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stopped and
frowned in bewilderment. "Mr. ... Craven?"
Derek bent to set down the crate, and then he loomed over her once more. "Are you all right?"
Sara nodded jerkily. At first she hadn't recognized him. He was always so immaculately dressed,
smoothly shaven, every hair
in place. Today, heavy black stubble shadowed his jaw. His broad shoulders were covered with a knit
sweater and a rough
coat. His wool trousers and scuffed boots had seen far better days. "Should you be exerting yourself like
this?" she asked with
a frown. "What about your injuries?"
"I'm fine." Derek had found it impossible to attend to his usual business this morning; poring over account
books, combing
through piles of promissory notes and bank drafts. Filled with frustration, he had decided to work outside
where he could be
of some use. He glanced at Gill, who was engaged in the aigument with the wine merchant, and then back
at Sara. The collision had dislodged her white cap. A band of lace drooped lazily over her cheek. One
corner of his mouth twitched with unwilling amusement. "Your hat is crooked," he told her.
"Oh, dear." Sara reached up to her head, pulling the frilly headgear forward.
Suddenly he laughed. "Not that way. Here, I'll do it."
Sara noticed that his white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile the appearance of a friendly snarl.
It was then that
she understood why so many women had been seduced by him. His grin held a wickedly irresistible
appeal. She stared at his
chest as he untied the laces and positioned her cap correctly.
"Thank you." she murmured, and tried to take the strings of the cap from his fingers.
But he didn't let go. He held the laces at her chin, his fingers tightening. Glancing up at him in confusion,
Sara saw that his
smile had vanished. In a decisive motion he pulled the concealing lace from her hair and let it fall. The cap
fluttered to a patch
of mud and rested there limply.
Sara lifted her hand to the loose braided coil of her hair, which threatened to tumble from its pins. The
chestnut locks gleamed
with fiery highlights, escaping in delicate wisps around her face and throat. "Mr. Craven," she scolded
breathlessly. "I find your behavior untoward a-and offensive, not to mention oh!" She stammered in
astonishment as he reached for her spectacles and plucked them from her face. "Mr. Craven, h-how dare
you ..." She fumbled to retrieve them. "I ... I need those ..."
Derek held them out of reach as he stared at her uncovered face. This was what she had kept hidden
beneath the old-maid disguise ... pale, luminous skin, a mouth shaped with surprising lushness, a pert little
nose, marked at the delicate bridge where
the edge of her spectacles had pressed. Angel-blue eyes, pure and beguiling, surmounted by dark winged
brows. She was beautiful. He could have devoured her in a few bites, like a fragrant red apple. He
wanted to touch her, take her somewhere
and pull her beneath him, as if he could somehow erase a lifetime of sin and shame within the sweetness
of her body.
Forcing his muscles to loosen, Derek bent to scoop up the soiled puff of lace. Sara watched him in
offended silence. He tried
to brush off the lace cap, succeeding only in grinding the mud deeper into the pure white cloth. Finally
Sara ventured to retrieve
it from him. "I'm certain this will wash." she said crisply.
She was most definitely annoyed. Derek felt a rueful grin stealing over his face. As he handed the
spectacles back, his bare fingers brushed her gloved ones. Impersonal though the touch was, it caused
his heart to pump with unexpected vigor. He
decided to charm her back into her usual pleasant mood.
"It's a pity to cover such beautiful hair, Miss Fielding."
Sara received the compliment with a forbidding frown. "Mr. Craven, I am hardly eager to hear your
opinions about my appearance." She held the crumpled puff as if it were an injured pet. "Throwing my
favorite cap into the mud "
"It dropped," he said hastily. "I didn't throw it. I'll buy you another."
The frown lingered between her silky brows. 'I'm not in the habit of allowing gentlemen to purchase
articles of clothing for me."
"Sorry," he said, doing his best to look chastened.
The cold breeze gusted again, bringing with it the scent of a coming storm. Sara looked at the gray sky
and wiped at an errant raindrop that had whisked against her cheek. ''You'll catch a chill," Derek said, all
solicitous concern. He found her elbow in the folds of her cloak. Before she could jerk her arm away, he
ushered her down the steps of the nearest entrance, and opened the door for her. The warmth and light
of the kitchen enveloped her in a comforting glow.
"What are your plans for this morning?" Derek asked.
"I am going to breakfast with Mr. Worthy. He is going to explain to me about the committee of lady
patronesses that has
planned the assembly ball for this evening."
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