as she felt. She was perfectly aware that their present situation was scandalous in the extreme, yet it seemed oddly right, and she was quite content.
Martin’s views on their situation were considerably more pungent. Sheer madness designed to make his head hurt more than it already did. First she had hit him on the jaw, and caused him to crack his skull. Now this. What more grievous torture could she visit on him?
With a soft sigh, Helen snuggled against him.
Martin’s jaw clenched with the effort to remain passive. A chuckle he could only describe as siren-like escaped her. ‘I’ve just thought. I escaped from the clutches of a fop only to spend the night in the arms of one of the most notorious rakehells London ever produced. Presumably there is a moral in this somewhere.’ She giggled again and, to Martin’s profound astonishment, as innocently and completely as a child, fell asleep.
Martin lay still, staring at the rough beams overhead. Her admission to a knowledge of rakes and their activities struck him as distinctly odd. Also distinctly distracting. Before his imagination, only too willing to slip its leash, could bring him undone, he put the peculiar statement aside for inspection at a later date—a safer date. Given fair Juno’s apparent quality, taking her declaration at face value and acting accordingly might not be wise.
With an effort, he concentrated on falling asleep. First, he tried to pretend there was no woman in his arms. That proved impossible. Then he tried thinking of Erica, the mullato mistress he had left behind. That did not work either. Somehow Erica’s dark ringlets and coffee-coloured skin kept transforming to golden curls and luscious white curves. Instead of Erica’s small, dark-tipped breasts, he saw fuller white breasts with dusky pink aureoles. His experienced imagination had no difficulty in filling in what the apricot silk gown hid—a subtle form of mental torture. Finally, after making a vow to learn fair Juno’s name and track her down once she was restored to her family and no longer under his protection, Martin forced himself to think of nothing at all.
After an hour, he drifted into an unsettled doze.
Chapter Three
Early morning sunlight tickled Martin’s consciousness awake. Luckily, he opened his eyes before he moved, not something he always did. What he saw stopped him from reacting on impulse to the warm softness in his arms. Biting back his curses, he extricated himself from the clasp of silken limbs and, without disturbing fair Juno, got down from the loft as fast as he was able.
He greeted the horses, then went outside. The sky was clear, the air fresh and clean. The storm had drenched the countryside but the sun now shone bright. A good day for travelling. After stretching his legs, he was about to go inside and wake his companion in adventure when he bethought himself of the state of the roads.
A few paces down the cart track saw his plans revised. Used to travelling on gravel or the hard-surfaced highways, he had forgotten they were on byways not much more than cattle tracks. The track from the barn turned to a quagmire before it reached the road. The road itself was little better. Closer inspection suggested a few hours would suffice to render it passable, at least as far as he could see.
Resigned to the wait, he returned to the barn.
He climbed to the loft and found fair Juno still asleep. The morning sunlight spilled through the hay door, gilding the curls that escaped in random profusion from the simple knot on the top of her head. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, her breathing shallow. A delicate blush tinted her perfect complexion. An ivory and gold goddess, or so she seemed to him. He stared long and hard at the vision, drinking in the symmetry of her features, the arch of her brows and the warm glow of full lips. Most of the rest of her was concealed by the folds of the carriage blanket, much to his relief. Only one arm, nicely rounded in a distinctively feminine mould, showed bare, ivory-sheathed, nestling on the straw where he had laid it down.
Who was she? Quietly, Martin descended the ladder. Let her sleep—after the storm, she probably needed the rest.
Once more on firm ground, he rubbed his hands over his face. In truth, he could do with a few hours of extra sleep, but he was not fool enough to try relaxing in the straw by fair Juno’s side.
* * *
The morning was far advanced before Helen awoke. For a full minute, she lay, confused and disorientated, before recollections of the previous evening returned her to full understanding.
She was alone in the loft. Abruptly, she sat up. Then she heard his voice, dimmed by distance. After a moment, she realised he was outside, talking to the horses. Hurriedly, she scrambled out of the carriage blanket. She shook it and folded it neatly before laying it, along with his coat, on the edge of the loft by the ladder. Then, with a last glance to make sure he was still outside, she gingerly descended the ladder, her skirts hiked to her knees.
Relieved to have reached the ground undetected, she let her skirts down, brushing ineffectually at the creases. She pulled a wisp of straw from her hair, grimacing at the thought of how she must look. There was a pail of fresh water beside the ladder, the linen handkerchief she had used the day before draped over the side. Quickly, she splashed her face and rinsed her hands. She was patting her face dry when she heard his step behind her.
‘Ah! Fair Juno awakes. I was just about to roust you out.’
Helen turned. In daylight, her rescuer was even more distressingly handsome than in lamplight. The broad shoulders seemed broader than ever; his height was no dream. Small wonder he had made her feel weak and small. The aquiline features held a touch of harshness, but the impression might be due to his tan. Helen blinked and found his grey eyes laughingly quizzing her. She prayed her blush was not detectable. ‘I’m so sorry. You should have woken me earlier.’
‘No matter.’ Martin reached for the harness he had left on the wall of the stall. He had wondered what colour her eyes would prove to be in daylight. Pools of amber and limpid green highlighted with gold, they were the most striking features of a remarkably striking package. He thanked his stars he had not seen her in daylight before being forced to spend a night by her side. Her blush suggested she felt much the same. Martin knew for a certainty that relaxing with rakes was much easier in the dark but he did not want her to retreat behind a correct façade. He smiled and was relieved when she smiled back. ‘The roads are only just dry enough to attempt the curricle.’
Helen followed him outside, pausing to breathe deeply of the fresh morning air. She saw him struggling to harness the restive horses and went forward to help, approaching steadily so as not to spook the highly strung beasts. Catching hold of the bit of the nearside horse, she crooned sweet nothings and stroked the velvet nose.
Martin nodded his approval, pleasantly surprised by her practical assistance. Together, they efficiently hitched the pair to the curricle.
Holding the reins, he went to her side, intending to lift her to the box seat.
‘Er—I left the blanket and your coat in the loft.’ The words tumbled out. Helen prayed that he would not notice her fluster. Panic had risen to claim her at the mere thought of him touching her again. After the past ten minutes’ surreptitious observation, she could not understand how she had had the nerve to survive the night.
One black brow rose; the grey eyes rested thoughtfully on her face. Then he handed her the reins. ‘I’ll get them. Don’t try to move ’em.’
He was back in two minutes, but by then she had steeled herself for the ordeal. He stowed the
