“Sarah?” her uncle prompted.
She lowered her eyes from the baron’s dark gaze and gave a demure curtsy. “How d’ye do,” she murmured.
When she looked up at him again, his expression had become distinctly predatory. A slight smile curved his lips. Inexplicably, Sarah felt herself growing warm.
“I’m at your service, mistress.” The words were correct, but they were spoken in a low, caressing tone that made Sarah’s toes want to curl up inside her slippers. She glanced quickly at her uncle, but he was smiling congenially as if nothing untoward were occurring.
Perhaps she was imagining things, Sarah told herself. Since her uncle’s retirement from public life, they did not receive many visitors at Leasworth. She was sadly out of touch with society these days. For all she knew it might be normal for a court gentleman to devour a lady with a mere gaze, as their visitor was doing at this very moment. Or perhaps it was just that the day was unseasonably hot.
She took a step backward.
“Sarah is the best horsewoman in the shire,” Uncle Thomas said fondly.
One of the baron’s dark eyebrows lifted in an expression that managed to combine interest with amusement. “Is that so? I would be happy to see an example of such prowess.”
Sarah shook her head and tried to clear her mind. Where were her wits? she asked herself angrily. She needed to think what to do with this unwelcome intruder. The last thing she needed was a representative from the king hanging around and discovering the natural riding skills she had inherited from her father. And what about Jack? Since her father’s death four years ago, she had fiercely protected her younger brother, trying to keep him from any notice by the king. Though King Charles had said the punishments would end with the executions of those responsible for his father’s murder, Sarah had never stopped worrying that the king’s vengeance could somehow extend to the families of the convicted men. “I fear my uncle exaggerates,” she said finally.
“I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to judge for myself.”
His gaze had gone from her face to linger briefly on the close-fitting silk of her bodice, then to her narrow waist and the gentle flare of her hips. Sarah felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your business here, Lord Rutledge. I’ll just go up to the house and inform the cook about the midday meal. You will be staying to eat with us?”
“I’ll be here well beyond that,” Anthony said with another devastating smile. “Your uncle has graciously invited me to stay at Leasworth while I view some stock in the area.”
Sarah gave a faltering smile in reply. “We’re honored to have you, of course. If you’ll excuse me...”
She backed up another step, then another, then stumbled as her foot hit a hay rake. In an instant the baron was beside her, supporting her with one strong arm around her back and another at her right elbow. “Are you all right, mistress?” he asked softly, his face just inches from hers.
She could see the black stubble along the lean line of his jaw. A small cleft parted his chin. Through the thin silk of her dress, she felt the solid hardness of the muscles of his arm. She took an uneven breath. No, this man was definitely not one of the soft court dandies she had heard about. It was time to gather her wits about her.
“Thank you, my lord. How clumsy of me.” Deliberately she put a hand on his chest. “I do believe you saved me from a nasty fall.” She looked around her with distaste and wrinkled her nose. “And in all this filth. What a dreadful thought.”
Anthony felt her soften in his arms and gave a satisfied smile. Perhaps his stay in Yorkshire wouldn’t be so dull after all. This slender beauty would be a conquest worthy of his expertise. He looked down to where her soft white hand rested against the leather of his jerkin. The lass seemed amenable, at least. He wondered how closely her uncle guarded her virtue. He knew that many country folk had kept more of the old standards from the Puritan days of the Republic than had the people in London. As far as Charles’s court was concerned, virtue had never been a high priority, even during the days of exile in Europe.
“Dreadful, indeed,” he agreed pleasantly. “Would you like me to escort you back to the house...to be sure there are no further mishaps?”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you so much.” Sarah’s smile was sweet. Anthony’s eyes were drawn to her full lips, which were naturally pink and moist without, he was sure, any of the paints used by all the ladies at court these days—and some of the men. He felt his blood quicken.
“I will look forward to seeing you at dinner, then.” He lifted her hand from his jacket and brought it slowly to his lips.
Sarah’s stomach jumped at the touch of his warm mouth. But at the same time, she immediately thought of the calluses on her palms, which told of endless hours of chafing against leather reins. She smiled at the baron through her long lashes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the abrupt way she pulled her hand away from his.
“Yes, until dinner,” she said hastily. Then she turned to leave before this unwanted visitor had her in a complete dither.
She berated herself for her foolishness all the way back to the manor house. She had always prided herself on her cool head. When Jack would get into a lather over some slight hitch in one of their midnight forays, she would be the one to stay calm and collected. Now suddenly the presence of a handsome king’s man had her feeling like a witless dairy maid.
The best thing would be for both her and Jack to stay out of the way as much as possible while the gentleman was here. That would be no problem at all for her brother, whose comings and goings were little noted by the other members of the household. But in the past couple of years her widowed uncle had come to rely more and more on Sarah as mistress of the house. There was no way she could escape dining with their guest.
She rubbed her telltale palms together and wondered if Baron Rutledge had noted them. She was sure that at court a lady would rather be caught naked than riding without gloves, but Sarah was unaccustomed to such refinements. She had been raised in a thoroughly male household. Her mother had died giving birth to Jack, and John Fairfax had been too involved in his Puritanism and his politics to worry about finding a replacement.
Well, Sarah said to herself resolutely, if Lord Rutledge were to be so ungentlemanly as to comment on her roughened hands, she would merely tell him that life in Yorkshire was not as soft as in the palaces of London. Here in the country ladies worked rather than whiling away their days stitching fine tapestries or planning elaborate masques.
She was so lost in her own arguments that she almost missed seeing Jack skirt around the crumbling ruins of an old enclosing wall and make his way toward the stables. At her call he detoured in her direction.
“Have you just come from the horses, Sarah?” he asked eagerly. “I’ve heard there’s a royal surveyor visiting from the king.” His smile died as he took in Sarah’s sober face. “What’s the matter?”
Sarah motioned with one hand for him to lower his voice. “You heard right. There’s a representative from the king. And you’re not going anywhere near him.”
“Is he very grand, Sarah? Are his clothes as magnificent as they say?” Her brother’s eagerness was unabated.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Jack? I don’t want him to know you’re here. It’s bad enough that he’s already got his eye on Brigand.”
As the import of her words gradually dawned on him, the smile faded from Jack’s face like the dimming of a lantern. “And you think he might have heard reports of the robberies?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be just a royal surveyor, but it makes me nervous to have a king’s man staying here, especially one who knows horses. There’s not a horse like Brigand in all the surrounding shires.”
“And