by Cora Lee
Sarah popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and chewed. “What about charcoal?” she asked when she’d swallowed.
“Charcoal?”
“Indeed. It’s used to remove the color and impurities from sugar syrup so the final product is white. And there was a scientist in Russia who used it to filter his vodka. He reported that the vodka tasted smoother and cleaner after it had been passed through a layer of powdered charcoal.”
Well, well ,well, it seemed he’d underestimated his countess’s academic prowess. “How do you know that?”
She flashed him a grin. “Remember all those books I carried? I read every single one.”
“Including chemistry texts, as it turns out. I’m surprised your father allowed that.”
“Papa encouraged me to read everything. He said the more familiar I was with the books we stocked, the better able I would be to help customers find what they wanted and give them recommendations.”
“Good business sense.” He accepted the cup of lemonade she poured for him and used it to wash down the rest of his sandwich. “Wait a minute, is that why you suggested Davy’s paper to me when I came in to the bookshop that last time? Because you’re interested in chemistry?”
A dimple appeared in her cheek as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress another smile. “I may also have been trying to get you interested in the subject.”
“You didn’t think I read enough science texts?”
“I though your library would benefit from the addition of a different science. Yours is mostly physics and metallurgy.” She put the cup down and dropped her eyes to her hands. “I may also have been conducting a little experiment.”
Oh? “What kind of experiment?”
“I wanted to see what you’d say to me, what you’d ask me about a chemistry text.”
“And how did I do?”
She busied herself rummaging in the basket and came up with a plate of pastries. “Better than most. You asked my opinion of the paper and actually listened to my answer.”
“Isn’t that the way people are supposed to act with one another?” He took a pastry from the plate she’d placed between them and bit into it, closing his eyes for a brief moment in sheer bliss. He would have to thank Joanna—again—for talking him in to hiring this cook. “I’m not exactly an expert on social interaction, though.”
Sarah’s eyes followed his hand as it lifted the pastry to his mouth again, but he got the feeling she wasn’t really focused on him. “The ladies that came into the shop were mostly attentive when I answered their questions. But our gentlemen customers preferred to deal with Mr. Higgins.”
“Surly they didn’t spurn your help for his.”
“Not outright, no. And not usually when it came to books they were purchasing for a woman. But for physics, chemistry, anatomy... Well, those subjects are too advanced for a lady to comprehend...”
Her voice trailed off, and Hart felt his heart beat faster even as he struggled to stay awake. “Higgins doesn’t know anything about physics or anatomy, or probably chemistry either. He once tried to explain to me how the human heart functioned, and somehow managed to make mention of meteors and comets in the telling.”
Sarah chose a pastry from the plate and tore off a small piece. “How on earth did he do that?”
“I have no idea. I was so confused by the time he was done, I wasn’t even sure what we were discussing anymore.”
“Higgins isn’t a bad sort, though. He was the man to see when it came to poetry.” She began shredding the pastry, producing crumbs on the section of blanket before her. “I hope he will be able to find other employment.”
Hart polished off his own pastry in three bites and stretched out on his back. “He already did.”
“Doing what?”
“Cataloging and maintaining Preston’s personal library. Lords have a tendency to accumulate books without reading them, and Preston’s collection was a complete mystery to him.”
“Preston didn’t even know Mr. Higgins existed. How did they find each other?
Hart finally gave in and closed his eyes. “I might have made an introduction.”
He heard the gentle swish of fabric just before soft lips caressed his. When Sarah drew back, Hart opened his eyes to find her kneeling beside him. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining. I want to know what it was so I can do it again.”
She laughed and his heartbeat picked up speed once more, but for an entirely different reason. “You have saved a life, Hartland—or rather, four lives. Mr. Higgins has a wife and two children to support, which he will continue to do thanks to you.”
“Save a life, get a kiss?” he grinned. “Can we make that a permanent agreement?”
“Yes,” she answered, leaning down again. “In fact, let’s make it two kisses.”
This time he was ready for her, and wrapped her in his arms when her lips met his. She was soft and welcoming and enthusiastic, and he was glad he’d let Richards badger him into cleaning his teeth that morning. He drew her down to the blanket and raised himself over her on one elbow, threading his fingers through her hair and dislodging every pin he came in contact with. Her arms came around his shoulders, hands running down his back then under the hem of his untucked shirt. The pads of her fingers glided across his skin and his breathing hitched. He’d been with other women before, of course, done things with them that were much more intimate, but this felt different somehow. He recognized the lust rising in his body, but it was mixed with something else he couldn’t quite name.
Whatever it was, he was enjoying himself enormously and so, by the feel of her, was Sarah. It almost made him regret the deal he’d made with her lady’s maid.
“I’d better get back to work, then,” he said, breaking the kiss—and the moment. He couldn’t continue such an intimate act while thinking about that deal. And he needed to get back to his mask. “I have a lot of lives to save.”
Hart started to sit up but Sarah turned the tables on him, levering herself above him and pushing him back down onto the blanket. “Not yet. Food and rest is what we agreed on, and you haven’t yet had any rest.”
