Stand and Deliver Your Love (15 page)

He heard the rustle of the lady’s gown as she shifted to the seat beside him. Was it possible she sensed his inner most thoughts? He kept his eyes closed as her strong perfume permeated his nostrils. He steeled himself as her cold finger traced his
lips and skimmed around his jawline. Why did he feel nothing at her touch? The desire that claimed him at Sarah’s naive caresses had been powerful, almost overwhelming.

He held hi
mself perfectly still as Lady Livington’s cold lips pressed against his. She urged his lips apart, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth.
Nothing. I feel nothing.
He let her continue her exploration as her hands drifted inside his damp coat, fumbling with the button on his shirt. She panted with eagerness as she pulled his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands along the bare plains of his chest. The woman was like a bitch in heat and still he had no desire for her.
What is wrong with me? Do the cries of a virgin excite me more now than a woman who knows how to raise a response from a man?
He shifted his weight to allow Lady Livington access to his trouser buttons as she tugged at them. She sighed against his lips, making quick work of the buttons and thrusting her hand inside.

Suddenly Byron remembered the maid sleeping across from them. He opened his eyes,
and pulled the lady’s hands from his trousers. He nodded to where the maid still slept. “Not here, not now.”

The lady
merely smiled, her eyes brimming with lust. “Do not pay her any mind. She is asleep and even if she should wake she will be discreet. If she should fail to be, she knows she will be fast out of a position in my household.”

 
Byron dismissed her with an annoyed wave of his hand before he rebuttoned his trousers and tucked in his shirt. Lady Livington pouted, but Byron ignored her, settling back against the cushions. He closed his eyes again as she returned to her own seat.
Am I mad?
Here is a woman throwing herself at me and I rejected her for a memory. I will be

the laughing stock of London
if any of the other lords hear.

Chapter
Fifteen

Sarah hunched atop her horse trying to stay as dry as possible despite the rain. Why did it always seem to be raining when she was out looking for carriages to rob, she wondered? She
waited for the tell-tale jingle of harnesses indicating a coach on the road just beyond the bushes where she, Bert and two of the men hid. If she was smart she would still be serving at the king’s hunting party where she could have access to all the women’s jewelry cases. It would be much drier and warmer sneaking around the women’s rooms while they danced and dined, than sitting out here in the rain waiting for a carriage to happen by.

In her head flashed the image of Lady Livington naked in Byron’s bed. Had she been a few moments later she would have walked in on them both completely naked. How dare Byron
sleep with the doxy! Jealousy reared its ugly head. Obviously the woman’s experience would appeal to a man like the marquis, to any man for that matter. After all, why would a man want such an untried, plain girl such as herself, when he could have a woman of Lady Livington’s such well-endowed charms? Byron sampled what she had to offer, or rather taken, what she had been too weak-willed to deny him, and found it lacking. It was the way of men, was it not? To take what was pure and sully it for their own satisfaction?

“Damn him!” She bit her lip not meaning to voice her thoughts out loud.

Bert shifted beside her on his horse. “Damn who?”

She squirmed
in her saddle. “No one.”

The faint clip clop of hooves on
the roadway drew her attention. Peering through the bushes she strained to see. After a moment the light from a coach’s lanterns came into view. There appeared to be a driver, a footman and a lone horse tied behind. Giving the signal for the men to surround the coach when it came near enough, she gathered her reins pulling the black cloth up to cover her lower face. When the coach was abreast of them they surged forward. “Stand and deliver,” Sarah called out.

The team of four horses was forced to a halt by her men. The driver dropped his reins, raising his hands in the air, the footman following suit without protest. Sarah dismounted from
her horse and stalked to the carriage door. There was no sound coming from within. Placing her hand on the door latch she hesitated a moment then flung it open, pointing her pistol at the same time. There was a metallic click and she found herself looking down the barrel of a firearm. She froze, raising her gaze past the gun barrel, to the man who pointed it and gasped. Byron stared back at her with a tight smile on his lips.
What is he doing here? Of all the coaches to rob I had to pick this one!

“
Check and mate,” he said in a voice so low she almost didn’t hear it.

Sarah’s hand trembled, but she kept her weapon pointed at Byron. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and noted the other passengers in the carriage were Lady Livington and her wide-eyed maid. She stood uncertainly rooted to the spot.
Now what am I to do?

