A Summer Seduction (20 page)

He reached out and, light as a feather, ran his forefinger down the bare skin.

“Alec…”

“Yes, dear?” He seemed lost in contemplation.

“You were going to tie the ties?”

“But of course. I am merely assessing the situation.”

He scooped up her hair and lifted it away from her back, letting it fall over her shoulder. Damaris tried to control the tremor that ran through her as his fingertips grazed her skin.

“I must say, Mrs. Howard,” he commented, taking the top ties in his hands, “you have a way of testing my control.” There was a ragged edge to his voice.

“I do not mean to,” Damaris replied.

“That makes it all the more enticing.” He tied the last set of ribbons, then slid his hands around her waist to take the sides of the sash and pull them back. Damaris’s stomach quivered in response. He tied the strands in a neat bow. “There.” He pressed a kiss soft as a butterfly’s touch on the nape of her neck.

Damaris hardly dared turn around. She did not want him to see what she was sure must be on her face. But neither could she resist looking at him. His face was as she had thought it would be—desire softening his lips and tinting the sharp line of his cheekbones with pink, his eyes fierce and compelling—and the sight of him made desire flicker teasingly deep within her.

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, and he brushed his thumb across her lips. “I will have you in my bed. I promise.”

Damaris lifted her chin. “And do I have nothing to say about it?”

“Of course.” His lips lifted slightly. “You shall say, ‘Yes.’ “

D
amaris stared at him, unable
to speak. It took all her concentration to keep her knees from collapsing and sending her to a puddle on the floor. She was not sure what she would have done if Alec had pulled her into his arms, as he had earlier this morning. But, fortunately for her composure, he stepped back, his hand falling from her face, then turned and left the room. Damaris released a long, shaky breath and leaned against the footboard of the bed until her heart returned to its usual rate. It was, she thought, a very good thing that she would be back in London this evening and not trapped in a bedchamber with Alec.

She heard the sound of voices and the clatter of dishes, and a moment later a timid scratching at the door proved to be Babs’s oldest girl, Maud, informing her with a shy smile that breakfast was on the table. Donning a pretense of calm, Damaris followed her into the large room at the front of the house.

The Putnams were gathered around a sturdy wood table on one side of the room, with Alec seated in the place of
honor at the head of the table. The spot to his left had been left vacant, obviously for Damaris. She scarcely glanced at Alec as she slid into her seat, for fear that what she felt would be clear on her face for everyone to see. She wasn’t sure how she would get through the meal.

But, as it turned out, it was difficult to remain tense in the midst of the cheerful, chattering Putnam brood. Damaris soon relaxed and dug into her food with relish, finding that it provided her a good deal of amusement to watch Alec, accustomed to gold charger plates and servants at his elbow dishing out his food, as he adjusted to spooning out porridge from a large bowl passed all around or receiving a hunk of bread from a child’s hand. He glanced over at Damaris after one particularly unnerving moment involving young Jem, a slab of butter, and a jar of jam, and surprised her by grinning like a boy.

She smiled back, her hand going out impulsively to his wrist, and he turned his hand, taking her palm in his. His hand swallowed hers, warm and strong, and happiness bubbled up in Damaris, as light and airy as summer, utterly at odds with their stranded circumstances.

After breakfast, Mr. Putnam went out to hitch his team to the wagon, and Alec went into the bedroom to change into the farmer’s clothes. While Babs and the girls cleared the table, Damaris made herself useful by wiping it clean. She had just finished and was about to take the damp cloth back to Mrs. Putnam when she saw Alec emerging from the bedroom.

A snort escaped her at the sight of his long, elegant form clad in Putnam’s loose cotton farming smock, though she immediately tried to cover her amusement by dropping her cloth and bending down to retrieve it. On second glance, however, he appeared equally absurd, and she could not keep from dissolving into laughter.

“I fail to see what you find so amusing,” Alec said, drawing himself up in his haughtiest manner.

“Oh, Raw—I mean, Alec, you would not say that if you could see yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That is why I am wearing my own breeches and boots. If you had seen me in the others, you would have howled.”

He settled a shapeless straw hat on his head, and that set Damaris off into another gale of laughter. Alec rolled his eyes and came over to take her arm. “Come, my dear, before our benefactors decide that I helped you escape from Bedlam.”

They bade good-bye to Mrs. Putnam and each of the children. Damaris noticed that Alec managed to slip a halfpenny into each child’s hand as he shook it. He lifted the sack in which he and Damaris had put their other clothes and they walked out to the wagon.

It took them over an hour in the slow-moving wagon to reach the village of Little Fornton, the nearest spot where they could catch a mail coach heading back to London. At Rawdon’s insistence, Putnam set them down near the church,
and Alec and Damaris started toward the inn on foot to wait for the mail coach.

“Why did you want him to leave us here?” Damaris asked.

Alec, the sack slung over his shoulder, was carefully watching the street around them. “It is safer that way. I can get a better idea of the lay of the land as we approach the inn.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Living your life as if it were a… a campaign?”

He shrugged. “I prefer to know what’s coming at me. It is especially handy when one is running from something.”

“You sound as if you are accustomed to running from things.”

Alec cocked an eyebrow at her. “Mrs. Howard! Are you calling me a coward?”

“Don’t be absurd. You know I am not. In fact, I would almost think that you enjoy a fight.”

“Perhaps I do, at that. But I much prefer a fight where I win, which is easier to do if one plans ahead.” He cut his eyes to her, then went on, “There were some chaps at school who liked to lie in wait for me. That’s how I met Gabriel, you know; he jumped in to help me once.”

