Malia Martin (22 page)

When she finally reached the cobbled yard, Sara headed directly for the stables. A dozing stablehand jerked up from his seat in a pile of hay.

“Good God, what are ye about?” He came forward as Sara slid from the saddle. She had often thought how nice it would be to ride astride. No longer. Give her a sidesaddle any day over the horrendous torture tool she had just peeled herself from.

“I’m lookin’ for His Grace, the Duke of Rawlston,” Sara said with a scratchy voice she no longer needed to pitch low.

The man shook his head. “Nobody of such high station ‘ere, lad.”

Sara swayed slightly at his answer. Could she climb back into that saddle? She closed her eyes on a sigh.

“Nope, not many people ‘ere tonight, I must say. Just some gentleman and a squire.”

Sara opened her eyes. “A gentleman?”

The stablehand wiped Ophelia’s neck with a gentle gesture. “Hmm, a Mr. Phillips, I believe.”

“Oh!” Sara wanted to leap for joy, but her muscles refused, adamantly.

“I suggest ye go on in, lad, and get yerself a pint. You could bed down ‘ere in the stables, if you’d like.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think ye should be ridin’ about on a night like this.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, sir.” Sara huffed a sigh of pure relief. She pulled a coin from her pocket and gave it to the man. “Could you put Ophelia up for me? I’m taking a room at the inn.”

“O’ course!” The man nodded, smiled, and led Ophelia deeper into the stable.

Holding tight to her hat, Sara bent her head and sloshed across the yard to the wooden door of the inn. She hurried inside, slamming the door against a gust of wind that pinged raindrops
the size of walnuts against the glasspaned windows.

A desk to her right was deserted, but a young man sat in the common room off to her left, hunched over a large tankard of ale. He gave her a quick dismissing glance, then went back to nursing his beer.

She could see no one else, and realized that it would be best if no one else saw her. Balancing on her toes, Sara went quickly up a set of creaking stairs she was rather sure would take her to the rooms.

At the top of the stairs a dark hallway stretched before her, relieved only by a sliver of light coming from under a door. Sara tiptoed to the light, hesitating when she heard a voice from the other side of the door.

It was a low baritone, mumbling words in the dark. Sara gasped when she heard it, for she would recognize Trevor’s voice through a door anywhere.

She straightened, her breathing coming hard through her nose.
That whoring bastard!
Sara curled her hand into a fist ready to pound on the door. If the duke thought he could run out on them and then spend the night lolling about in the arms of some lightskirt . . . Sara saw red. Rather than knock, she grabbed the doorknob and turned. It gave, and she flung open the door.

T
revor peered up from the letter he was trying to read at the thing that stood in the doorway. Obviously, he had forgotten to lock the door. Very stupid of him. Still, the boy masquerading as a drowned rat who seemed to be melting in front of him did not seem much of a threat.

“Can I help you?” Trevor asked.

The rat sputtered, blinking through strands of wet hair that plastered his face. “What are you doing?”

Trevor squinted. “Sara?” He stood, still not believing that the soaked boy on his doorstep could be the Duchess. But it sure as hell sounded like her. “What on earth?” He strode forward and pulled the limp hat from his caller’s head. Water splashed from the brim to the floor, soaking his slippers.

Sara pushed the hair back from her face. “Who were you just talking to?”

Trevor was still registering the fact that the Dowager Duchess of Rawlston was standing before him, soaked to the bone and dressed as a boy.

“Is someone here with you?” she asked, shoving past him. She stalked into the middle of the room, turned a slow circle, then speared him with a glance as hard as steel. “And what do you think you are doing, running out on Rawlston?”

Trevor shook his head as he closed the door. “You just rode here from Rawlston, didn’t you?” He crossed to one of the windows that looked onto the yard. “Tell me Grady came with you!” He peered through the dense rain, unable to see a thing. “If you came alone, I shall have to kill you.”

“Not before 7 kill you!” Sara came up to him and shoved hard against his chest with the palms of her hands. “You just ran out on your wedding!” She shoved again. “Or did you forget the small fact that you are getting married . . .”
Shove
. “. . . Tomorrow!”

