who will be a good and honorable companion even if you don’t love him as you did Gerald.”

“Would you marry a woman who is merely a good companion?” she asked skeptically. “I suppose if one hasn’t been madly in love, a congenial companion would seem quite suitable.”

Usually he didn’t talk about his private life, but in the darkness and with Sarah’s honesty as inspiration, he found himself saying, “I’ve known both. I was madly in love when I was about the same age as when you loved Gerald. And I was equally devastated when it ended. Much later, I found . . . the best of companions. At least, for a while.”

Sarah’s voice softened. “What happened to the woman you loved madly? What was she like?”

Rob seldom thought of Bryony anymore. She belonged to the time in his life when he’d still had hope and optimism.

“She was a wild, beautiful shepherd’s daughter on my father’s estate. I’ve never met a girl like her. Black haired and fearless and free.” Rob had a swift, searing mental image of Bryony racing across a meadow ahead of him, her long dark hair flying behind as she laughingly teased him to catch her. He swallowed hard. “I asked her to marry me, despite the difference in rank.”

“And she died?”

His mouth twisted. “My father bought her off. I don’t know how much he gave her. Enough so that she left the area without a word to me.”

Sarah’s hand tightened. “I’m not sure which way of losing a lover is worse.”

Rob hadn’t thought about that, but he didn’t hesitate to say, “Death is worse. I’d like to think Bryony took the money and built herself a good life somewhere. Her parents were dreadful, and perhaps she didn’t believe I was serious about marrying her. The money gave her the chance to be independent. I hope she’s happy.”

“But you were serious about marrying her.” Sarah’s words were soft in the night.

As serious as a man could be. “She would have made a splendid officer’s wife.”

“You’ve served in the army?”

“No. I’d planned to buy a commission in Alex Randall’s regiment since we’d become friends at school. But—circumstances changed.”

“You would have made a good officer,” Sarah said warmly.

“I’d like to think so.” He smiled wryly. “It’s a far more honorable calling than being a Bow Street Runner.”

“But surely a Runner gets to work more justice,” she said.

He was startled by her perception. She was right; a Runner’s work could be sordid, but Rob did manage to bring a little more justice into the world.

“What about the companion? She can’t have been the best if she left you.”

The loss of Cassie was very recent and the ache was deep. “She was brave and dangerous and kind. She traveled a great deal and we were seldom together, but those times were the brightest spots in my life. I thought that someday we might settle down together, but in her eyes, we were bound by friendship, not anything deeper.”

“Was she right?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it as he thought. He’d disagreed with Cassie when she’d told him their true bond was friendship because they were both too self-sufficient to ever need anyone else. “She said we were friends who sometimes shared a bed. I didn’t agree with her then, but perhaps she was right.” After a long silence, he added wistfully, “Friendship might have been enough if she hadn’t found a man who touched her more deeply. But . . . she did.”

“So finding romantic love is possible even after one has lost hope. I find that a comforting thought.” After a pause, Sarah added, “Though it’s none of my business, I’m perishing of curiosity about why you are no longer the Honorable Robert Carmichael.”

He shrugged. “My father disowned me some years ago. Legally, he couldn’t prevent me from styling myself as Honorable, but I’ve no desire to do so. Being a flash cove is not an advantage in my work.”

“I suppose not.” She made a small sound like a suppressed yawn. “I’m ready to fall back asleep, but it’s cold in this barn. Do you think it’s possible for us to cuddle up without something . . . inappropriate happening?”

He considered. “I’m not sure.”

“What if you lie on your side and I apply myself to your backbone?” she suggested.

He smiled. “You won’t be able to keep much of me warm, but it would be safer.”

“Well, then,” she said brightly.

He rolled over so that his back was toward her. There was a rustling of hay as she inched closer. Then he felt delightful female warmth settle along his back and thighs. A small hand slid between his arm and side and came to rest on his chest. She gave a happy little sigh and relaxed.

He did the same. Who would have guessed that he and a fluffy little golden chick could so quickly become friends?

T
o Sarah’s regret, Rob was gone when she woke. She understood now why sharing a bed was so popular—she couldn’t remember when she’d slept so well.

She wistfully contemplated what it would have been like if Rob had been the sort to seduce the females he rescued, but she was grateful for his good sense. Though she didn’t want to die a virgin, a casual romp in the hay was not the solution.

