Chapter Twelve
Yet another bead of sweat rolled down Sarah’s forehead from the sun which beat down upon her. Not only was she physically hot, her temper continued to increase, as well. Though she could not stand the sight of James, every time she sent him a glancing look, she felt something stir deep inside her. He was handsome, devilishly so, with a strong frame that bobbed with the motion of his horse. She wondered at the strong hands that held the reins. What would it be like to have those hands on her body? The thought was always followed by a bout of anger, each time worse than the time before. If she continued with this train of thought, he would have his wager won well before the end of the thirty days. A pleasure she refused to grant him.
After sending James back to the pub, Sarah had spent some time watching and listening to the waves. This time she took Ingrid’s advice and truly listened and found the answer to all her problems. She would return home with James and allow him to court her with his absurd words and actions. At the end of the thirty days, she would refuse him, her father would thus be cleared of all of his debt, and none would be the wiser. Then she would be free to find her true love she so desperately needed.
Yet, what man? He would be handsome, of course, so much so that it would appear he walked out of the pages of the books she read. He would have a wicked smile, a broad chest, and strong legs. He would also allow a woman to pursue what she chose and allow her independence. She shot a glance over at James again and quickly admonished herself for the smile that came of its own accord, wishing her body would behave.
Once her decision to return with James to Greystone Estate had been made, they gathered a few supplies and headed out, both Molly and Thunder seemingly anxious to return to their prospective homes. They had ridden along the main road for two hours and then turned off to ride across the countryside, the lack of the smooth surface making the crossing less comfortable. However, she would make no complaint.
“You look weary,” James said. “Would you like to stop and rest for a bit?”
Although her body cried out that she should reply yes, she straightened in her saddle and stared straight ahead instead. “I could ride for three days straight; however, if you must rest, then do not use me as an excuse to stop.”
“Very well then.” He reined in Thunder beneath an outcropping of trees where a small brook trickled nearby. “I need to rest, as do the horses. It has been some time since I have ridden this hard.” When he had hobbled his horse, he walked over to Sarah. “Allow me,” he said, offering his hand.
“I would rather have one of the sailors take my hand,” she said before dismounting on her own. She ignored him as she led Molly to a patch of grass next to the brook. She was desperately thirsty, as well, but she had no intention of allowing James to see her drink with her hands.
“I have a canteen if you are thirsty,” he said, digging in the bag tied to his saddle. He held the canteen out to her with a smile, and she thought she would lose herself in his eyes.
“Thank you. I forgot mine back at the pub,” she said, snatching it from him then taking a drink. The water, though a bit tepid, was soothing to her dry throat. After taking another swallow, she handed it back to him and watched in shock as he poured the rest out. He then walked over to the brook and refilled it with fresh cool water.
The rudeness of the man knew no bounds and she was tempted to walk up behind him and push him in, seeing as he enjoyed the water so much.
He stood back up and took a drink, his hand reaching out to stroke Molly as he did so. “Do you remember when you told me Molly was the fastest horse in all of England?”
Sarah sighed and crossed her arms. “If your plan is to talk of days past to win me over, I’m afraid it will not work, nor do I care to engage in such conversation.”
He gave a single nod as his hand stroked the horse’s flanks. How could such a movement feel so…erotic. Sarah’s cheeks burned and she turned her back on him and looked out across the field they had just crossed. “I remember it quite well,” he said with a smile, ignoring her request to not discuss the past. “We had ridden out an hour’s time, and of course, you had gone ahead of me as you always did.”
Sarah thought back and it seemed like it was just yesterday they had gone out for that ride and she had told him that story. The amazement in his eyes at the time was something that had brought her joy. “Those were silly words of a child. I understand not why you mention it; however, continue mocking me as you will.” Just like he had a moment ago, he continued to speak, his words bringing about more memories and though she did not want to admit it, a joy to her heart.
