Stand and Deliver Your Love

by Sheffield, Killarney

  Byron blanched at the veiled accusation. “Not at all, Your Majesty. My horse spooked and I fell. When I woke up, I was alone.”

  The king stood and slapped him on the back. “Come, a feast and light-hearted evening awaits us.”

  Byron followed him from the room, down the hall to the larger parlor with relief. All the rumors would now be quelled and he could return to his normal life. The new normal, one where he no longer pined for his dead fiancée, but one where he now pined for his lost highwaywoman.

  They entered the parlor. Everyone stood and bowed to the king. Byron pasted a grim smile on his face as some surprised and even hostile looks were directed at him. Let the blood thirsty bastards think what they want. His presence with the monarch would discourage anything more being said about his smudged name. A few of the men and women acknowledged him somberly as they awaited the announcement of dinner. After a few uncomfortable moments they were summoned by a butler to the formal dining room. Byron was confounded when he noticed his name card was to the right of the king’s.

  When he looked over, the monarch nodded, a vague smile gracing his lips. “I never really doubted you, my boy,” he said, motioning for everyone to sit.

  “Did anyone see the new play?” Lord Mitchell asked.

  Byron sat as normal dinner conversation arose around him. The first course, a bowl of turtle soup, was served. He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the bowl and raised it to his lips.

  Then he caught sight of the serving girl. He dropped his spoon with a clatter and stared at her. It cannot be! Sarah? She looked up at him her eyes widening in shock and recognition. The room grew suddenly hushed.

  “Is something wrong with your soup, Lord Cobbett?”

  Byron snapped his mouth shut and tore his gaze away from Sarah, as she turned and hurried in the direction of the kitchen. “No, Your Eminence, the soup is fine.” Byron scrambled for a suitable excuse. He couldn’t very well tell the man the highwaywoman was in attendance. A glittering necklace on the lady across from him caught his attention. “I just noticed Lady Livington’s lovely necklace. It is quite remarkable,” he embellished. Lady Livington blushed, fingering her elaborate ruby necklace. “Why, thank you, Lord

  Cobbett, it was a present from an admirer.” She batted her eyelashes at him coyly. Byron had a mental flash of a cat stalking a mouse. He was pretty sure he was the mouse.

  Byron ignored her attempt at seduction and returned his attention to his meal as the conversation turned to precious gems. He tuned out the voices and clinking of silverware. What was Sarah doing here posing as a serving girl? Had she already discovered the missing papers and jewels, and contrived to be here to get them back? Or did she hope her presence will deter me from telling her secret? Maybe I am mistaken and the girl just looks like Sarah. She has been on my mind constantly since my return to London, therefore, it is entirely possible my mind is playing tricks on me. That must be it. I am going mad.

  “Lord Cobbett?”

  Byron blinked and looked up. Lady Livington was staring at him with an expectant expression. Obviously she asked him a question and in his preoccupied state he had not heard. He cleared his throat, giving her an apologetic look. “Excuse me, Lady Livington. You were saying?”

  “I was wondering how long you are going to be in London,” she repeated graciously.

  “Not long, I am afraid. My business here is finished so I shall be heading back to my country estate in the morning.”

  “Nonsense,” the king interrupted, “You must accompany me to my hunting lodge for my horse and hound party this weekend.”

  Byron plastered a smile on his face and groaned inwardly. The king’s hunts were notorious for over-indulgence in both port and women, two things he could do without. “I would like to oblige Your Eminence, but I must decline. I am not sure my shoulder is healed enough for the rigors of one of your entertaining hunt parties.”

  “Now Lord Cobbett, I will not take no for an answer. You have hidden yourself away on that blasted country fortress of yours for long enough. It is time you rejoined the land of the living.” He glanced at Lady Livington and winked at Byron, “Besides, I am sure widow Livington is looking forward to your company.”