Hoof beats sounded on the road behind them as a small group of riders barreled toward them. Shots rang out. Panic engulfed her as she bolted for her horse. Calling for her men to retreat she swung up into the saddle, ducking as bullets whizzed overhead. Turning Shadow towards the brush she spotted a rider bearing down on her. Before she could urge her into a full run the rider slammed his horse into hers at full speed. Her mare reared up and toppled sideways. Sarah pushed herself from the mare’s back as
the horse fell, landing on her side in the mud. Winded, she lay gasping for air as her horse righted itself and fled riderless down the road.

 
The other rider leaped from his mount and pointed his pistol at her head. He panted. “Do not move.”

Cold muck oozed through the fabric of her breeches as she closed her eyes and listened to horses gallop off. She prayed
in silence her men would get away unharmed. After a few moments the thunder of hooves chased away the still of the night as horses returned. Sarah opened her eyes. Three riders approached the carriage.

“They all got away, my lord, except for this one,” one of the men said, gesturing toward her.
The man motioned for her to stand.

She climbed to her feet, wincing as she was forced to put weight on her bruised hip. Surely Byron would find some excuse to
let her go, despite the royal guards with him. He had to, they had a deal. The man holding the gun jerked the mud spattered cloth from her face. He stared, his eyes widening in shock in the lantern light for a moment.

“It is a girl!”

“Damn!” Byron cussed from inside the carriage.

“What should we do with her, my lord?”

Byron leaned out and glared at her. “I guess we shall have to take her on to London.” He shook his head and slammed the carriage door shut with a bang that made her jump. Sarah mounted the horse as she was told and a young guard took his place behind her on the saddle. The first guard snapped a pair of iron shackles on her wrists and grinned up at her. She ignored his triumphant leer and looked straight ahead between the horse's ears. They fell in behind the coach as it began to move at a brisk trot. The young guard with whom she rode, wrapped a strong arm around her, whether to steady her or keep her from jumping from the mount, she couldn’t tell. She stiffened at his touch but did not speak to him.

 
Her mind raced. Handcuffed as she was, there was no way she could escape. Would Byron honor their agreement and release her? If not, she would surely be sentenced to hang for her crimes or die in Newgate prison. She shuddered at the thought. Everyone heard stories of the rapes, murders, tortures and starvation that were routine there. She would be better off sentenced to a quick death than to be imprisoned, she decided.

Why did I become so angry when I
saw Byron in bed with shameless Lady Livington? What is Byron doing in her coach? Is he going home with her so he could keep her as his mistress? Why do I care? It isn't any concern of mine. There is nothing between us and no future. Had I not left the king’s residence in such a foul temper I would not have ventured out robbing tonight and been caught.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks mixing with the rain that had turned into a fine drizzle. There was nothing to be done. She had known this day would come, and now she had to atone for her sins no matter the good intentions behind her actions. There was no other to blame but herself.

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to sleep knowing they had a full day’s travel ahead of them before they reached London and she learned her fate. She was so very tired. Soon the motion of the horse and the warmth of the guard’s body lulled her into a nightmare filled doze.
“Sarah.”

She looked down over the cliff and saw her father’s carriage lying on its side. Her

mother’s broken body lying half in the storm-raged sea beyond it.

“I am here,” she tried to call out, but her voice seemed too weak and far away to be heard. The sea sent up a huge wave that knocked her to her knees. The water splashed agains
t her cheeks pulling her toward the cliff. Struggling she tried to free herself and reach for the tree branches above her, but her arms refused to move. The water suddenly receded and she looked back at the beach. The coach and her mother’s body were gone. In their place was Byron. He sat on a large black horse smiling up at her.

“Come on,” he called, taunting her, “or are you too afraid?”

“I am not afraid,” she called back. He just shook his head and laughed at her. A matching black horse appeared walking out of the water. A naked woman with long black hair covering her bare breasts rode upon its back. The woman called to Byron and he turned smiling at her. When she reached his side, he took her in his arms and they rode off down the beach.

“Wait,” Sarah called.

Byron looked back over his shoulder. “She is not afraid.” Then the two of them rode back into the sea from whence they came. A voice called from behind her. When she turned around she was being led up the steps to the gallows. The rope swayed back and forth in the wind. She tried to run away but her feet refused to obey her.

“Do you have anything to say before you die?” When she turned Byron was smiling at her with a sad look. A noose was slipped over her head.

“I love you,” she whispered. 

