Come Be My Love Page 6

  ***

  Jon stepped down from the coach. "Good afternoon, ladies," he said, his eyes on Sarah. Looking at her, dressed so modestly in her high-necked frock, he found it difficult to associate the demure lady she was now with the doxy in the décolleté gown, or the libertine in the bloomer costume. He wasn't sure which Sarah Ashley concerned him most. Each was beautiful. Each was dangerous. The doxy could see to his carnal needs while leading him to the gates of hell. The bloomer-clad libertine could turn his colony topsy turvy. And the demure lady facing him now could have him entertaining thoughts of marriage. Considering the alternatives, the doxy posed the least threat, and she was the one he most needed at the moment.

  "So, have you ladies completed your shopping?" he asked lightly, aware of the stunning green eyes coldly appraising him. Obviously, Miss Ashley knew what some of his men had been up to, and she was miffed.

  She moistened her lips. "Actually, I was introducing myself to the merchants, hoping that, unlike you and your venerable council, they were not pigheaded, narrow-minded parochials. But I see your influence precedes me."

  Jon's gaze meandered over her jaunty bonnet with its quaking ostrich plumes, her delicate face blooming with a rosy hue, the lace hugging her slender neck. She was one delectable little chit. A slow smile tugged at his lips. "If it will be of any help," he said, "I'll see what I can do."

  "What you can do?" Sarah said, nervously fluttering her lashes. "I was under the impression that you were the problem."

  "I'm only trying to show you that what you are seeking is not in your best interest."

  "And you presume to know what is?"

  Jon shrugged. "I know that women are far better off when letting men tend to the rigors of earning a living."

  "That, Governor, is utter and senseless twaddle," Sarah said. "You expect a woman to be a serf, dependent on her liege lord for survival."

  As she raised her chin to confront him, Jon caught the flare in her eyes, the bright afternoon light turning them a rich, golden-green, like the color of fresh spring moss. "No one expects a woman to be a serf," he replied. "But if she assumes the responsibilities of filling the larder and running the government, what are we men to do? Stay home and tend the hearth and raise the children? Isn't that a bit ludicrous?"

  "Perhaps, from your narrow viewpoint," Sarah said. "But the reality is, without the dignity of employment in whatever field she finds suitable to maintain health and happiness and satisfy her mind and body, a woman soon falls into a state of listlessness and insipidity, her aspirations for nobler destinies crushed."

  Jon closed a hand on her arm. "What a splendid pack of rubbish that is," he said. "Don't you think you're overdramatizing?"

  "I'm only trying to get my point across and demonstrate the injustice of your man-made laws. And will you please release my arm!"

  Jon reached for her other arm and pulled her toward him as a rush of water flew from a window above, barely missing her. She braced her hands on his chest and looked up at him. "What were you saying, Miss Ashley?" he asked, his lips close to hers, his thumbs lightly stroking her arms as he gazed down at her.

  Holding his gaze, she looked up at him, and said, "I was talking about–" she paused and blinked several times, brows pinched, as if she were unable to recall what she'd been saying.

  Jon eyed her with amusement. "Have you forgotten your all-consuming goal again?" He gave her a slow, lingering smile. "I believe you were saying something about the injustice of our man-made laws. But I think you missed the point entirely. You fail to see that those laws are made for the benefit of women."

  "Fiddlesticks!" Sarah pressed against his chest, releasing herself from his grip. "You know as well as I that you men make the laws with your own aims in mind. And because of them the women of Victoria are doomed to a life of fashionable dissipation. Unless, of course, someone offers a challenge."

  "Fashionable dissipation?" Jon could not contain the rueful smile. "As I look around, I fail to see women in a state of fashionable dissipation."

  "Of course you don't!" Sarah said, stamping her foot for emphasis. "You wouldn't know it if you saw it." Gathering her skirt, she climbed into the coach and sat opposite Esther who, with her boxes of purchases, had taken up one entire seat.

  Jon crowded in beside her, aware of the firm set of her jaw. She had more grit and determination than any woman he'd ever come up against, he gave her that. And for some inexplicable reason, that intrigued him. Just sitting beside her with her body pressed against him and the flowery fragrance of her perfume filling his nostrils made him uncomfortably aware of a growing need. And the thought that she was undoubtedly adroit in the art of lovemaking and could quite aptly satisfy that need was becoming increasingly mind-consuming.