  Byron forced what he hoped was a believable smile and looked down at the second course placed before him as the ladies at the table tittered. Blast it all! The last thing he wanted to do was spend an entire weekend fending off advances from Lady Livington. Unfortunately, one couldn’t deny a request from the king. It was a shame, since the king’s request was what got him into the whole mess in the first place. The little voice in his head reminded him if it hadn’t been for the king’s summons he would have never met Sarah.

  Chapter Eleven

  Byron tried to enjoy himself, if that were possible, as he twirled another hopeful young debutante around the duke’s ballroom. The girl chattered gaily, but Byron wasn't really listening to a word she was saying; he was instead just going through the motions until the hour was late enough he could cry off and go home.

  He looked around the ballroom, nodding absently whenever the girl’s voice rose in a questioning tone. A maid placing a tray of lemonade on the long refreshment table caught his attention. When she looked up he caught his breath, positive the maid was Mistress Sarah.

  He swung his dance partner towards the table causing the girl to stumble slightly at the sudden change in direction. True to her upbringing the girl quickly recovered both her footing and her conversation. Sarah paled when she caught his eye and hurried from the room. Byron fought the urge to stop mid-dance and run after her. Proper ballroom etiquette dictated he finish the dance. He impatiently watched the door Sarah disappeared through until the dance finally came to an end. Then he escorted his dance partner back to her parents, murmured a quick thank you, and headed for the door.

  Byron entered the corridor and looked both ways. Sarah was nowhere in sight. The gas lamps in the holders flickered as a couple strolled past casting eerie shadows on the walls. Should he go right or left? Right, he decided, and hurried along the hall. The corridor came out at the art gallery. Half a dozen couples were wandering around looking at the paintings hung along the walls or talking. Byron disregarded them, turning and following the hall back the other way to a small door leading into the kitchen garden. He stood for a moment on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. A movement in the far corner caught his eye.

  Two figures stood huddled close together by a small gate leading to the alleyway beyond.

  They were whispering, but Byron couldn't make out what they were saying. He

  pressed himself back into the shadow of the doorway and watched them. After a few moments one figure handed something to the other, who then slipped out the gate. The first figure stood for a minute then turned, heading back up the path towards where Byron was hidden.

  The person was almost at the door before he stepped out of the shadows. He sensed the surprise when the figure halted. Byron reached back inside the door and plucked a candle from the nearest holder. He lit it with the gas lamp and held it up to illuminate the dark.

  Sarah stared back at him. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

  Byron glanced down at her uniform. “I might ask you the same thing.”

  She looked past him without saying anything. Even in the candle’s meager light he could tell she was angry. Her jaw twitched as she crossed her arms. He was pretty sure she wasn’t cold.

  “Well?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and shuffled her feet. “I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you, but to assuage your curiosity, I am working.”

  “You are working?”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin glaring at him defiantly. “I was hired to help with the ball.”

  “I see. Does this mean you are no longer robbing poor unsuspecting travelers?”

  Her eyes snapped with anger. “What do you care?”

  He shrugged. “I do not give a fig, mistress.
I was just curious.”

  “I would have thought you would be back on your country estate by now.”

  Byron took a step toward her. She eyed him and backed up, coming to rest up against the garden trellis. He smiled as she swallowed, darting a nervous look past him to the door.

  No doubt she was contemplating her escape. “I would have been, but some little minx stole the papers I needed to prove my innocence to the king so I had to stay around until I could get them back.”

  “And did you?”

  He let his gaze slide down to rest on her lips. He longed to kiss the frown from her luscious mouth. Her lips pressed into a thin line and he looked up, wondering when his mind had wandered. “Did I what?”

  “Get your precious papers back and prove your so-called innocence?”

  “As a matter of fact I did. The king was most happy to pardon me once I produced them.”

  She stared at him, an eyebrow raised. “Ha! Your tricks do not fool me, my lord, for I doubt our good king is in the habit of pardoning thieves.”