“Wait one minute!” Trevor grabbed Sara’s hands before she could push him again. “I left a note.”

“Right, the one Grady said was unreadable.”

Trevor hitched in a breath, then blew it out slowly. “I was in a hurry.”

“Obviously! You whoring . . .” Sara looked around the room again. “Where is she, anyway? I heard you speaking with someone:”

Trevor sighed and furrowed his fingers through his hair. “I was talking to myself.” He bent and picked up the letter from the floor. “I was reading.”

Sara frowned. “Reading? But I heard you talking to someone.”

Trevor dropped into a chair. “I read aloud.” He shrugged, suddenly very tired of trying to hide his problems any longer. “It makes it easier for me.”

“Easier?”

Trevor glanced away from Sara’s questioning eyes. “I can’t read very well. And, as Grady found out this morning, I can’t write well, either.”

Sara scrunched up her nose. “But I thought you were brought up in a wealthy family. Wasn’t your father a Knight of the Realm?”

Trevor blew out a short staccato laugh as Sara continued.

“Did you not have a tutor, or go to school?”

Trevor shoved his chair back on two legs, leaning it against the wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, yes, I went to school, all right. Eton, just like my father. Only I did not get along as well as my father.” Trevor shook his head, whistling quietly. “Oh, that plagued the man. His son was stupid, and everyone knew it.”

“You’re not stupid,” Sara said indignantly.

Trevor shrugged again. “No, I am not. But there is something wrong with me.”

“What do you mean, there is something wrong with you?” The duchess trudged closer to him, leaving a trail of puddles on the floor. “I can see nothing wrong with you.”

Trevor smiled. “Well, thank you, Duchess. I believe that is the kindest thing you have ever said to me.”

Sara waved this away and frowned at him. “Explain your previous statement.”

Trevor sighed. She was intent on her line of questioning. “I don’t know, truthfully.” Trevor uncrossed his arms and spread his hands palms up in a gesture of bewilderment. “I just don’t . . . work like other people. I can’t seem to read very well, no matter how much I practice, and writing is a struggle also. The words, I can never remember how to spell words. I can’t read them. I can’t spell them.”

Sara nodded as if she understood. Which, of course, was unheard of. Those who knew about his weaknesses never understood, his father being the prime example. Trevor still had scars from where his father had whipped him, trying to beat the laziness from his only son.

Sara glanced around, snagged the back of an old wooden chair, and pulled it over to him. “Tell me.” She sat, watching him seriously. “Do you read better when someone reads to you as you look at the words?”

She was watching him with interest rather than revulsion, and what she said was true. Whenever he got the opportunity to look over
someone’s shoulder as they read aloud, he could understand so much more. Trevor dropped his chair back onto all four legs. He nodded slowly.

“Interesting,” Sara said. “One of my children is the same way.”

Trevor rolled his eyes and stood quickly. “How humiliating.” He went across the room and dropped onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

“No, no!” He heard Sara come close, felt the bed dip beneath her weight as she sat next to him. “Anne is one of the smartest children in my class. But there is something in the way she looks at things. I don’t think she sees words the way most people do. It’s very intriguing.”

“Yes, well, it’s also extremely aggravating.” Trevor threw his arm over his eyes. “You now know my terrible secret. ’Tis the reason I avoided Rawlston like the plague when I first learned of my inheritance. I knew that I could never live up to the duties of a duke.” He snorted. “I am even more sure now.”

“So you ran away?” Sara whacked him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Trevor lifted his arm and stared at her.

“Well? You just gave up? You ran away, when there are hundreds of people counting on you?” Her hand went back as if to hit him again, but Trevor caught it and yanked her down so that she sprawled across his chest.

“I did not run away. I told you, I left a note.”

“And I told you no one could read it.”

Trevor pulled her closer. “It said that I had to go to London to stop Stuart from boarding a boat bound for the West Indies.”

Sara blinked, her long lashes sweeping her cheek for a delightful moment. “Oh,” she said quietly.

“I will return. I know I need to marry Helen, and I intend to. But I had to stop Stuart. I sent money to you before, and he stole it.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, I . . . I . . . I . . .” She shivered. “I
could
ask why in the name of St. Peter you did not just tell this to me.”