“It is too late, you had
your chance,” he replied in an icy tone. He pulled the lever that released the trap door. Sarah tried to scream but no sound came out of her mouth as she plunged toward the ground waiting for the noose to tighten around her neck and end her life.

With a jolt Sarah awoke as she was dropped to the ground, none too gently by one of the guards. It had stopped raining and the sun was low in t
he sky. She blinked, rubbing the grit from her eyes with her sleeve and looked around. They had stopped in front of a ramshackle inn.

“His lordship says if you want to use the privy you had better be quick ‘bout it.”

Sarah nodded, scrambling to her feet. She followed the guard on stiff legs, another following behind. People around the inn stared at her, but she ignored them. When they got to the small shack that was evidently the privy, the first guard opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. The second pushed her forward into the foul smelling room and closed the door. At least they were not going to follow her inside, she scoffed. No sooner had she finished than the door was flung open and she was ushered back to the waiting horses. The young guard tossed her up on a rented horse and remounted his own beside her, clutching her reins in his free hand, just as Byron emerged from the inn.

He stalked over to
her with a grim look on his face. Stopping on the opposite side of her horse from the guard, he handed her a cold biscuit with a thick piece of ham wedged between the slices. “Something to break your fast,” he said loud enough for those close by to hear. In a lower voice he whispered, “Do not talk to anyone. Just do as I say when we get to London.” Before she could question him he moved away and climbed back inside the carriage.

She had
little time to gobble down the cold, welcome morsel, before they began moving again. A loud giggle drifted from the carriage and Sarah glared at the back of it. Here she was sweaty, dirty and exhausted while Byron was enjoying a relaxing carriage ride with his mistress. They were probably sharing a breakfast of strawberries and wine while all she had was a cold bun to nibble on. She admonished herself. As a prisoner and she didn't deserve even the small meal Byron purchased. She should be grateful for his compassion. It had been thoughtful of him. Sarah bit her lip in frustration.
Why can I not hate him? He is surely taking me to my death. Is love really that blind?

Sarah dozed on and off all day, waking from horrible and confusing nightmares. They stopped at another inn for a late afternoon meal and again she was allowed to use the privy. This time however she was also permitted to walk around and stretch her stiff limbs. One of the guards brought a small tray containing two sausage biscuits, an apple, and a cup of hot tea which she ate sitting under a shady elm tree by a small brook. Afterward, she washed herself the best she could in the cold stream with a handkerchief kindly lent to her by the inn keeper’s wife. As before she was lifted aboard a horse to wait for Byron and Lady Livington. When the two exited the inn they resumed their journey.

It was almost dark when they reached the outskirts of London. Sarah shivered, partly from the chill in the spring air and partly from dread. They stopped in front of an imposing looking townhouse Sarah assumed was Byron’s. The marquis helped Lady Livington from the carriage and escorted her to the door. He spoke with her for a moment, but Sarah couldn't make out what he said as he motioned toward her. Lady Livington glared at her before entering the house.

 
The lord hurried back down the steps, untied his horse from the back of the carriage and mounted. Without a backward glance he urged his horse into a trot. The guards followed, still leading Sarah’s mount. As they jogged along the busy streets a growing sense of fear creep up her spine. Was he taking her to Newgate or somewhere else? Her fears were confirmed when they turned a corner and she saw the prison looming in front of her. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying, raising her chin in stubborn conviction. No matter how afraid she was she would not let anyone see her weep, she vowed.

 
Byron stopped at the massive iron gates and passed a parchment to one of the prison guards. The guard scanned the paper and signaled for the gate to be opened for them to pass through. The horses’ hooves echoed off the stone walls as they crossed into the main courtyard. Sarah shivered at the lonely sound. Another group of prison guards came forward to look at the parchment and then took their horses. Sarah was pulled from the back of her mount and escorted between two of the guards. Byron didn't look at her, but followed the guards into another smaller courtyard. She was forced up a flight of stone stairs at the end of the second yard and into a large hall. After a third set of guards had been shown the papers they were escorted down a long hallway to a small room which contained two rickety chairs and a desk.

Within moments a large hairy man hurried into the room. Sarah’s nose wrinkled at the stench of liquor and sweat radiating from him. He was dressed in a wrinkled uniform, missing many of its buttons. His dirty shirt stretched tight across his enormous waistline and his shirttails hung out over his rather large derriere. His eyes were glazed, his face flushed, either from the amount of drink he had already consumed so early in the evening, or from his efforts to hurry up the stairs to the office to greet them.