The Rake by Georgeanne Hayes

workhouse faster than I could say squat if she
suspected for a moment that I was hanging after Phoebe’s beau.”
    “ He’s not Phoebe’s beau,
never was. Haven’t I been tellin’ ye it’s you he’s had his eye on
the whole time. You may be blind, and he might be blind, but I’m
not!”
    Demi wanted to believe her
in the worst kind of way, but, unfortunately, she was more inclined
to think her aunt might have been right than Sarah. If he had noticed her as Sarah
said, then his intentions toward her had almost certainly been
dishonorable. If they had been anything else, he would have
approached her openly, not clandestinely.
    She should have been completely devastated
by the knowledge. She was certainly hurt, but there was a
bittersweet gladness, as well, that he at least found her
attractive on some level. She could’ve wished for far more, but she
was enough of a realist that it had never occurred to her that he
might actually court her. She hadn’t thought he would notice her at
all and she felt a faint stirring of happiness at the realization
that he had. Something was better than nothing, to her mind.
    Shaking her head, Sarah gathered the bundle
of clothes by the door and left. Demi lay back, staring dreamily at
the ceiling as she allowed her mind to replay those moments with
him in the meadow. She’d been wrong, she realized. Being sick
hadn’t totally marred the memory. He’d been so kind, so matter of
fact about it, that her embarrassment had faded.
    And then he’d kissed her and held her. He’d
desired her. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened
if she’d ignored his warning and stayed. It made her feel warm all
over trying to imagine what he might have done.
    She was drifting dreamily when the door
opened abruptly. She sat up guiltily, staring at her maid. Sarah
was leaning against the door, her hand over her chest.
    “ What is it?” Demi gasped a
little breathlessly.
    “ I’d thought I might sneak
ye a bit to eat up the backstairs, but yer aunt was layin’ in wait
for me,” she gasped.
    Demi bit her lip, trying to curb her
amusement at the look on Sarah’s face.
    “ Aye, ye may laugh, but it
weren’t ye that had a run in with the old battle ax! Gave me a
nasty turn, it did!”
    “ I’m so sorry. It was sweet
of you to think of it. I wish you hadn’t mentioned it, though. I
hardly ate anything at luncheon, and … well I lost that I was so
sick afterwards. Now I’m famished.”
    Sarah darted away from the door, fishing a
biscuit from the pocket of her apron. “Bread and water’ll have to
hold ye. I lost the rest when Lady Firebreather crept up behind
me.” Dropping the biscuit in Demi’s outstretched hands, she hit for
the door again. “If she comes in while yer eatin’, yer on yer
own.”
    The moment Sarah disappeared out the door,
Demi hopped from the bed and rushed over to latch it. Nibbling on
the biscuit, she headed for the pitcher of water on her washstand.
She’d just swallowed the last bite and lifted the pitcher for a
drink of water when something large and heavy crashed into her
door. A loud shriek followed. “Demitria Standish! Open this door
instantly!”
    Demi almost dropped the pitcher. Swallowing
with an effort, she glanced around a little wildly, then, stalling
for time, called out weakly, “Is that you, Aunt Alma?”
    Her cheeks felt perfectly cool when she
touched them. Darting on tiptoe around the bed, she looked around
frantically for the cloth she’d used before. Unfortunately, Sarah
had gathered it up and taken it with her soiled clothing. Scurrying
toward the fireplace, she leaned her face as close to the flames as
she dared. Almost instantly, the foul smell of singed hair hit her
and she drew back, checking her hair and eyebrows.
    “ You know very well it’s
me! Why have you locked the door?”
    “ I’m coming,” Demi called,
racing back to the bed and bouncing on it once before landing
beside it heavily.
    Her aunt was livid when she