Stand and Deliver Your Love

by Sheffield, Killarney

  “It is ‘learning your studies well,’ not good,” Sarah corrected. She crossed the room to where the little boy stood and gave him a hug. “Next time when you see something you would like to borrow, you must ask the owner of the object’s permission, all right sweetheart?”

  The little boy nodded, giving her a watery smile.

  She smiled. “Now, would you please apologize to the marquis?”

  The little boy looked at Byron his eyes wide with fear. Swallowing, he pulled himself up straight then put his hands behind his back. “I'm so very sorry, sir, um, my lord. It'll not happen again.”

  Byron managed a scant smile through his headache. “You are forgiven, Dickie.” When the boy didn’t look at all convinced of the fact, Byron added, “You may borrow the watch anytime you wish to practice telling time.” He was rewarded with a tentative smile. Bert placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, Dickie. Help me bed the horses down for the night.” He headed for the door, pausing to give Byron a look that could wither even the sturdiest of vegetation. The boy followed him solemnly and the door slammed shut behind the two.

  Byron cleared his throat. “Could you untie me now?”

  Sarah eyed him warily.

  He beseeched her with his most charming smile. “Please? I already explained I did not intend to harm the boy.”

  “You never said you did not intend to harm me,” she snipped.

  Byron sighed. “If I wanted to harm you, mistress, I would have done so long ago. My head is pounding and I would like a glass of something strong to drink. Have Bert saddle my horse, then point me in the direction of London, and I will be on my way.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest again. “I cannot do that.”

  Exasperated, he clenched his jaw and ground out his query. “Why not?”

  Tilting her head she regarded him with obvious annoyance. “You would tell the king about me as soon as you reached London.”

  He gave her his most trustworthy look. “If I give you my word as a gentleman, would you let me go?”

  Sarah crossed to the bedside with a thoughtful expression as if trying to decide if he was sincere or not. “What if I were to tell you I found documents in your overturned carriage exposing you as a thief.”

  Byron narrowed his eyes and pondered her carefully for a moment. The only way she could have known about those documents was if she had indeed found them. However if she read them carefully she would have realized the documents couldn't be used against him personally, only his family name. Maybe he should tell her what the documents really contained.

  Better yet, should he pretend to give into her blackmail and see just how far she would go? How much she would give to protect her beloved orphans? Would she give him what he had wanted since he had first seen her gloriously naked in the old tin tub? A tension began to build in his loins and he shifted lest she see the noticeable twitch under the bedclothes.

  “What is it you want?”

  “I want you to swear to me you will never breathe a word about me or my activities as long as you have breath in your body,” she said firmly, without looking him in the eye.

  “I already pledged to do so. Is that all?”

  “No. I need three hundred pounds to pay the rents for the next year. I am sure that is nothing more than a small wager for you at your club,” she said, with a disgusted look.

  “All right, agreed. Now will you kindly untie me before that salty old bodyguard comes back in here and decides to shoot a helpless man?”

  “Helpless! You were not exactly helpless earlier when you tried to attack me.” Despite her crass reply she bent and untied his hand.

  “Nearly so, and I did not attack you. I was defending myself.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, she gave him a wounded look which made him want to pull her down and kiss her haughty lips. “Defending yourself from what exactly?”

  He chuckled before he pointed out the folly of her words. “Need I remind you, it was you and not I, who had the gun?” Sarah’s lovely mouth snapped shut and she turned away, busying herself preparing a pot of hot tea.

  Byron sat up and felt his head. Already a large goose egg was forming. Damn that old sea dog!

  “I brought you some of your clothes.”

  “It will certainly be nice not to have to make my way to the privy in a sheet,” he drawled, hoping she caught his sarcastic intent.

  When he received no response he contented himself by studying the provocative sway of her hips as she moved back and forth, from the hearth to the shelf and her medicine bag. All he had been able to think about this afternoon, despite the gun pointed at his chest, was how much he wanted to taste her lips and explore every region of her shapely body with his own. He memorized her soft curves curled close to his the night before, and had lain there trying to still his desire to make her his own.