“Why did they attack you?”

“I was new. And they took exception to my manner. I may have told them that I had little concern for their opinion.”

“Imagine that.”

“Yes. No doubt you will have trouble believing it of me, but I could be a mite insolent when I was young.”

They had reached the yard of the inn, and Alec paused at the edge, casting a long look around, before they continued to the door. Inside, they slid into a table at the edge of the public room. There were only a few people besides the tapster behind the bar, but every eye in the place turned to look at them. Damaris knew that her face was fairly well hidden by Mrs. Putnam’s bonnet, but neither that nor the clothes Alec had donned could hide the fact that they were strangers here.

They were far too full from Babs’s breakfast to eat, but Alec ordered a glass of porter, and after a few minutes, the other occupants of the room stopped staring at them. Damaris glanced around the room with some interest. She had never been in the public room of an inn before, for when she had traveled, she had, of course, always eaten in one of the small private rooms.

It was smaller than she had expected and rather dark, with only one old mullioned glass window and plaster walls smudged with years of soot from the large fireplace at the far end of the room. The bar along one wall was made of walnut, scarred and nicked and slightly uneven. Damaris looked over at Alec. Despite his clothes, it was clear that he did not belong here. He had turned his ring around so that the square chunk of gold etched with the design was hidden from view, leaving only the plain gold band, but his long fingers were too pale and uncallused, the hands of a man who had worn gloves most of his life. And no one, she thought, could look into that face and not see the generations of aristocrats who had formed it.

Alec stiffened beside her, and she followed his gaze. Two
men had walked into the room through the other door and were headed for the bar. Alarm shot through Damaris. Even from the back, she recognized them, and when one of them turned his head to glance toward the fireplace, she was certain. They were two of the men who had accosted them on the road yesterday.

Quick and quiet as a cat, Alec slid out from his chair, settling his hat low on his head. Damaris looked down so that the wide scoop brim of her bonnet would hide her features, and she slipped out after him. Just as Alec whisked her into the hallway, she saw out of the corner of her eye that the attacker was turning toward her. An instant later there was a shout behind them. Alec ran for the door, pulling Damaris after him.

Damaris was glad for the too-short dress Mrs. Putnam had given her, for there was no danger of its dragging on the ground as they tore across the courtyard. A rider had just dismounted from his horse and handed the reins over to a groom when Damaris and Alec darted toward them. The horse reared, and the groom stumbled back and fell to the ground.

Alec scooped up the reins, tossed Damaris onto the horse’s back, and vaulted into the saddle after her. The groom let out a shout, as did the owner of the horse, but before either of them could reach them, Alec dug his heels into their new mount’s sides and they charged off down the street. Behind them the courtyard erupted into a cacophony of shouts and curses.

Alec shoved the sack he had been carrying into Damaris’s hands. She grasped it with one hand and wrapped her other arm around Alec’s waist, holding on tightly. She was in a far more precarious position than she had been yesterday, for she was sitting sideways, and she could do little but hang on and hope for the best.

Two men standing in the street, chatting, looked up and jumped aside as they raced toward them. A woman leaving a shop shrieked and dropped a package. At the village green, Alec turned their horse up the intersecting road. It, fortunately, was deserted, and they flew unimpeded down the lane toward the church where Putnam had let them off only a few minutes before.

A few yards past the church, Alec pulled the horse up short and slid from his back, reaching up to lift Damaris down, too. He gave the animal a sharp slap on the rear, and it took off at a run. Alec took the sack from Damaris and grabbed her hand, and they raced along the side of the church. Damaris saw now what Alec had apparently noted earlier—a narrow track that led away from the lane and disappeared into a copse of trees no more than fifty yards before them.

Alec flung the sack over his shoulder, and they ran. Damaris did not waste time looking back. If they could reach the trees before their pursuers reached the church, Alec’s ruse would work, at least for a while. Since the men would either have to run on foot or wait for the groom to get their horses, she and Alec just might have enough time to disappear.

She heard no hue and cry as they darted into the trees.
They were forced to slow down for fear of stumbling over a root or running into a low-hanging branch, but even so, it did not take long before they were deep in the trees, hidden from sight. Alec came to a stop and turned to Damaris. She leaned over, gasping for air. Alec, too, was breathing hard, but he looked around them, assessing their situation.

“How—” Damaris gasped out, “—did you know about this place?”

“I noticed it when Putnam was letting us off earlier. I have no idea where this track goes, but if we’ve any luck, they will follow the horse out of town until they find him riderless. Even then, they can’t be sure of where we dismounted.” He paused. “Are you all right? We should go on.”

Damaris nodded. “It has been some time since I’ve run like that, but I shall manage.”

She looked at him. His floppy straw hat had flown off when they charged away on the horse, and Alec’s hair was wild and tangled about his head. His blue eyes snapped with excitement, and his cheeks were stained with color.

“You’re enjoying this,” she said accusingly.

He laughed. “Perhaps I am. Nothing like a chase to bring up one’s blood.”

“Well, I would just as soon not be the quarry,” Damaris commented, and started off down the track, which was barely discernible beneath the trees.

Alec followed her, pulling off his farmer’s smock, revealing his own shirt beneath, and stuffed the smock into his sack. They walked steadily and soon emerged from the stand of
trees. Damaris felt dreadfully exposed without the concealing shelter of the woods, but there was nothing for it but to continue walking. The path ran along one side of a meadow, then over a stile and onto a lane. There was more risk of getting caught on the road, but the going was so much faster and easier that they could not pass up the opportunity. The lane eventually reached another, larger, road.