Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) Read Free Page A

she was due and wasn’t about to let her forget it. Sarah wished she had at least had the chance to tidy her hair before facing off with him. She hated feeling at a disadvantage.
    “Lady Clarke,” the sixth man said in his booming, jovial voice.
    Sarah’s smile was genuine for the squire, who sat at Martin’s left on an ungainly-looking sorrel mare. “Squire,” she greeted him, walking up to rub the horse’s nose. “You’ve brought our Maizie to call, have you? How are you, my pretty?”
    Pretty was not really a word one should use for Maizie. As sturdy as a stone house, she was all of seventeen hands, with a Roman head and a shambling gait. She was also the best hunter in the district, and of a size to carry Squire’s massive girth.
    Maizie’s arrival was met by a thud and a long, mournful squeal from the pigpen.
    The squire laughed with his whole body. “Still in love, is he?”
    Sarah grinned back. “Caught him not an hour ago trying to sneak over for a tryst.”
    The squire chuckled. “It’s good someone loves my girl,” he said with an affectionate smack to the horse’s neck. Maizie nuzzled Sarah’s apron and was rewarded with an old fall apple. Willoughby sounded as if he were dying from anguish.
    “Thank you for the ale you sent over, Squire,” Sarah said. “It was much enjoyed. Even the dowager had a small tot after coming in from one of her painting afternoons.”
    “Excellent,” he said with a big smile. “Excellent. Everyone is well here, I hope? Saw Lady Clarke and Mizz Fitchwater out along the Undercliff with their paints and hammers. They looked to be in rude health.”
    Sarah smiled. “They are. I will tell them you asked after them.”
    “This isn’t a social call,” Martin interrupted, shifting in his saddle.
    Sarah kept her smile, even though just the sight of Martin sent her heart skidding around in dread. “To what do I owe the honor then, gentlemen?”
    “Have you seen any strangers around?” the squire asked, leaning forward. “There’s been some theft and vandalism in the area. Stolen chickens and the like.”
    “Oh, that,” Sarah said with a wave of her hand. “Of course. He’s taken my eggs.”
    Martin almost came off his horse. “Who?”
    Shading her eyes with her hand, Sarah smiled up at him. “Who? Don’t you mean what? Unless you name your foxes.”
    That obviously wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for. “Fox? Bah! I’m talking about a man. Probably one of those damned thievin’ soldiers wandering the roads preying on good people.”
    Did he truly not notice how his own men scowled at him? Men who undoubtedly had wandered the roads themselves? Well, Sarah thought, if she had had any intention of acknowledging her surprise visitor, Martin’s words disabused her of the notion. She wouldn’t trust Napoleon himself to her cousin’s care.
    “Not unless your soldier has four feet and had a long bushy tail,” she said, genially. “But I doubt he would fit the uniform.”
    The squire, still patting his Maizie, let out a great guffaw. “We’ll get your fox for you, Lady Clarke,” he promised. “Not great hunt country here. But we do. We do.”
    “Kind of you, Squire. I am certain the girls will be grateful. You know how fatched Mary and Martha can get when their routine is disturbed.”
    “Martha . . .” Martin was getting redder by the minute. “Why haven’t I heard about this? You boarding people here? What would Boswell say?”
    Sarah tilted her head. “I imagine he’d say that he was glad for the eggs every morning for breakfast, Martin.”
    For a second she thought Martin might have a seizure, right there on his gelding. “You’re not going to get away with abusing your privilege much longer, missy,” he snapped. “This land is . . .”
    “Boswell’s,” she said flatly. “Not yours until we know he won’t come back.”
    “Bah!” Martin huffed. “It’s been almost four months, girl. If he was coming back, he’d be