“A few minutes is what we agreed on,” he reminded her, not quite recalling the exact number she’d used. “And it’s been far longer than that already.”
“What can I do to convince you to sleep?”
He thought that one over for a moment and blurted out the only answer that came into his mind. “You could sleep with me.”
She flushed pink at his double entendre but kept her hands on his chest. “Would you like that?”
“Very much.” His fingers skimmed her bare arms and he watched a shiver follow in their wake. The urge to follow that shiver with his lips was strong, but his tired body would not comply. “Would you?”
For a long moment she just looked at him, eyes the color of the Devon sky set in an unreadable mask. Then her swollen, eminently kissable lips curved into a smile. “Yes, I think I would.” She laid down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and her hand inside the opening of his shirt. “But if you’d rather I stayed awake while you slept, I can do that, too.”
He laughed and embraced her, kissing her forehead. “Whatever you think is best, my lady. I am in your hands.”
Chapter Eight
“Excellent, my lord. You nearly took me to the ground that time.”
Hart grinned at his valet, standing opposite him in the clearing near the workshop. Both men were clothed in trousers and shirts, sleeves rolled above their elbows with matching sweat stains spreading across their backs.
“If you weren’t so wily, Richards, there would have been no ‘nearly.’”
“If one is fighting for one’s life, being ‘wily’ is often helpful.”
Hart wiped his forehead with his sleeve and planted his feet. “Let’s go again.”
Richards took up his stance and made to rush his master when a feminine voice called out, “Is this how the two of you work up an appetite?”
Both men turned as Sarah approached, a blanket thrown over one arm and a basket presumably full of food on the other. It had been several days since her initial picnic with Hart in the midst of his week-long compulsion to work, and Sarah had continued to bring a midday meal out to his workshop. He thought perhaps it settled her mind to see him eat and to inspect his appearance for signs of neglect. And he liked having her all to himself, even if it was only for twenty minutes.
“I needed the practice,” Hart returned in answer to her question. “Haven’t done a lot of fighting since we arrived. But now that you mention it, I’m starving.”
Richards bowed politely and began to excuse himself, but Sarah stopped him. “You were fighting?”
“Training,” Richards supplied. “To keep ready in case...”
In case a killer came calling. Neither man said it aloud, but Sarah gave a little nod as if she understood and turned her eyes on her husband. “Do you think I should learn to fight?”
“No need, my lady. You have me, Richards, and the entire male population of Hartland Abbey to keep you safe.”
She lowered her basket to the ground and dropped the blanket atop it. “Isn’t it possible, though, that I might be caught unawares and out of the sight of all Hartland males?”
However unlikely on Hart’s own property, it was possible. Since the disappearance of Lady Ashfield and the recent recovery of her abandoned carriage twenty miles from Hartland, he’d had more than one nightmare in which Sarah simply vanished despite the vigilance of her husband and impromptu guard.
He must have been giving her a strange look because she continued, “Wouldn’t it make sense for me to be able to defend myself under those circumstances?”
“Lady Hartland has a point, my lord,” Richards put in. “It never hurts to be prepared, no matter how improbable a situation may seem.”
“Think of it as another way to protect me,” she added, stepping closer to Hartland and smiling softly. “Knowledge is a powerful tool. And if you share some of your knowledge with me, it will be as if you’re there with me, even when you’re not.”
That clinched it. His feelings on the subject went from skeptical to acquiescent in a matter of seconds. Hart knew he couldn’t leave his hunted wife without every possible means of protection. “Fine. Richards, you are dismissed. I’ll instruct her ladyship myself.”
Richards obeyed and Sarah shed the bonnet she’d worn, dropping it on the ground beside the picnic basket. Hart closed the distance between them and placed himself directly in front of her.
“Your objective is to simply get away. Once your attacker has released you, you run like hell to me, to Richards, or to the nearest populated area. Understand?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
“If he comes at you from the front, your best option is a well-placed knee.” Her brows drew together as if she was working out the mechanics of the move, and he laughed. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Notice how close we are? If you raised your knee with any sort of force...”
Sarah looked down at her knees and chuckled. “Yes, I can see how that would encourage my release.”
“If you aren’t in a position to use your knee, bend back his first two fingers as far as you can make them go.” He retrieved one of her hands from his shoulder and grasped her index and middle fingers, gently pushing them away from her palm. “Feel that?”
“I do. Can I try on you?”
“Certainly.”
He offered his right hand and she closed hers around his wrist, taking his two fingers in her left.
“The closer you get to the base of the fingers, the more you’ll pull on the long tendons,” he said, his eyes never leaving their joined hands.
Sarah slid her hand down as far as it would go and pulled his fingers toward the back of his hand. “Like this?”
“Mmhmm, just like that.” The tendons in his wrist became tight, and he could feel pain and pressure all the way down his forearm. Hartland tried to lower his hand to ease the discomfort, but she held him fast. “It doesn’t take much, sweetheart.”