  "Jon?" Esther asked, drawing his attention from Sarah. "Miss Ashley has expressed a desire to find permanent lodging. Do you know of a vacant cottage, or perhaps some rooms for let where she and her maid might stay?"

  Jon thought for a moment, and said, “Joseph Pemberton has a furnished cottage this side of Cadboro Bay. He's wanting to find a tenant as soon as some work is completed."

  Sarah looked at him and said, with interest, "How far is it?"

  Jon shrugged. "Maybe a fifteen-minute ride from the house. But right now a carriage can't get through because a windstorm left some limbs across the road."

  Sarah sighed her disappointment.

  Esther said to Jon, "After church on Sunday, why don't you provide Sarah with a mare and ride with her to the cottage."

  "A splendid idea," Jon said.

  "I would appreciate the use of a horse, but I'm perfectly capable of finding my way to the cottage... alone," Sarah quickly replied. "I assure you, it's not necessary for you to escort me."

  "I insist," Jon said. "You are a guest in our home, and I feel responsible for your welfare. Furthermore, an unescorted woman in this country is not safe." Which was true, though his reasons for wanting to escort Miss Sarah Ashley had nothing to do with protecting her. The fact was, he wanted to know more intimately the woman who lurked beneath Sarah Ashley's independent facade. Hell! Who was he fooling? He wanted to know more intimately the woman who lurked beneath her clothes, and that was the bare, raw truth.

  "Thank you for your concern," Sarah replied, "but as man's equal, I am prepared to go forth with confidence and meet dangers with courage. And I am certainly capable of going there alone. But I would appreciate the use of a horse."

  Steadying his gaze on her, Jon said in a firm voice, "Nevertheless, Miss Ashley, it's best that I accompany you, so if you wish to see the cottage, you'll have to contend with my presence."

  Sarah sighed. "Very well then, if you insist."

  Jon couldn't help but smile. Then he folded his arms, settled back against the coach, and contemplated the outing, and the scenario he hoped would take place inside that furnished cottage. According to his mother, via Harriet Galbraith, who'd spent some time in San Francisco, Sarah fled there because of a scandal. Although he usually placed no credence on the prattling from Harriet Galbraith's wagging tongue, this time there could be a measure of truth in it. Sarah's demeanor definitely hinted at a daring that went beyond mere dress to a carnal adventurousness.

  His blood heated at the mere thought.

  Ever since he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd been consumed with prurient thoughts of losing himself in her soft, feminine curves. He imagined her breathless and eager in his arms, her lithe body writhing against him and sizzling with passion. He released a long, hot breath. Ah, yes. He definitely hoped it would be like that. It would be a ruddy shame if he'd misread this provocative little minx. He was apt to get his eyes scratched out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mandi looked at Sarah, worried. "You sho' you know what you's doin'?" she asked.

  "Don't fret so," Sarah replied. She slipped into the light wool jacket of her riding habit and buttoned the coat. "Besides, Governor Cromwell is a—" she started to say gentleman, then reconsidered "�
�a man who would never take advantage of a lady." At least, she didn't think he'd take advantage. But she couldn't dismiss the devil-look in his eyes when he'd insisted on accompanying her to the cottage. Nor could she banish thoughts of his stolen kiss in the coach. But he'd kissed her only to prove a point, which was to demonstrate how weak and dependent the female sex was. Well, she'd show him weak and dependent!

  "Ah'm not worried about the guv'nor takin' advantage," Mandi said, "but the folks in Victoria might start gossipin' if you's ridin' alone with him."

  "We're only riding a short distance," Sarah said, smoothing the folds of her skirt. "We'll be gone less than an hour. Certainly, there's no harm in that?" She angled her beaver hat on her head and turned to view herself in the long mirror on the wardrobe, wondering what Jon would think of her new riding habit with its crisp, tailored lines. She had to admit that in spite of his patronizing demeanor, she found him attractive, dangerously attractive in fact.

  Mandi eyed her in the mirror and said, "You sho' do look pretty."

  Sarah gazed at her own reflection. "Do you like my hat better like this—" she squared it on her head "—or this?" she tilted it slightly to the side.

  "Ah reckon to the side," Mandi said. "Mind you don't knock your hair loose, though."

