Free Too Hot For A Rake by Pearl Wolf

face.”
    “Thank you, ma’am. My valet will restore it before I return it.” He wiped his face, ignoring Amy’s stern glare in his direction, and closed his eyes to bar further conversation.
    Helena returned her diary to her reticule, for the erratic motion of the carriage sloshing through rutted roads made writing impossible. While Waverley rested opposite her, she too rested.
    When Casper pulled up to a small hostelry in Taunton, the only sign above the door read “Inn.” The sun had reappeared but the ground remained sodden. Waverley stepped down first. When he offered his hand, Helena took it, expecting to have to wade through puddles to the door of the inn, but the marquis swept her into his arms and carried her inside.
    “Th…thank you, sir,” she managed. “How kind.”
    He set her down in the taproom and bowed. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
    While Rabu spread the picnic fare supplied by the innkeeper of Arnos Manor in Bristol on one of two tables, Amy fetched a draught for the marquis, and lemonade for her mistress. Casper joined Rabu and Amy at the other table in the corner of the room, though the room was so small every word Helena and Waverley said to one another could be heard.
    “Try to get some sleep when you return to the carriage, ma’am. Exeter is more than five hours away.”
    “You may ride with me and continue to rest if you wish, sir,” she said shyly.
    “Thank you, but my horse might object. He needs his exercise.”
    Helena’s infectious laughter caused Casper to grin, Rabu to giggle and Amy to frown.
    Once under way, Helena leaned back and closed her eyes, but try as she might, she could not sleep, for Lord Waverley troubled her thoughts. He was such a contradiction. Tender at times, brusque just as often. He was seductive at times, behaving with propriety just as often. Who was the real man inside these contradictions?
     
    By the time they reached the Turks Head Inn in Exeter, a fifteenth-century hostelry, Helena was too weary to eat dinner in the private dining room. She ordered a light supper sent to her chamber and fell asleep soon after. At dawn, the sound of voices coming from the courtyard woke her. Startled by the rude noise, she pushed the covers away, went to the window and peered over the sill. The light lit the face of the man on the ground. The marquis! With caution, she opened the window a crack and peered out in time to hear Waverley speak.
    “I need my horse, if you please,” he said to the landlord.
    “It’s too early, your lordship. The stable lads are asleep.”
    “I ride this early every morning for exercise, sir. I’ll make it worth their while. Yours as well.” The marquis reached into his trousers, pulled out some notes and pressed them into the landlord’s hand. “Ten minutes.”
    Curious, Helena drew her head in, snatched her robe and went to the door. She tiptoed to the banister just as Waverley entered and started up the stairs. Helena tried to hurry back to her chamber, but she tripped on the hem of her robe and sprawled facedown.
    “Ooof!” She raised her head only to greet a pair of large, shiny Hessian boots. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked the boots.
    “I might ask the same of you, ma’am. Are you spying on me?”
    Her eyes traveled slowly up past the boots to the tight buckskin trousers clinging to his thighs before she was rudely snatched to her feet. He steadied her as she fell against him. A tremor coursed through her body. It took all her strength to keep her knees from buckling.
    “I’m waiting for your answer.”
    She cocked her head to one side and stuck out her chin. “I asked you first.”
    Waverley’s eyes turned to flint even as the scent of verbena nagged at him. “Well? What have you to say for yourself, ma’am?”
    She stepped back and clutched her gown closer. Why did he wreak such havoc on her senses?
    Without warning, he thrust aside her hands. “What are you hiding? Let’s have a look.” His fingers