She flashed him a smile and let go. “No, it doesn’t. That’s what makes it useful, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” He took Sarah by the shoulders and turned her away from him, flexing his fingers when he was certain she couldn’t see him do it. “Now, if he grabs you from behind, there are a couple of things you can do.” He wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of the delicate, lemony perfume she wore and resisting the urge to trail kisses down the side of her neck. “First, stomp on his foot as hard as you can.”
Sarah laughed again. “Surely you don’t expect me to do that to you.”
“No, but you should practice the movement.”
She obliged and brought her foot down upon Hart’s with what was probably half the force she was capable of.
“That may be enough to get your assailant to release you. If it’s not, it’s almost guaranteed to get him to lean forward...” He demonstrated, bending at the waist as if she’d caused real pain to his foot. “...and you can elbow him in the nose.”
He grasped her elbow and guided it backward toward his face. The contact between their bare limbs momentarily distracted him, filling his thoughts with other ways they could be skin to skin.
“In the nose? Isn’t that a rather small target to aim for?”
He gave himself a mental shake. “Yes, but if you hit it you’ll disable your attacker instantly, even if you don’t break it. If you miss, you’re still likely to hit a cheekbone or an eye socket, and that can cause enough pain for your attacker to lose his focus on you. Try it.”
She dutifully swung her elbow backward and made contact with his nose—barely a tap, but Hart let out a yowl and covered his face with both hands. Sarah’s hands were on his shoulders in seconds.
“Oh, Hart! Are you all right? I’m so sorry!” Her fingers caressed his temples, then slid over his hands. “How bad is it? Let me see...”
He dropped his hands from his face and wrapped her in his arms. “You’re supposed to run away, my lady.”
She stared at him for a moment, motionless. Then her hands clamped down on his shoulders. “Andrew Elliott, don’t you ever scare me like that again!”
“I’m sorry,” Hart said, trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to erupt. “I only wanted to see your reaction. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Would you find it funny if I made you believe you’d hurt me?”
Her voice was controlled, but that made her words all the more sharp. How would he react if he thought he’d hurt her?
“I wouldn’t find it funny at all. I am sworn to protect you, not hurt you.”
Her body relaxed in his arms. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, will you go and wash? You’re dripping sweat all over my gown.”
He placed a big smacking kiss on her cheek and took himself off to the stream. “I shall return post-haste.”
~~~
By the time he made his way back to her, his dark hair curling riotously as it dried, she’d unpacked their luncheon and arranged it on the blanket. He ignored the food and plopped down beside her.
“Better?” he asked, leaning toward her.
She took the opportunity to stroke his hair, his cheek. He did look better, and not just because of his impromptu bath. Richards only managed to persuade Hartland to shave every few days, and his eyes were red-rimmed after too many nights with too little sleep. The desire and drive to succeed still burned brightly in his brown eyes, but the mania seemed to have subsided. “Much.”
He held her gaze for several moments, then took her hand from his face and placed a kiss on her palm. “Good. Is there anything else you require of me before we eat?”
Fat drops of rain began to splash on Sarah’s arms and hair. “Perhaps a dry place for our meal?”
They rushed to repack the basket as the frequency of the drops increased, dashing into the workshop just the sky opened up.
&nb
sp; “Are you very wet?” Hartland asked, setting the basket down in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“A little damp around the edges, but that’s all. You?”
“I still hadn’t completely dried from my bath,” he grinned.
She draped the blanket around his shoulders and patted his face dry with one corner. “No harm done, then.”
“Sit,” he offered, pulling a chair from one sturdy, scarred wooden table and removing a box of tools from it. “Rest a moment.”
Sarah complied, but not for much longer than Hartland’s suggested moment. His workshop was a cornucopia of tools, scientific instruments, and related accoutrements. One table contained nothing but metal plates of various shapes and sizes. “Are those pieces of armor?” she asked, rising from the chair and drifting toward the table.
“Yes.” He dropped the blanket and arrived at the table before she did, picking up random pieces and putting them down as he went.
“These plates are so small. How do they protect you?” She ran a finger over a rectangular piece smaller than her hand.
“That is from one of my brigandines.” He pulled a large black garment from the table and held it up. It looked like a long, thick waistcoat but was covered in rivets and had buckles along the front instead of buttons. “These little plates are attached to layers of canvas, like this...”
He turned out one side of the garment, revealing dozens of plates similar to the one on the table arranged in overlapping rows.
“How clever,” she smiled. “Much more portable than a suit of plate armor.”
“Exactly. And this is easier to move in.” He donned the brigandine and buckled it closed, then proceeded to twist and turn. “See? I can even dance in it.”
He swept her into his arms and began waltzing her around the room, dodging tables and stools and boxes as they went. Sarah let herself get caught up in the moment, dancing with her dashing husband. Never mind that he’d only married her because someone wanted her dead, or that they’d planned to live separate lives once she was safe again. They were dancing together to the rhythm of the rainfall as it pelted the windows, and there was no one in the world but the two of them.