  A smile tipped Sarah's lips. She'd actually like to do just that. Hats, like layers of garments, were confining. And the day was coming when she'd doff her hat, allowing her hair to flow free, slip into a pair of breeches, and ride astride like some of the more venturesome women of San Francisco were doing...

  A series of quick, sharp knocks resounded. "Miss Ashley," Ida called through the closed door. "Governor Cromwell is ready to take you for your ride."

  "Thank you." Sarah hesitated in front of the mirror for one last glimpse. On impulse, she snatched off her hat and tossed it on the bed. Jon would be shocked to find her going out hatless, but she didn't give a scrap. It would be her second gesture in the name of dress reform.

  Reaching for her gloves and riding crop, she left the room before Mandi could admonish her for her impetuous behavior.

  At the head of the stairs, she paused. When she looked down, her heart rate quickened with a suddenness that made her aware of each heavy beat. Jon stood just inside the front door. Tall and strapping, he wore an open necked shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and thick chest and tapered into tight breeches that clearly defined his maleness. Standing with feet apart, hands on his hips, the man exuded an aura of power and strength, a kind of raw, untamed bearing that she found dangerously compelling. Trapped in his dark gaze, she started down the stairs. "Good afternoon, Governor," she said, pulling on a black kid glove to occupy her restless hands.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Ashley," Jon replied. "I trust you're ready for the ride?"

  "I'm ready to see the cottage," Sarah said, "as I'm anxious to settle into my own place."

  On the porch Jon offered his arm. Sarah placed her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. As they walked toward the stables, he said, "I hope you're not seeking other lodging because of my mother's comment the other night."

  Sarah glanced uncertainly at him. She couldn't even remember his mother's comment, so many things had happened since that night. "Oh, no," she replied, aware of their proximity, finding it necessary to walk uncomfortably close to Jon while negotiating the narrow pathway to the stables. "I assure you, it has nothing to do with your mother."

  Jon looked askance at her. "Then... me?"

  Sarah gave him a devious smile. "Why should I seek other lodging because of you? After all, you claim that in making things difficult for me, you're actually looking out for my best interest, my being a poor defenseless woman. The truth is, I'm seeking other lodging because I feel things could get a bit... cramped in a few days."

  Jon arched a brow. "Are you expecting more trunks?"

  Sarah touched her fingers to her lips to stifle a smile. "No," she said. "I don't mean things will get cramped for me, but rather, for you."

  Jon frowned. "Maybe you'd better expand on that. You've left me in the fog."

  Sarah realized she'd been baiting him, but he deserved whatever Mr. De Cosmos might write in his forthcoming editorial. However, she had no intention of giving Jon even the slightest hint of what was coming. Shrugging indifferently, she said, "Actually, what I meant is that once Mandi and I start unpacking the trunks with the bloomers and shirtwaisters, there will be garments spread all over the house." Switching subjects, she asked, "Have you any idea when the cottage will be available?"

  "Two or three days, maybe sooner," Jon replied. He guided her toward the stables where Peterson, the head groom and coachman, appeared from the darkened interior, leading a sorrel mare. The animal's head bobbed as it pranced along on white-stockinged feet.

  "She's a right lively one, m'um… loves a good run," Peterson said, leading the mare toward Sarah. "But if she knows ye're boss, she's as gentle as a lamb. Sure ye can handle 'er?"

  "I'll look out for Miss Ashley and see that she has no problem with the mare," Jon said, taking the mare’s bridle.

  Sarah digested that statement. Well, she mused, Jonathan Cromwell would soon learn that not all women were helpless, hapless creatures, that there was at least one who was not in need of, nor desirous of, his male patronage. However, since he believed her to be helpless and hapless, that's what she'd give him... For the moment. "I'd appreciate that," she said, giving him a meek smile. "Horses can be so... unpredictable."

  "Don't let Peterson's comment about the mare frighten you," Jon said. “We would not put you on an unpredictable animal. But if she gets out of hand, I'll be right there."

  Sarah repressed a giggle. Jon's cavalier attitude was almost too much. She stroked the mare's smooth neck while admiring the animal's fine head and alert brown eyes, then she exhaled gently against the mare's flared nostrils, and the animal bobbed her head in response. Sarah propped her foot in the stirrup, and Jon placed his hands on her waist, and with a swish, raised her into the sidesaddle. "Thank you," she said, gathering the reins and positioning her leg around the leg horn. A gust of wind tugged at the hair creeping from her chignon and ruffled her skirt, sending it fluttering against the mare's withers. The mare began snorting and pawing the ground. "Oh, my," Sarah said, then gave a helpless little cry as the mare danced restlessly.