“Those words were not silly,” he said firmly. “They were words of a girl who believed them. And perhaps in that belief, for a time Molly here,” he said, giving the horse a final pat, “truly was the fastest horse in all of England. Or so it seemed to me at the very least.” He went to his own horse and took the reins in his hand. “Thunder, like Molly, is strong. And over the last two days as I hurried to find you, I too believed she was the fastest horse in England.” He then turned his gaze upon Sarah, and her breath caught in her throat. Much to her chagrin, tears threatened to escape her eyes. Could it be the savage boy was no more and had been replaced by this civil man?
“If you are done with your memories, we should press on,” she said, grabbing Molly’s reins and throwing them over the pommel of her saddle. Putting her foot into the stirrup, she swung her leg over and placed it comfortably in place.
“Let us go then,” James said. “We still have some distance before nightfall, at which time we will be in need of a decent place to stop for the night.” He jumped on his horse and the two trotted off, leaving the creek and the memories behind.
***
“I must insist,” James said, handing over a hunk of bread. Sarah was ravenous and though she swore not to, she took it from him with a whisper of thanks under her breath. They had stopped for the night under a large tree, the setting sun bringing about the end to a long day. “We still can make our way to an inn if you would prefer. It is not too late.”
What was with men and their inability to listen to a request made by a woman? Nonetheless she repeated herself once again. “If you must have a bed to lie in, then you are free to go find such accommodation. I will stay out here under the stars tonight, the softness of the grass in this field more to my liking.”
He said nothing, and glad to have quiet for a moment, she took another bite of the bread. There was a sweet taste to it, the texture light yet pleasing. Her stomach grumbled and she glanced over at him, praying silently he had not heard it. He was gazing off over the field, more than likely plotting how he was going to win her over. What those plans could be, she had no idea, but the thought of him failing brought a smile to her lips.
For some time they remained silent as they ate their bread. She took a drink from his canteen twice, and only when the bread threatened to choke her. Staying alive was of the utmost importance if she was to win this wager.
“If we are gone by sun up, we will arrive tomorrow night, unless bad weather impedes our travel,” he said, breaking the peacefulness of the night with the sound of his voice.
“Very well. I must admit I am tired.” Sarah leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree, its bark pressing into her back. However, she would utter no word of complaint. Why would she give him any ammunition for this war?
“A day of riding will do that to anyone,” he replied.
She sniffed. “I am tired of hearing you speak of your pain from the journey.”
He uttered an apology and then stood, removed his coat, and handed it to her.
“What shall I do with that?” she asked, genuinely befuddled by his actions. “Do you expect me to go clean it for you?”
He chuckled as he shook his head. “No, but you may find it will bring comfort to your head tonight or cover you if you become chilled by the cold night air.”
The bark of the tree was bothering her and she would have to lay out sooner or later. Without a word, she reached up, took the coat, and bundled it up into a makeshift pillow. She set it against the base of the tree and then laid her head on it. It did make for a more comfortable pillow than anything she had, but she would not allow him to learn so.
The sun was nearly gone and the darkness of the night crept in to take its place. Sarah glanced over as James took a drink from the canteen, a smile on his face. About what he could be smiling she had no idea, though it was a handsome smile. She wondered what it would be like to have those lips kiss hers. Would they be rough like the leather of her saddle? Or soft as her own skin? She imagined for a moment her lips pressed against his, and heat raced through her body as the image became more intimate.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before I go to sleep?” he asked, breaking her from her thoughts. She was thankful for the darkness that had finally descended upon them. Her face had to be crimson with embarrassment from the thoughts that had befallen her. If he could have read those thoughts… Her mortification knew no bounds.
“There is one thing,” she said, turning her head. He had lain out facing her, though he was the width of four people away.
“What is that? You only need to ask.”
“I see the smile on your face, the offering of your coat. Do not think because no one can hear my screams that you will seek to find pleasure in my arms tonight,” she asked in the harshest tone she could muster, hoping her voice relayed that she was not a woman to be crossed. She had no reason to believe he would take advantage of her, and if she were truly honest with herself, there was a small part of her that wished he would do just that. Yet, when was anyone truly honest with themselves?
His chuckle made her bristle all the more. “I would do no such thing. The thought of hurting you in any way pains me.”
She turned back to look up at the sky, the stars now shining brightly. Though she knew little of the new man James Foxworth had become, one thing she had always known for certain. He was not a liar.