Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) (33 page)

“Which friends? You never told me. And how do you know these friends are not the traitors? Minette was obviously told where you were, and only your friends knew.”

He frowned. She was right. No matter how much he hated the idea, it was possible. “It had better not be any of them,” he threatened. “I call no more than eleven Englishmen friend. I don’t know what I’d do if one of them betrayed me.”

She offered a faint grin. “You could spend the rest of your life saying how you’d been right about the English all along.”

“No,” he said, perfectly serious. “I canna. Not since I met you.”

She flushed and ducked her head.

“Promise me, Sarah. You’ll wait at the steps until Chuffy Wilde comes to get you.”

Her head came up. “I’m to call him Chuffy?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “His name is Charles, actually. But you’ll never be able to think of him as anything but Chuffy. You will know the minute you meet him that he cannot possibly be the traitor. He looks like a bespectacled bear cub.”

She didn’t answer. Bread in hand, she looked out over the wakening landscape. Ian had a strong suspicion she was trying to think of alternatives.

Ian refused to look away. “Promise.”

Finally she faced him, and Ian could see the cost of his request. He said no more.

Looking away again, she sighed. “I promise.”

He dropped a tender kiss on her forehead. “Thank you. You have just made it easier to do my job.”

She scowled at him. “There is no need to resort to clichés to get me to see sense.”

He flashed her the brightest smile he had. “Lassie, I would have resorted to rope and a ring bolt if necessary.”

When she actually laughed, he knew for certain; he was in love. Irrevocably, impossibly, immeasurably. It made no difference, except to the weight of his heart.

“Time to go,” he said, and tossed his apple core into the trees.

Gathering the reins, he set them off once again to the east. They didn’t talk, except to discuss directions. Ian assured himself it was to keep a better ear out for pursuers. It was a lie and he knew it. He was silent because he was afraid of what he might blurt out.

Sarah had been right, of course. If the Lions knew where he was to receive his missive, they might very well know about Ripton Hall. He could be riding straight into a trap. He wished there was another way to approach it, but the directions had been clear. One of his friends would meet him at the end of the Fairy Steps.

That was if he got there. Twice more they were forced off the road by patrols and traffic. Ian wished like hell he could lay low during sunlight. But he had a growing suspicion that the manhunt for him would only get worse.

Dusk was gathering fast as Ian pulled Harvey to a stop in among the thick stand of oak called Strawberry Wood that held the opening to the Fairy Steps. Leaves muffled noise, but Sarah could hear the rustlings of small animals, and a sleepy nuthatch called to its mate. She didn’t wait for Ian to help her down. She slid off onto the spongy ground and stepped away. It was too soon, she kept thinking. She wasn’t ready for her adventure to be over. She didn’t want to give Ian back to his world.

Dismounting, Ian handed her Harvey’s reins. He strode to the north edge of the wood. Sarah decided not to join him. She knew what the view was. She had stood in this very coppice with Boswell watching the setting sun glint off a hundred windows and warm the copper cupola across the glen. A mishmash of architecture, Ripton Hall had originally been a Cistercian monastery given to the Ripton family by Henry VIII for evicting the monks. Grown to a rambling monstrosity, it had been added to willy-nilly over the years, each succeeding duke wanting to put his own stamp on it, until the house itself showed far more character than its inhabitants. It was another old house Sarah loved, another she could never call her own.

“I didn’t realize the dukes of Ripton had so much whimsy,” Ian mused, obviously noting the gargoyles and crenellated turrets on corners that had never needed a defense.

“They don’t,” Sarah said, looking the other way. “The architects they hired did.”

The sun had set, and the shadows were lengthening fast. Out in the fields cattle were wandering back to their barns, and sheep bent to their dinner.

Ian turned back to her. “You know a lot about the place.”

She shrugged. “The lure of forbidden fruit, I imagine. It was a convenient setting for the fairy tales I told myself when I was young. Even though the tunnel frightened me, the exit into these woods always seemed…magical.”

“When did you last go through the Fairy Steps?”

She looked up, but couldn’t see his expression in the deep shadows. “Oh, the vicar stopped bringing me when it became obvious that I looked so much like a Ripton. When I was about four, I think.”

He looked back to the house. “Then there can’t be much you can tell me about the layout of the house.”

Her smile was sore. “Oh, there is. I can show you how the ground and first floors are laid out. At least the main block, where visitors might wait.” Briefly.

“A lot to remember for a four-year-old.”

She couldn’t look at him. Instead she turned to stroke Harvey’s great neck. “Oh, I was twice here as an adult. Boswell brought me. He came to ask the current duke for financial help. Since his family had taken me off the duke’s hands and all.”

He looked down at her. “Was that when the duke threatened you?”

After having her dragged through the main hall the second time and thrown down the great steps. As if the visit had been her idea. As if she would ever beg her brother for anything but to leave her alone. “Yes.”

For a moment, there was silence. Harvey nibbled at Sarah’s hair, and she leaned her cheek against his.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, and Sarah had to squeeze her eyes shut against the pain.

“Not nearly as sorry as Boswell, I assure you.”

“Can you tell me where the tunnel enters the house?”

“The duke’s library on the ground floor. Behind a bookcase.”

“And the entrance here?”

She pointed to a dip in the ground to the west covered by shrubs. Turning in a complete circle, Ian frowned.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “I canna leave you here, lass. You’ll be too vulnerable. If my enemies know about the Fairy Steps, they’ll find you. Besides, rain is coming on.”

She looked up to see that clouds scudded low and fast before a freshening wind. He was right. Within a few hours, she would once again be soaked.

Hands on hips, he scanned the valley. “Where can you hide?”

“At Fairbourne.”

He ignored her. “What is that?” he suddenly demanded, pointing toward a small stone building just visible to the east of the manor house.