  "Peterson, hold her steady until I'm up," Jon snapped.

  "Yes, please do," Sarah said in a small voice, turning so Jon wouldn't see her grin.

  Jon swung into the saddle and moved his blood bay gelding forward, then leaned over and grasped the bridle of Sarah's mare to steady her. "We'll head out this road toward Cadboro Bay," he said, pointing. "The road's wide and well-graded so you should have no trouble. Peterson often exercises the horses at a full run. And where the trees are down, we'll leave the road and follow along the hillside to the cottage."

  Sarah studied the long wide road ahead while inhaling deliciously cool air fragrant with wild roses. Her eager anticipation, and the heady aroma of the blossoms, was almost intoxicating. Tightening her leg around the horn, she urged the animal into an easy lope.

  Jon was immediately at her side, his gelding straining at the bit. "Don't give the mare her head," he said, his words more a command than a warning.

  Sarah slanted him a wry smile. "Why not, Governor, she's as eager as I." With that, she clicked her tongue and laid the crop on the mare's rump. The animal bolted forward. Leaning over the mare's withers, Sarah pressed the horse into a full gallop. The animal extended its stride, hooves beating a thrumming rhythm, mane flowing back and slapping Sarah's hands, and as the horse raced along the road, the wind whipped tendrils of hair from the coil at Sarah's nape, and soon the tresses broke free and flowed as unrestrained as the movements of the galloping horse.

  Jon urged his mount on, but when he'd almost reached Sarah, she turned the mare sharply and the animal lunged up a slope. At the crest of the hill she tugged on the reins, but the mare protested, rearing an
d pawing the air, eager to keep going. Sarah let the animal have its head.

  They galloped along the wide flat ridge overlooking the bay, then descended the slope and met the road again. Abruptly, the mare turned onto a wide trail that cut between giant oaks and headed into the woods. Almost immediately, Sarah heard Jon's cry of warning. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him racing toward her and waving. When she turned back, she understood. Directly ahead, a tree lay across the path. Leaning over the mare's withers, she gave full rein. The mare soared over the log and landed gracefully on the other side.

  Sarah reined in beside an enormous maple tree with spreading branches rich with bright green foliage. At the foot of the tree, a spring bubbled up to form a clear, moss-lined pool. The mare lowered her head to drink, and Sarah shook out her hair, sending a wealth of curls rippling down her back.

  Jon brought his horse up short. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!"

  Sarah gazed into eyes sparking with anger. "You needn't get your hackles up," she said. "I was just enjoying the ride."

  "You were running that mare like she was in a steeplechase!"

  "Goodness, but you exaggerate," Sarah said. "The mare loved it. Besides, if I had been running in a steeplechase, I would not have reined in at the crest of the hill, nor would I have held the mare back on the downgrade."

  "So you ride like a lancer and no doubt smoke like a blackguard and handle a pistol like a dragoon," Jon said.

  Sarah gave him a waggish smile. "As a matter of fact, I can handle a pistol quite skillfully. And on one occasion, I did puff on a cigar to prove a point." She shifted in the saddle, prepared to dismount. "Would you please help me down?"

  "Me, help you down?" Jon gave a short, ironic laugh. "You seem an independent little hellcat. I'm surprised you'd ask for a man's help."

  "I wouldn't," Sarah said, "if I were permitted to ride astride instead of being forced to perch on the side of the horse like a wood tick."

  Jon jumped from his horse and tethered it. Standing below Sarah, he raised his arms. She braced her hands on his shoulders, and he lifted her to the ground. "Now I intend to prove a point," he said. He tangled his fingers in her hair, drawing her head back and her lips up to meet his, and his mouth came down on hers. As Sarah pushed against the rock-hard wall of his chest, he drew her tighter, and his lips became more demanding. Sarah's nostrils filled with the musky male scent of leather and warm wool and spicy soap, drugging her senses, making her limbs feel weak and her heart thrum heavily against her ribs. Then, abruptly, Jon broke the kiss.