  He shook his head, his own what—mistress? He didn't expect her to be open to that scandalous idea and he certainly didn't want or need a wife. He groaned. Have I taken complete leave of my senses? How hard did the old man hit me anyway? Obviously hard enough to knock all reason from my mind! I love Clarissa. He tried to picture her, but for some unfathomable reason he couldn't conjure her face in his mind. Is it possible I am suffering from some sort of memory loss due to the recent blow to my head?

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “Of course it does,” Byron snapped. Did his head hurt? At least the woman had a grasp of the obvious. What didn’t hurt at this point, he thought grimly. He scowled at her. Her gaze was remorseful and because of that, he took care to temper the rest of his reply. “Last time I had a headache this bad was the night my father left and I overindulged in port.”

  “Your father left? Why?”

  “It is a long story.”

  “It seems to me we have a lot of time.”

  Byron didn't know why, but he was suddenly compelled to share the pain in his life with her even though he never had the urge to do so with any other. He began to talk without really knowing what he was saying, or caring what she thought of him, or his tale. “Three years ago, I met Clarissa at a ball. At my father’s insistence, I began courting her. She was sweet and innocent—I guess I lost my heart to her right away. My father pressured me to propose to her because she had a sizable dowry. He felt he could satisfy his creditors with it until his investments bore fruit. He was heavily in debt you see, and his cousin who repeatedly lent him money in the past refused to bail him out any further.”

  Byron paused to accept the cup of willow bark tea Sarah handed him. He took a slow sip and continued. “Not long after our engagement ball, a balloonist came to Vauxhall Gardens. Clarissa begged me to take her up in the balloon. Everyone assured us it was perfectly safe. A sudden violent storm sprang up and a bolt of lightning hit the balloon while we were aboard. It caught on fire and we crashed to the ground. I escaped with a broken leg—Lady Clarissa ended up unable to walk. When the physician told her she would be crippled for life and unable to have children, she killed herself.”

  “I am terribly sorry. That must have been horrible.”

  Byron took a couple more sips of the tea and set the cup on the floor by the cot. “My father disappeared shortly after, leaving me with a mountain of debt and some very angry creditors.” He began to cough.

  Sarah sat on the edge of the cot and peeled back the cold mustard plaster. “I will make you a fresh one to help ease your breathing.”

  Byron reached out covering her hand as the coughing fit subsided. “Thank you.”

  She smiled at him and removed her hand from his. He watched as she stood and hurried to make a new compress. It took her but minutes and she was back perching carefully on the edge of the cot spreading the horrible smelling concoction across his chest. Leaning back he relaxed, enjoying her touch as her fingers rubbed the warm paste back and forth along his lung region.

  “For what it is worth, I suppose your reasons for stealing are not so different from m
y own,” she commented.

  Byron was intrigued. “How is that?”

  Sarah looked him in the eye and gave him a lopsided grin. “I was not always as poor as a church mouse.”

  “You steal from the rich. How poor can you be unless of course you are not very good at it?” he drawled.

  “Apparently I am not very adept at robbing coaches. Lady Willbrook’s was my first attempt and, well, we both know how that turned out.” She sighed. “I do not intend to keep the money for myself. I would give all I take to the orphans. You see, I grew up in a wealthy home, but just after my coming-out ball my parents were killed in a carriage accident. A distant cousin was all the family I had left, so I went to live with her. It was not long before I discovered she spent most of my inheritance buying herself a wealthy husband. Shortly afterward I became sick.

  “She had been putting small amounts of poison in my food. When she could not kill me fast enough, she placed me in a small convent. When I recovered, the money for my care stopped coming, so I had to go to a workhouse. There were mostly children in the workhouse. Instead of being able to help them I ended up more or less as one of them.” A single tear slid from her eye and trickled down her face.

  Byron reached up and gently wiped it away with his thumb. “That must have been truly terrible for you to endure.”