Sarah followed his guide and shook her head. “No.”

He faced her. “Why not? Will someone be using it?”

Her laugh was brisk. “The chapel? Unless the duke has been struck by lightning while seated atop a donkey, I sincerely doubt it.”

“Can you get to the thing through the tunnel?”

She hated to even answer. “Yes.”

He turned around. “You’ve been inside?”

“Yes.” He didn’t need to know that story, though, of how easily a wandering child could get locked in a chapel with no company but dust and the remains of dead dukes. She hated that chapel.

“Then it’s perfect. You can guide me to the turnoff and wait for me in the chapel.”

She turned away. “I would rather not have to go in at all.”

“Neither would I,” Ian said. “But when needs must…” Turning, he untied the bundle and pulled it off Harvey’s saddle. Then, taking the reins from Sarah’s hands, he turned the horse back the way they’d come and gave him a great swat on the rump. Harvey took off down the hill as if wolves were after him.

“What are you doing?” Sarah demanded, taking a step after him.

Ian caught her by the arm. “The farther he is from me, the better the chance I can convince anyone that you weren’t with me when I got here. It will protect you.”

She couldn’t look away from where she could hear her horse galloping down the road. “It won’t protect Harvey.”

Ian hugged her, quick and hard. “We’ll find him later, lass. I promise.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, just for a moment. Otherwise she might tell him what he already knew, that he couldn’t make promises like that.

“Come, lass,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s get ourselves comfortable for a bit. We don’t want to be sneakin’ into a house when the inhabitants are still up.”

Unpacking again, he unrolled the blanket and set it out on the ground. The shadows were collecting fast, the birds chattering in one last effort to beat the night. Dry leaves rustled in the breeze, and some fell, a sere storm around them. Sarah settled herself on the blanket because there was nothing else she could do.

“Now then,” Ian said, dropping down next to her. “How shall we pass the time?”

The tone of his voice jerked her head up to see a wicked intensity in his eyes that shook her to her core. She immediately thought of those hours in the barn, curled up into the heat of him, claiming ownership of him, as if she had had the right. She could almost feel the rasp of his beard against her cheek, the hard angles and planes of his body protecting hers. She almost wept with wanting him.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said instead, holding her hand out as if to ward him off. “I am not taking one piece of clothing off in this cold.”

His grin grew mischievous. “Lass, you underestimate me. I don’t need you to take off
any
of your clothes.”

Well, at least the blush warmed her cheeks. She turned away, focusing on the lights that winked on in the great house rather than the light that was already glowing in Ian’s eyes. “Don’t be absurd. We cannot drop our vigilance like that. What if someone sees us? Or hears us?”

He tilted his head considering. “True. You are a wee bit noisy.”

Her mouth dropped in outrage. Even knowing he was trying to distract her, she was mortified. She smacked him hard and came away with no more than sore fingers.

“What if no one comes for me?” she said, her gaze back on the house, which had lost all of the light now and faded into vague grays.

He spent a moment considering the same scene. “You know your way about the house. Find Chuffy Wilde. He’ll be there. Speak only to him. And Sarah—” He took hold of her hands, his grip broadcasting his fear. “These people are deadly. I can’t emphasize this enough. You
must
use all caution. Trust no one but Chuffy.”

Sarah’s heart skidded in her chest. She didn’t want to take another step. When Ian kissed her, though, a soft, tender parting, she knew she had no choice.

By the time Ian finally led Sarah through the brush to the mouth of the tunnel, she was sick with dread. She couldn’t go into that house. She couldn’t risk her brother’s ire. Anyone else might believe his threats to be unfounded. She knew better. Nothing was more important to Ronald than the sanctity of the Ripton name. But worse, what if Ian’s enemies waited for him? How could she convince her brother to help him?

The cave was just as dark and damp as she remembered, even with the little torch that was waiting for them by the door. She shivered.

“See?” Ian asked, lifting the torch for her to see. “Someone is thinking of us.”

She didn’t bother to answer. The roof seemed a lot lower, the light fainter where it slithered over moss and jagged rock. Ian had to pass much of the way bent over to keep from doing himself injury. Sarah wanted to close her eyes to block out the too-familiar path. She wanted to never have to remember those clandestine flights again, when the vicar had dragged her along like an inconvenient parcel.

“Are you all right?” Ian whispered, his free hand holding tightly onto hers.

“Yes.”

Still walking, he turned his head. “You don’t sound all right.” The uncertain light shuddered over his features, making him look barbaric. Sarah shivered again.

“I’m all right,” Sarah insisted. “I am
not
happy.”

He flashed her a wild grin. “Oh, well then. That’s all right.”

Sarah swore they had been walking forever, up and down the stairs carved into rock, before they reached the chapel turnoff. Ian stopped and let go of her hand.

“All right, then,” he said, and held the torch out to her. “Go on. I’ll wait.”

She took a step back. “You have a longer way to go and more steps. Keep it.” She assayed a weak smile. “Just make sure this Chuffy person knows where I am. I am not fond of waiting.”

Her heart was stuttering; she wanted so badly to reach out to him, sure, suddenly, that he was walking into disaster.

“Please,” she whispered, frozen in place. “Don’t do anything stupid. Promise me.”

She would forever remember the look on his face in that moment. His smile was so sad, painfully sweet. “I wish I could, lass,” he said, his voice sore. “But that isn’t how it works.”

She closed her eyes, fighting hard against the urge to stop him, hold him here in the darkness where she could keep him safe. Even though she knew better. Ian would never hide from his enemies behind a woman’s skirt.

“Just tell me this,” he said, and stepped right up to her, forcing her eyes open, his hand cupping her face. “Do you love me, lass? Will I at least take that with me?”