  “I doubt that as well, my lady. I am afraid you are the only thief here, Miss Wellington,” he smiled when her face paled at his address, “for if you had read the papers you stole from me more carefully you would have realized my father was the culprit and not I.”

  “You took my jewels!”

  “You mean the jewels you stole from some innocent young woman?” Byron reached out and gripped her by her wrist.

  “I did not steal them! They are mine.”

  “Then you are in fact, Lady Sarah Wellington.”

  Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. “How did you find out?”

  Byron moved closer so her body was pressed up against his own. “I recognized the crest on the ring.” He smiled when her mouth formed a silent ‘O’ of surprise. The warmth and closeness of her body caused a tightness in his loins he wished he could ignore. He felt Sarah tremble. Before he could stop himself he reached out with his free hand and stroked her soft cheek. Her mouth closed with a snap causing his eyes to focus on her full ripe lips. They quivered slightly. Then he lowered his lips to hers. She gave a weak murmur of protest as he captured her mouth with his, he ignored it and drew her closer to him. After a moment she softened and opened to his teasing tongue with a sigh. He groaned as his tongue intertwined with hers. God how I want her….

  He kissed her gently at first, but his desire turned demanding and passionate as he explored her mouth. Her body sagged against him as she gave in to him and answered his kiss.

  Byron pulled his lips from hers. “I have thought about you every day, my little minx. Your sweet body haunts my dreams each night.”

  Sarah seemed to come to her senses, pushing him away. “Release me this instant!” she hissed.

  He stepped back bewildered. One moment she was kissing him with a passion matching his own, the next she was shoving him aside. Would she ever make up her mind?

  Sarah wrenched her wrist from his grasp and glared up at him. “I want my jewels back.”

  Byron stared at her at a loss for words a moment. Had she just pretended to feel the same passion as he? Was she that good an actress?

  “I want my jewels back,” she repeated.

  Byron glared at her. “I am afraid I do not have them with me. They are locked in my safe. Tell me where you stay each night and I will bring them to you.”

  “No. Bring them to the hunting party. I will be there as an extra serving girl.”

  “What do I get in return for your jewels?” Byron teased.

  Sarah frowned. “My thanks, besides it is you who owe me for saving your miserable life.”

  “There you go again, with the saving your life idea. I do not believe I was ever in any danger of dying. Besides, I believe I honored any debt I might owe you a week ago, in your bed,” Byron smirked. “Perhaps your thanks should equal my own, between my sheets.”

  “You are a despicable rake!” Sarah hissed, pushing past him.

  He watched her disappear back down the hallway making no attempt to follow, as another couple emerged from the same passageway. Lady Sarah was a remarkable woman. Caring and gentle one minute, fire and brimstone the next. A woman who had yet to experience passion in its entirety. Byron didn't know when, but one day he would have her. He would bury himself to the hilt in her and rid himself of her nightly intrusion of his sleep. Her maidenhead be damned, only once he had her fully would he be able to forget her.

  Byron made his way back to the ballroom to excuse himself for the evening, however no sooner had he entered the room, then Lady Livington materialized at his side.

  She waved her fan like a green miss, making eyes at him and giggling. “Oh, there you are, Lord Cobbett. I was just thinking how terribly hot it is in here. I am dreadfully flushed.” She waved her fan even faster while she tried to look over-heated.

  Byron gave her a smile he hoped did not look too encouraging. She certainly looked cool enough to him. “These things do get terribly stuffy sometimes.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I do feel a bit faint—perhaps you could escort me out onto the terrace where it is cooler.”

  Byron surveyed the room. Sarah was nowhere in sight. He pasted a sympathetic smile on his face and offered the lady his arm. She gave him a smug smile and clung to him as he led the way to the open doors leading to the terrace and main garden.

  “Oh dear. The terrace is too crowded. There is a path down that way that does not look too crowded,” she said with a coy grin.

  Against his better judgment he led her to a small stone bench in the shadows.

  Once seated, she pulled him down beside her with a giggle. “Oh, this is much better, do you not agree?”

