Surely, it wasn’t possible.
It couldn’t be Sir Harry. Could it?
She pushed the frightening thought from her mind.
They packed up the picnic basket and her drawings, and mounted the waiting horses.
As they neared Ravenwood Hall, Isobel noticed an oppressive smell in the air. Beckett seemed to notice it too and they stopped the horses. They heard shouts of alarm floating on the breeze.
Beckett’s eyes suddenly turned deadly serious. He kicked his stallion into a gallop, and Isobel followed as closely as she could.
As they approached the plantation, they saw pandemonium.
“The fields are on fire!”
Chapter 17
Beckett jumped off his horse and ran toward the burning sugar cane fields. Isobel struggled to keep up with him. She and Beckett stopped short when they saw Mr. Cobb running toward them.
“What’s happened, Cobb?” Beckett shouted. “You said the fields weren’t supposed to be burned until next week!”
“Not sure, m’lord!” Cobb yelled, his face and clothes blackened by soot. “Started ’bout an hour ago down in the south field. No one’s supposed to be down that way. Don’t know what could have happened. I’ve got all the men out there, and some o’ the women, too. We’ve got to put it out, or the house’ll be next, sir.”
Beckett ripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Tell me what to do, Cobb. I’m not going to lose Ravenwood Hall!”
“We’re digging ditches ’round the fields so the fire won’t spread,” Cobb explained. “The women are wetting down the sides and roof of the house and barn. Don’t want flying sparks to ignite the buildings.”
“I’ll help Josephine and the others up here,” Isobel said, squinting her eyes against the heat from the fire.
“Whatever you do, don’t get too close to the flames,” Beckett commanded.
“But you’re going down there!” she protested.
“I have no choice, Isobel. And neither do you.” Beckett turned and followed Cobb toward the heart of the burning fire.
Isobel coughed from the smoke in the air and looked for Josephine, who would most likely be in charge of the women.
She found her quickly; Josephine was already busy issuing orders.
“You girls go and get all de buckets you can find. Big ones!” Josephine shouted. When she saw Isobel, she said, “M’lady, come wit me.”
She led Isobel over to the well as the other women ran back with the buckets.
“Make a line to de barn,” she told the staff, coolly directing the panicking servants like an army colonel. “M’lady and I will pull de water up from de well.”
Isobel and Josephine worked together to crank the water up, handing bucket after bucket to the first woman in line, while the ladies at the other end doused the barn.
They worked as fast as they could to wet down the structure and get to the house before floating sparks landed on the roof. Next they made a line toward the manor, and bucket after bucket passed down the line until the house was dampened, too.
Isobel had no idea how much time had passed since they began their back-breaking work, but she could see the fire still burning down in the fields. She turned to Josephine, panting and wiping the sweat from her brow.
“We must go down and help the men dig,” she said.
“Dat would be a good idea, m’lady,” Josephine agreed.
After assembling the other women and taking what shovels remained, Isobel led the women down to the burning fields.
The men had split up into small groups, each group concentrating on one side of the field. But the flames were getting closer, and there weren’t enough men to control the fire’s progress.
Beckett looked up as Isobel and the rest of the women approached. He wiped his forehead, hands and face blackened by ash.
“Isobel, take the women away. I told you it was too dangerous down here!” Beckett yelled over the crackling of the flames.
“You need our help,” Isobel insisted.
“Don’t you be arguin’ wit m’lady, now!” Josephine retorted. Her dark eyes flashed a warning.
Beckett paused and leaned on the handle of his shovel. “Alright—since I can’t dissuade you—split your women up into four groups and join the men.”
Isobel and Josephine quickly divided the women up, and Josephine took the others to where they were needed.
Isobel’s group began to dig near Beckett’s.
As she worked, Isobel was surprised to feel herself regaining her strength. At the start, she’d felt clumsy with the shovel. But after a short time she found her rhythm, enjoying a new sense of power.
Isobel had never had to apply herself in such a physical way before. Back in England, it was considered most unladylike to engage in any activity more strenuous than waving a fan. But this sort of physical exertion made her feel more alive, and more capable than ever.
Isobel glanced at Beckett and was unable to look away. He had taken off his shirt, and although covered in ash and dirt—his muscular chest streaked in sweat—her husband had never looked more capable or strong.
She watched his body as it worked. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as he dug into the brown earth. His hard thighs and buttocks strained against his buckskins and made her catch her breath.
She kept digging, though her initial stamina was fading. It was fruitless to be vain at a time like this, but she wondered what she must look like as she wiped the perspiration from her brow, undoubtedly smearing dirt and ash all over her face.
Finally their efforts were rewarded when the fire, contained by the network of ditches, began to recede.
“Good work, everyone,” Beckett called out, resting his elbow on the handle of his shovel. “Split yourselves up, and let’s finish this.”
As they walked past, he patted several workers on the back.
Beckett tossed his shovel on the ground and walked over to Isobel. He looked down at her, brushing the hair away from her face. “What would the ton say if they could see us now?”
“I’m sure I don’t care a whit,” she answered, enjoying the way he was looking at her. Though she knew she was anything but, Isobel felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
Beckett nodded toward the smoldering field, and said, “We still have work to do. Are you up for it?”