  She turned her face away, trying to hide her hurt, but he could still hear it tainting her words. “Not for me, the work did not bother me. What was terrible was how those poor children suffered. Imagine never having a hot meal, a bath or someone to hug and kiss you good night. Many had just a cold, filthy gutter to sleep in and an empty stomach. I wanted to do something to help them. I tried to plead the children’s plight to the better off in society who all treated me like a leper. They did not care about anyone or anything besides themselves. I attempted to find honest employment, but without references or skills no one would hire me.”

  She turned back to face him, her eyes glittering with defiance and unshed tears. “Then one day I heard the Madame of one of the nunneries talking about how the rich make them feel as if they were robbing people to get them to part with their money, and I thought why not? I had heard of highwaymen before. I thought at least if I were to rob people I would see to it no one got hurt and the money would be going to help the children.”

  Byron tilted her chin so he could look deep into her eyes which seemed to mirror her injured soul. “One day you will get caught. Where will your orphans be then?” Her full red lips trembled and opened but no sound came out. He traced his thumb across the fuller bottom one and her tongue came out to moisten it afterwards. He watched enchanted, and before he could stop himself he lowered his lips to hers. Hers were warm and soft. They quivered slightly and opened a crack as his tongue stroked them lightly. She leaned into him as a tiny sigh escaped her mouth. His blood began to pound in his ears as he moved his lips suggestively over hers. His mind seemed to cloud as her body sagged forward, her hands sliding up his chest to rest upon his shoulders of their own accord. She allowed him access to her honeyed mouth, shivering at the touch of his tongue.

  Byron struggled to restrain himself as his tongue touched hers. God, he wanted her! How he craved to run his lips along every glorious curve of her sweet body. He groaned, slipping his other hand up to cup the back of her neck pulling her closer, deepening his kiss. Abruptly he became aware of wood clattering to the ground outside the cottage door. The murmur of Dickie’s and Bert’s voices carried through the passion-induced fog enveloping his brain.

  Sarah snatched her hands from his shoulders and shoved against his chest. He moaned his disapproval, pulling his lips from hers, opening his eyes just as she delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.

  “What the devil was that for?” he yelped, rubbing his unshaven cheek.Sarah sprang to her feet and gave him a frosty look, as her breath hissed from her lips. “How dare you try to seduce me with a kiss.”

  Byron shook his head in wonder. “Seduce you? I was not trying to do anything of the sort, besides, you kissed me back.”

  “I did not!”

  He smiled as she busied herself gathering up Dickie’s books from the table. Judging by the anger he sensed she used as a shield to protect herself, his kiss had some effect on her. “Liar.” He smiled when he noticed her clench her jaw. Her little nose tipped up as she stacked the books together with quick, jerky movements. Oh yes, she wanted my kiss. He crossed his arms across his chest and fixed her with a teasing grin. “Come back here and I will kiss you again to prove it.”

  “Ooohh!” She swung around with a book in hand and he ducked as she let it fly towards his head. It hit the wall a scant inch from him and dropped to the floor. He snickered and she shot him a look that could have curdled milk.

  Before she had a chance to say more, the door swung open and Bert entered with an armload of wood for the dwindling fire. The sailor paused, looking back and forth between them.

  “Is aught wrong, mistress?”

  Sarah turned her back on Byron. “Nothing is amiss, Bert. His lordship just dropped his book.”

  Byron snickered again and Bert gave him a skeptical look before he crossed the room to set down his wood. Why did the woman not just give in and admit her feelings? Although her denials were proving to be most entertaining….

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah cast a worried look at Byron as she cleared away the dishes after their meal. He had been strangely quiet since Bert and Dickie interrupted his attempt to seduce her. The man was lying back against his pillows with his eyes half closed now, but she felt his gaze upon her all evening. His color was better than earlier, still pale but not pasty white, and his breathing seemed to have lost the harsh rasp. He had eaten his bowl of venison broth to which she added a few small chunks of tender meat, with a mumbled complaint she was trying to starve him to death. It looked like he would be well enough to ride by morning. Yes, tomorrow would be a good time for him to leave, she decided. Bert would be able to help ensure the marquis made it back to his townhouse safely. Only one more night to put up with the vexatious man before she would be rid of him for good, she mused. Then she could go back to her existence, tending to the children at the orphanage.