  “Yes, well I should not like to stay long. To do so would surely tarnish your reputation.”

  Lady Livington giggled again pressing herself against him. “Oh, you are such a dear. I assure you, my reputation will survive a little encounter in the garden.” She reached up pulling his head down to hers, kissing him with hunger.

  Byron stiffened as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. There was none of the same passion or excitement in her kiss he experienced with Sarah. When Lady Livington took his hand in hers and placed it on her virtually flat chest, he pulled away. There was no way he could possibly sleep with the woman when Sarah’s face was the one haunting his waking dreams.

  “I am sorry, Lady Livington, but I think we should go back to the ballroom now.”

  Lady Livington pouted, but stood and followed him as he made his way back to the ballroom. “I understand, darling. There is always this weekend at the hunt. I shall ask the king to make sure I have the room next to yours.”

  Byron grimaced at the thought. A whole weekend avoiding Lady Livington would be just too much. Riding during the day would take him far away from her persistence, however there would be all those endless dinner parties and nightly entertainments, where he would have to strive to discourage the woman’s affections. Byron frowned, glancing up in time to see the king motion to him from his seat at the end of the ballroom. Grateful for the summons he excused himself and crossed to the king’s side. He gave the king a respectful bow.

  “Ah, there you are, Lord Cobbett. Have you met Lord Marcomb, the Earl of Lexington?”

  Byron straightened and shook the older man’s hand. “No, Your Eminence, I have not.”

  “Ah well, the earl was just telling me the blasted band of highwaymen struck again last evening.”

  Byron was suddenly interested in the conversation. “Did they really? Who did the scoundrels rob this time?”

  “Lord and Lady Winter,” the earl explained, “they made off with a fortune in jewels I hear. It is just terrible. A soul cannot travel in safety these days.”

  The king nodded, “Yes, I do agree. What is next? Shall we all be afraid to sleep for fear of being robbed in our beds?”

  Byron frowned. If Sarah robbed Lord Winter’s coach last night then why was she

  working here? Was she that greedy she
needed more than one holdup to sustain her lifestyle? “Perhaps if the ladies would stop wearing their jewels out and about, the highwayman would find the pickings slim indeed, and leave for other more lucrative parts of England.”

  “Actually the earl and I were just saying we need someone to head up the investigation and catch the culprit. Someone young, and smart. Someone who needs to prove his loyalty to the crown, perhaps?” The king gave the earl a sly look.

  Byron paused and lifted a glass of wine off a passing servant’s tray, not liking the

  direction the conversation was headed. Ignoring the little inner voice screaming at him to

  change the topic, he smiled and pretended interest. “I see, and pray tell who would be the logical person to head up such a difficult quest?” He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

  The king gave him a winning smile. “Why you, my dear boy. Since I have so generously accepted your proof of innocence, you would, I am sure, like to thank me in an appropriate way. By catching the highwayman, or should I say men, you would be doing just that and proving your loyalty to the rest of the ton.”

  Byron choked on his wine and groaned inwardly. “How thoughtful of you, Your Majesty.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “However I fail to see how I would be able to solve such a case when the constables have yet to acquire any evidence.”

  “Not to worry, my boy,” the king said with a pleased smile. “I have faith in you. After all, you managed to find evidence of your own father’s treachery. The earl here will see you have a few good men to help you.” He gave Byron a slap on the shoulder and raised his glass to his lips signaling the end of the conversation.

  Byron drank from his own glass. Can things get any more complicated?

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah eased opened the squeaky door to the warehouse and slipped inside. Despite the lateness of the hour, a small fire still crackled in the hearth. She hung her cloak on the only empty peg on the wall cluttered with children’s garments with a tired smile. Ann had been thoughtful enough to keep the fire going and a pot of water over it so she might have a cup of tea before she went to bed. She kicked off her muddy shoes and crossed to the fire to warm her hands for a moment. Then she poured some of the hot water into a sturdy tea pot that sat ready on the hearth.