“It took me most of the night to read the letter from the man I had investigating Stuart’s disappearance, and I knew I had to leave immediately or I would miss Stuart.”

She levered herself above him. “Oh, Trevor.” She shook her head. “What a stubborn, prideful man you are.” A tremor shook her body.

“Prideful?” He frowned at her. “Believe me, I am many bad things, but prideful is not one of them.”

“I disagree,” she said softly. “I disagree with you on two counts. You are not
many
bad things. But you are prideful.” Another shiver racked her small frame.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Trevor suddenly realized the intimate position
they were in. Before, he had been too intent on getting her to see that he had not run away. But now, his mind came alert to a fact that his body had already registered.

He drew in a deep breath and had another revelation. The woman was shivering as if she had just run naked through the snow. Her lips were tinged blue and her teeth clacked together as she stared down at him.

“You are going to catch your death, Sara.” Trevor wrapped his arms around her and turned, depositing her on the bed. Then he jumped up. “I am going to go get some more blankets and some hot tea.”

“Choc . . . choc . . . choclate,” she said, curling into a ball.

Trevor chuckled. “All right, then, chocolate. Get out of those wet clothes while I am gone.” He slammed out of the room and ran for the common room.

Sara stripped and plunged beneath the covers, not caring in the least that she was now naked in the Duke’s bedchamber. She was chilled through, and did not think she would ever be warm again. Her teeth chattered so hard her head hurt.

Trevor returned quickly, shoving the door open with his foot as he balanced a stack of blankets under one arm and a tray of steaming chocolate on the other.

“Don’t you ever use the s-s-s-servants?” Sara
managed to ask through her clicking teeth.

Trevor arched a brow at her as he shut the door with his heel and came toward her. “And have Mrs. Dilmoth know that I have a woman in my room?” Trevor placed the tray on the bedside table and shook out one of the blankets. “A woman who looks rather like the Dowager Duchess of Rawlston?”

“Of course, you’re right.” Sara welcomed the weight of the new blankets. “Fortunately, the woman did not see me enter.”

“Well, that is good news, anyway.” Trevor lifted Sara’s head for her so she could take a sip of chocolate.

Sara scowled as Trevor replaced the cup on the tray. “It is not half as good as yours.”

“Hmm, you should taste their roasted pork and potatoes. ’Tis like chewing on straw.”

“And you controlled yourself from taking over the kitchen?” Sara shivered, burrowing deeper under the covers as she laughed. “I cannot believe you did not set about giving Mrs. Dilmoth a lesson in . . .” She laughed again when she noticed the look on his face. “You did, didn’t you?”

Trevor shrugged innocently. “I helped her make some bread for the morning, nothing exotic.”

They laughed together, the sound strong at first, then it petered out until they sat in silence, looking at one another.

Trevor stood quickly and went to stoke the
fire. “I cannot believe you rode the entire way from Rawlston by yourself in this weather, your grace.” He lifted a log from the stack on the floor and threw it on the fire. His thin shirt stretched across his back. He had pulled the tails out of his pants, but she could still see the lean muscles of his legs in the tight-fitting breeches.

He straightened and turned toward her, a look of gentle amusement touched with something else on his face. “Actually, I can believe it. You are an amazing woman, Sara.”

Sara swallowed, the chills that had wracked her body only moments before fleeing in the face of the heat that suffused her now. For the love of St. Peter, the man made her blood bum.

She clutched at the blankets as the truth of Trevor’s character finally crystallized in her mind.

He was not lazy. He had not spent his nights with women in his room. The man was not an arrogant, teasing rogue at all! He had put on an act to cover his problem. Sara stared at the tall, strong man before her and felt her heart thump heavily in her chest.

And it ached, her heart, it ached. Oh, he was a beautiful, good man, this Duke of Rawlston who would marry Helen.

Sara closed her eyes.

“Can you feel the heat from the fire?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. “Oh, yes.”

“Good/
⁷
He came over to her and sat beside her.

Sara opened her eyes, wishing there were some way he could just leave her alone in the room. All she could think was how she wanted to throw back the covers and let Trevor come against her body, make her warm. “Oh,” she moaned quietly.