Disrobed and Dishonored. Louise Allen
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And if you will not then I must find someone who will help me.’ There wasn’t anyone, of course, but she put every ounce of conviction she could muster into the statement.
Jonathan could feel his will being sapped by the intensity in the gray eyes fixed on his face. He believed she was in trouble, else why would she be riding alone in evening dress? She appeared to be in her right mind—which was more than he had been a moment ago as he had articulated, without thinking, the idea that had come to him.
There was an edge of desperation in her tone that convinced him that what she said of her betrothed was true and it was not simply a matter of a lovers’ quarrel. And now that he had put the idea into her mind he feared she really would seek out another man if he refused her. And then there was that kiss. The taste of her like honey and roses and a hint of spice and the heat and the response that he would swear was instinctive, innocent—and deadly.
She had no idea, of course, of what he would be letting himself in for. No concept of the willpower it would take to go so far and then stop, to pleasure her just so far and no further. ‘Very well.’ Her expression made him smile. Her eyes widened with surprise, relief and apprehension in almost equal measure. ‘I know an inn not far from here.’
‘The Golden Lion.’ She nodded. Of course, she must live hereabouts and know it. And be known, if only by sight. This would take some care.
He led her back along the woodland path he had come by, stopping at the shepherd’s hut he had noticed earlier. ‘We’ll leave your mare here. There is shelter and water.’ She let him lift her down, silk and light boning and warm, slender waist under his hands making his imagination run riot while he saw to the mare, conscious of Sarah’s eyes on his back as he worked.
‘What is your name?’
‘Jonathan. Here, take this.’ He swung off his cloak and tied it around her neck, flipping up the hood to cover hair and face, then boosted her up onto Tolly’s broad back and swung into the saddle behind her. Ah, more torture, the soft weight of her on his thighs, the little wriggle she gave to get her balance, the scent of her body pressed warm to his chest.
‘You are a successful highwayman then, Jonathan, to be able to afford The Golden Lion and yet resist my pearls?’
‘Shall we say it is more of a recreation than a business?’ he suggested, guiding Tolly toward the stable yard, puzzling about the woman in his arms. Not just out, certainly. Twenty-two or -three, he would guess, with some authority about her. Well-bred, respectable and, presumably, an obedient daughter up to the point her father introduced this undesirable suitor. He had never seen her before, which meant she did not move in his circles, but even so, to avoid embarrassment he rather thought he would keep his mask on.
He helped her down in the shadows and led her up the side stairs and to his room without being seen. ‘Wait here. I’ll not be long.’
His six friends were in the private parlor, cards on the table, bottles open, food spread out on the sideboard. They got to their feet, grinning, as he came in, still masked. ‘Well,’ Griffin demanded, ‘have I won back the money I lost on yesterday’s prizefight or am I out a dozen of my best cognac?’
‘You’re out.’ Jonathan tossed his hat on the table. ‘Here—a feather from a maid who’d taken her eggs to market and came back with a kiss to spare for me, black hairs from a fancy young thing with her nose in the air, a corn dolly from an old duck in a donkey cart and a paper of pins from a severe dame who is doubtless still blushing. Oh yes, and the promise of a ginger kitten should I care to collect it.’
‘Damn me, I never thought you’d do it.’ Lord Gray splashed port into his glass and downed it in one gulp. ‘I wagered against you. Get some food and come and help me win it back.’ He gestured at the litter of vowels on the table.
‘No, I’ll leave you to it.’ Jonathan walked over to the sideboard, rubbing his back. ‘Pulled a muscle somehow. Damn sore. I’ll take some food up and see if bed will put it to rights.’
He retreated, with a laden plate and a wine bottle in his pocket, amid gibes about what had caused the strain and ribald suggestions for curing it.
Sarah perched on the edge of the bed and wondered if she had gone mad. If she had misjudged her man, she was in serious trouble. Even if she had not, she was deliberately setting out to ruin herself. And then there was the undeniable fact that she was about to commit acts of shocking intimacy with a man. A stranger.
What was almost more disturbing, she found her heart was beating with wild anticipation at the thought of it. She wanted him in almost equal measure to the fear. Her highwayman. Jonathan. She had never wanted a man before; at least she had never wanted more than a mild flirtation, a daring kiss to set her a-flutter for an evening, to be forgotten in the morning along with the champagne and the foolish flirting.
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