Rob was her knight in shining armor and seriously attractive, but she understood why the “best of companions” had left him. He’d probably make a fine bedmate for a brief encounter, but he was so self-contained that it was hard to imagine him wanting or needing anything more.

She stretched lazily, then climbed out of the hay. It was early morning and the rain had stopped. Enough light entered the barn to outline the horses. No, one horse. Rob must have taken the lame one away, leaving his own mount placidly chewing hay.

She stood and brushed straw off her clothing. She was finding trousers odd but very liberating.

She was heading to the door when Rob swung it open and entered, leading a different horse and carrying a basket. “We’re in luck.” He tethered his new acquisition. “I walked to the farmhouse up the road and told the farmer, Mr. Connolly, a version of the truth—that my young cousin and I are being pursued by villains and we needed transportation. He liked the looks of the lame horse and traded me this one.”

Sarah surveyed her new mount. “So he gave you an elderly hack in exchange for a younger, stronger horse that’s much more valuable and will be healed in a week or two.”

“Exactly. But this old girl isn’t lame, which is what matters for now.” Rob patted the new horse on her bony rump. “Connolly felt guilty enough to invite us to the farmhouse for breakfast.”

“Hot food?” Sarah asked hopefully. “Maybe even hot tea?”

“Very likely—the farm looks prosperous. But I refused. Better they not see you clearly.” He studied her with narrowed eyes. “You’ll barely pass as a boy at a distance. Close up will be impossible even if you darken your hair and smudge your face.”

Sarah sighed. So much for being clean and well fed any time soon. “Is there any of that good cheese left?”

Rob handed her the basket. “No, but Mrs. Connolly packed some fresh bread and a couple of boiled eggs as well as a jug of tea. I’ll drop the basket off as we leave.”

Sarah dived into the basket. There were two thick slabs of buttered soda bread and a pair of eggs still warm from the boiling. She’d never been so happy to see an egg in her life.

She handed one piece of bread and an egg to Rob, then carefully cracked her egg and turned it onto the bread. It was mostly cooked with a soft yoke, just as she preferred. She took a bite and made herself chew slowly rather than wolfing it down. After a swallow of hot, milky tea, she said happily, “Ambrosia! I shall never meet a finer egg.”

Rob actually laughed out loud, which made him look like a different man. She stared at him, thinking he needed to laugh more often.

“I’m glad you’re so easily pleased,” he said.

She bit off another piece of bread and egg. “Small pleasures are the best because they’re everywhere. Anyone who needs grand spectacles is destined to be disappointed much of the time.”

“That’s a good philosophy.” Rob finished off his bread and egg, took a swig of tea, then handed the jug to Sarah. As he began saddling his horse, he continued, “If all goes well, I’ll have you back in Ralston Abbey in five days or so. That is, if you’re up to that much riding astride. I’d rather not hire a carriage.”

She made a face. “I’m straining muscles I didn’t know I had, but I can manage.”

“I’m asking a lot of you, so let me know if the strain becomes too great.” Rob saddled both horses, then packed his saddlebags. He had the efficiency of a man who spent a lot of time on the road.

Sarah braided her hair while he packed, then tucked the braids under the floppy hat that was part of the outfit Rob had supplied. “Do I look suitably boyish?”

His mouth quirked up. “I’m glad the clothes are too large. That helps disguise the fact that you aren’t at all boyish. When we’re near people, keep your head down so all they see is hat. Are you ready to leave?”

Sarah nodded, but when Rob approached to help her onto her horse, she impulsively set her hands on his shoulders and said, “Thank you.” Then kissed him.

He could have avoided her easily, but he didn’t. His mouth was surprisingly warm as he accepted and returned the kiss.

She’d truly meant just to express her gratitude, but the desire that had drawn them together in the night flared back to life. Rob’s arms locked around her as he kissed with focused intensity, as if she were the only thing on earth that mattered.

She was shocked by her own reaction. Though she’d always found him attractive, she hadn’t expected to feel such . . . such
hunger.
Such a desire to melt into a man and let the fire she’d sparked consume her.

They were pressed full length together and his warm hands kneaded and caressed, sending waves of sensation rolling through her whole body. Then the horse beside them whickered nervously and sidestepped away.