“As long as I’m with you, Beckett, I’m up for anything,” she answered.
He gave her a quick kiss and led her back to a section of the ditch.
Isobel wanted to laugh as she tried to picture any other countesses of the ton digging ditches alongside their husbands. She simply couldn’t picture it.
As she scooped up a shovelful of earth and heaved it, she saw some of the dirt land on Beckett’s boot. She glanced at his face to see if he had noticed. Thankfully it seemed he hadn’t.
She continued her work, but was startled when a flying clump of earth caught the edge of her skirt. Isobel slowly looked over to see Beckett continuing to dig.
Casually, she lifted her shovel, filled it with dirt, and sent the whole thing sailing over to strike Beckett’s chest.
He stopped for a moment, looking down at himself. Dirt was stuck to every inch of him.
Isobel was suddenly afraid she had taken it too far. Beckett would be furious with her. Unsure of what to do, she bent to continue her digging.
A huge load of dirt hit the back of her head with so much force that it nearly knocked her off her feet. Isobel spun about to see Beckett grinning devilishly at her.
Bellowing in a terribly unladylike manner, Isobel threw down her shovel and charged. Beckett dropped his shovel and ran, laughing. He easily evaded her pursuit by changing directions and dashing around the edge of the ditch.
He stopped long enough to pick up a handful of dirt and throw it at her. It splattered across the front of her dress. She was now almost as dirty as he was.
Isobel quickly grabbed a handful of dirt and lobbed it at Beckett’s head. She jus
t missed. His return volley landed in her hair and she shrieked in protest.
Dirt kept flying in both directions, until they were out of breath from running, and merely stood hurling handfuls at each other.
Finally, Isobel stopped and pointed at Beckett, laughing uncontrollably. “You look as if you’ve been rolling in a pig sty!”
Beckett laughed too, saying, “They’ll soon be calling us the earl and countess of Ravendirt.”
Isobel laughed harder, attempting to catch her breath. She noticed Mr. Cobb, Josephine, and about twenty men and women staring at them completely dumbfounded.
“I daresay that’s enough mudslinging for today,” Beckett said, dusting off his hands. “Besides, we are attracting quite an audience.”
Isobel made a feeble attempt to straighten her filthy dress. Thankfully, no one could see her blushing beneath all the dirt on her face.
Beckett took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, as if they were about to leave a dinner party.
Josephine’s face broke into a smile that rivaled the sun’s gleam on the ocean. Her booming laughter rang out over the field. The others joined in as well.
Soon Beckett, Isobel, Mr. Cobb, and all the other workers were laughing and pointing at each other’s dirty clothes.
Josephine held her stomach and doubled over in laughter. “I’d be surprised if ’dere be any dirt left in the field, now!”
“I fear you are right, Josephine,” Beckett said.
“By the way, m’lord,” Mr. Cobb said, grinning. “The fire’s put out.”
At this the crowd erupted in hoots of wild laughter. Beckett and Isobel couldn’t help but join in.
“You both be wantin’ a nice bath, now,” Josephine said, wagging her finger. “I’ll run up to de house and get de water boilin’.”
“That won’t be necessary, Josephine.” Beckett pulled Isobel close.
Josephine looked unconvinced. “It will be if you want to get dat dirt off yourself.”
“Oh, we shall get ourselves clean, but with a little help from Mother Nature instead. I couldn’t bear to have any of this tracked indoors. Have some soap, towels, and clean clothes brought down from the house. I think it’s time Lady ‘Ravendirt’ became acquainted with our natural spring.”
Isobel felt butterflies flit through her stomach. Was he suggesting what she thought? She looked up at him, and the twinkle in his eyes confirmed it.
Good Heavens, they were going to bathe together.
Soon, a girl from the house appeared with towels and clothes in her arms and a yellow cake of soap in her hand.
The servants and workers looked at each other sheepishly before being dismissed by Josephine: “What you all lookin’ at, now? You go and clean yourselves up and let de lord and lady do what dey please.”
Isobel watched their knowing smiles as they turned away, and wondered why she wasn’t mortified. Strangely, there seemed no need for such worries here.
Beckett led Isobel across the lawn to the path, with the servant girl following behind at a respectful distance. Isobel’s heart skipped with excitement and this decadent excursion. Beckett led her deeper and deeper into the dense greenery.
Soon, the spring appeared, encircled by a lush array of colorful flowers and shiny green leaves. A rock wall rose up on one side, and a glistening waterfall spilled down over it into the pool.
The young servant set down their clothes, made a curtsy and left.
“My, my, but you’re filthy,” Beckett said flirtatiously, looking Isobel up and down.
“The countess of Ravendirt must dress appropriately,” she replied, as innocently as she could.
“Take off your clothes, then,” he commanded, bending down to remove his boots.
Isobel felt gooseflesh cover her skin at Beckett’s words, but found herself obeying as if she had no will of her own. Soon she was down to her sheer lawn undergarments.
“Everything, Isobel.” Beckett gazed at her with heated eyes while he unfastened the buttons of his tight buckskins.