  Planning robberies was certainly not how she envisioned her life as a little girl, but there seemed no other solution to the problem unless she were to sell herself in a house of ill repute.

  She shuddered. No matter how desperate she became, she wouldn't become a whore for man after man to use as they pleased. Heat flushed her cheeks at the realization that the thought had entered her mind after Byron’s first kiss.

  Bert cleared his throat breaking into her thoughts. “You look tired, mistress. Perhaps it is best if we retire early tonight.”

  Sarah looked up at him as he pushed back his chair and stood. “Yes, I am. I was thinking the marquis should be sufficiently recovered to ride home tomorrow.” Bert looked over at the man and scowled. “Aye, that he is, I’d say he’s well enough to call the constables on you.”

  “I am not worried about that, Bert. His lordship and I have come to an agreement on the matter. If he wants certain incriminating documents I found in his carriage kept quiet, he will keep our little secret.” She gave Byron a smug look. “Is that not right, my lord?”

  He opened his eyes and gave her a disgruntled glare. “I gave you my word.” His voice was flat and emotionless.

  Bert glowered at him. “I still say you should shoot him and be done with it.”

  Sarah frowned. “Now Bert, you know I do not like to use violence.” She ignored the snort of protest from Byron.

  “Well just so he don’t get any ideas, I’ll be sleeping here in front of the door tonight. Abe is stayin' with Ann tonight.”

  Sarah smiled at the old man as he picked up his bedroll from beside the fire and spread it out directly in front of the door. He lay down on it facing the door. No one would get past him in the night. “Wash up Dickie, it is time for bed.” The boy yawne
d and she turned to spread his straw mat and blanket out in front of the crackling fire.

  Once all the males where comfortably settled she set to work washing up the old tin dishes, setting them on the shelf to dry. Her mind kept wandering to Byron sleeping in the cot. Would he really keep his promise? What would he do once he returned home? Would he think of her? She touched her lips with damp fingers. She would certainly not forget his kisses. It was unlikely she would ever be kissed like that again.

  Byron on the other hand, probably was a daring rake who kissed ladies like that all the time, she thought, feeling a warm flush spreading along her neck. Oh, what she would give to be the hapless debutante whom Lord Cobbett might seduce. To be favored with stolen kisses in a secluded corner, at one of the many balls he no doubt attended in London. The type of balls she watched from behind the upstairs tapestry in her childhood home as a young girl. With a sad sigh Sarah placed the last bowl on the shelf and dried her hands on her apron. Tip toeing across the room, she went to the cot and looked down at the handsome man. The skin around his eyes was graced with visible laugh lines, as if even in his sleep he found something amusing. His hairless upper lip twitched slightly as if he was about to speak then lay still again against its fuller twin. She reached out to touch his stubble shadowed cheek, but thought better of it before her fingers touched his sun bronzed skin, afraid to wake him. Better to wake a sleeping lion than he with the teasing tongue and fiery touch, she reminded herself.

  Dropping her hand back to her side she turned away and slipped behind the blanket Bert had stretched across the corner of the room and donned her nightdress. She glanced at the bed and curled up on her stiff straw mat on the floor in front of the fire. Try as she might, Sarah couldn’t seem to get comfortable. She should be tired, she reasoned but she couldn't get Byron’s kiss out of her head. For a moment it had been as if her whole body was alive.

  For one brief instant she found herself thinking of what the future might hold for her. It had been so long since she thought of anyone other than the children. What would it be like to be courted by Byron? She could only imagine stolen kisses, whispered declarations of love and promises of passion fulfilled. Oh, to be held close and twirled around a ballroom floor to the strains of a fanciful melody. To walk hand in hand with one’s love in a garden of sweetly perfumed flowers and share a conversation, a book or just loving glances.