Abruptly Rob released her and stepped back, breathing hard. His expression was oddly vulnerable. “That was . . . delightful but unwise, Miss Clarke-Townsend.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, which pulsed with wanting. “I . . . I know. I won’t do it again.” She mustn’t add fuel to a fire that should be allowed to burn out.

Rob’s face returned to its normal controlled calm. “You’ll be home in a few days and this will all just be a bad memory.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “Not all bad.”

“No. Not all bad,” he said quietly. “But I’m sure you’ll be glad to have hot tea and a warm bed and clean clothing.” He linked his fingers to help her mount.

She stepped into his hand and swung into her saddle. Yes, she’d be glad to return to comfort and civilization. But she’d not forget sleeping rough with a Runner in a barn.

 

 

A quarter mile or so along the hedgerow-bound road, they came to the drive that ambled up to the farmhouse. A hundred yards short of the building, Rob said, “Wait here while I return the basket. Try to think boyish thoughts.”

“Which would be . . . ?”

“Food and fighting,” he said before he dismounted, handed her the reins, and continued on foot to the house.

The door opened quickly after he knocked and a tall, broad fellow accepted the basket with a stream of Irish words. Rob frowned and replied in Irish. Mr. Connolly glanced over at Sarah curiously. She tried to think boyish thoughts.

The conversation continued for several minutes, with hand gestures. After a polite nod and farewell, Rob rejoined Sarah. As he mounted, he said tersely, “Just a few minutes ago, several men stopped by the house looking for a couple of English thieves known to be in this area. Mr. Connolly told them he’d seen no such persons.”

“Do we risk running into those fellows ahead?” Sarah asked, alarmed.

They reached the road and Rob turned left, the way they’d come rather than continuing in the same direction. “We should be all right. Connolly told me of a lane that cuts over to a parallel road and eventually leads to an eastbound turnpike.”

“How quickly can Flannery and his men get the word out about us? Surely not much faster than we can travel.” Knowing that she and Rob were heading back toward McCarthy’s house and might run into her captors made Sarah’s skin creep.

Rob’s narrowed eyes and alertness showed that he was equally wary. “I don’t know how large or well-organized Free Eire is. If mail coaches are used to spread the word, there could be people watching for us all the way to the coast.”

She tried not to think about being recaptured. “So we ride fast and watch carefully. You said they were looking for an English couple. I didn’t know you spoke Irish, but you seemed very fluent. Can you pass as an Irishman, or was that Scottish Gaelic and too different from the local accent?”

“Despite my name, I’m not Scottish. My branch of the Carmichaels moved south.” Rob’s tone was dry. “One of my Scottish ancestors betrayed his king and was rewarded with an English estate and title. The noble origins of my family.”

Curious to know more about him, she asked, “How did you learn Irish?”

“My mother was the daughter of a Church of Ireland vicar. My father met her when he was visiting his estate, Kilvarra, and fell head over heels. She returned to visit every summer so I spent a fair amount of time here and learned to speak the language.”

“That should certainly help us get away safely,” she observed. “Do you know this part of Ireland?”

He shook his head. “Kilvarra is farther north in county Meath. I’ve never been in this part of the country.”

Sarah searched her memory for anything she knew about Ireland. “Was Ballinagh near Kilvarra?”

His brow furrowed. “I think Ballinagh is somewhere in the west, but I’m not sure. Do you have friends there?”

Sarah shuddered. “Quite the contrary. Adam’s horrible Aunt Georgiana Lawford lives in Ballinagh, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Ah, the one who tried to get him killed so her son could inherit the title. No, she was no neighbor of ours, fortunately.”

“Adam stayed at Ballinagh a couple of times when he was a boy. He has fond memories of his visits and his cousins. Not so much for his aunt.” She gazed over the hedgerows at the rolling hills. “I’d like to visit Ireland someday in better circumstances.”

“It’s much more pleasant when one is not running for one’s life.” Returning to business, he said, “I’ve got a good sense of direction, but the minor roads wander, which will slow us down. We’ll have to risk some of the larger direct routes even if they’re more likely to be watched.”

In other words, they weren’t clear of danger yet. “How long will it take us to reach the coast?”

“Three to four days if we make good time.” He gestured toward a lane on the left. “Here’s our turn.”

She turned her horse gratefully. The new lane was a green tunnel with high hedges on both sides, which would protect them from the gaze of anyone on the road behind them.

The days ahead would be grueling. But she had faith that Rob would bring her safely home.