Isobel swallowed nervously. She had never stood naked in front of anyone before—and certainly not in broad daylight.
When she and Beckett had made love, it had been blissfully dark. But now it was anything but.
As Beckett peeled off his buckskins and drawers, he looked up at her. She watched the last stitch of clothing fall away, and her uncertainty faded—replaced by raw desire.
He stood proudly nude, watching her.
Isobel let her eyes feast on the wonderfully masculine body before her. She had never seen anything so impressive before.
Had God made man for the sole purpose of tempting woman?
Isobel’s eyes traveled unashamedly over the body she’d explored with hungry hands the night before. Her gaze lingered over his muscular thighs, and up, and she saw that he was powerfully aroused.
“Come on,” he growled. “Your turn.”
As if under a spell, Isobel slowly removed the rest of her undergarments, and felt the warm air touch every part of her naked skin.
Beckett held his hand out to her. Silently, they entered the water and walked in until they were waist deep.
He dipped the soap in the water, bringing it up and lathering it between his hands. “Close your eyes, tight,” he said.
Isobel did as he asked and felt his hands gently rubbing her face. The sensation was wonderfully soothing.
“Dunk your head, now, like a good girl,” he said.
Isobel obeyed, sinking down into the water. She came up and wiped the water away from her eyes.
“Now, your hair.” Beckett said.
He moved to stand behind her, and she closed her eyes again as he ran soapy fingers through her slick wet hair. He scrubbed her head gently, and it was so relaxing Isobel thought for a moment she might float away.
After she rinsed her hair, she felt Beckett’s strong hands on her back, sliding through the suds and massaging her tired muscles. A sigh escaped her.
“Enjoying this, my sweet?” he asked.
“You know I am,” she whispered.
Beckett chuckled, saying, “I’m sure there aren’t many husbands who engage in personally bathing their wives as I do. The poor fools should know what they’re missing.”
Beckett turned her to face him. If it was possible, his ocean-blue eyes blazed even more intensely than before. He looked like a lion about to pounce upon his prey.
Taking her hands in his, he placed the slippery round soap in her palm.
“Will you do me the same for me?” he asked.
Isobel replied, “I think you know the answer to that.”
She lathered the cake between her hands and felt a thrill as Beckett closed his eyes. Reaching up, she smoothed think white suds over his chest, reveling in the feeling of his wet skin, his hard muscles, and their latent power.
She washed his face and his hair, as tenderly as he had done hers. She felt possessive of him, of this body that he seemed to offer like a gift.
Isobel waited as Beckett dipped beneath the water to rinse the suds away. When he stood again, water running down the firm lines of his body, she found herself looking up into eyes as dark and dangerous as the sky before a storm.
Beckett ran his fingers through his wet hair, saying, “Cobb said the fire looked suspicious. It may have been purposely set.”
He held out his hand to Isobel and they headed out of the water. They stood on the grassy bank, dried themselves off and donned their dry clothes.
Though the sun warmed them, Isobel felt a chill move through her. “Those footprints we saw in the sand. Could Sir Harry have found us?”
“I suppose it is possible,” he said seriously. “You must not venture about alone, not even on the grounds. Is that understood?”
Isobel nodded, unwilling to believe the serpent had found its way into their Eden. “If it is Sir Harry—”
“We don’t know that yet,” he countered.
“But if it is,” she insisted, “
what will we do, Beckett?”
“We’ll do what we have to do,” he answered. “I’ll do what I have to do in order to keep you safe, Isobel. I promise.”
As they headed up the grassy path back to Ravenwood Hall, Isobel tried to quell the uneasiness in her heart.
Could Sir Harry be here in Barbados?
Beckett seemed unconvinced, but of course, he did not know Sir Harry Lennox as she did. He reminded her of a mastiff that used to live on a property near Hampton Park. Once the dog caught the scent of his prey he would not give up until the creature he hunted lay limp and lifeless between his jaws.
Though she tried to convince herself otherwise, Isobel couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Sir Harry had found her after all.
The footprints on the beach, so close to their estate; the suspicious fire shortly thereafter; were these just subtle calling cards her enemy was using to announce his presence?
If so, when and how would he pay her and Beckett a formal visit?
Chapter 18
Beckett leaned against a palm tree and stared out at the windswept ocean. The turquoise water crested into white foam and spread toward him on the sand, only to roll back and disappear from whence it came.
Looking at a sight of such awe-inspiring beauty, he knew his heart and mind should have been at peace.
But they were not.
He was about as far from peaceful as he was from England.
He had been happy these past weeks with Isobel. Far too happy for his own liking, and it unsettled him.
Each morning, he and Isobel awoke in each other’s arms after a night of passionate lovemaking. They flirted and teased. They made each other laugh.
For all intents and purposes, one might think they were in love.
Except for the fact that Beckett knew it to be impossible.
Love was an illusion. He vowed never again to let Cupids arrow play havoc with his good sense. He had done it once. And he’d learned from his foolish mistake of loving Cordelia.
At least he’d thought he had.
But didn’t his actions speak louder than words? If he continued acting as if he were in love with Isobel, he just might wake up one day to find that it was true.
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 14