A Rose in Winter (14 page)

"And, of course, you're the poor innocent." She chuckled derisively. "For the sake of me, Mr. Seton, I just can't believe that."

His eyes glowed in the warm light of the fire as he gave her a lazy smile. "I never claimed to be an innocent, my sweet, but neither am I your blackhearted villain."

"I would hardly expect you to admit it if you were," she retorted crisply.

"I'm a fairly honest person." The tantalizing grin returned and grew wider when she gave him a doubtful stare. "Then there are times when it becomes expedient to hold back the truth."

"What you're trying to say is that you're a liar when it meets your mood."

"That's not what I'm saying at all."

"Then explain what you mean," she urged, eyeing him coolly.

"Why should I?" he mocked with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"You're right, of course. I wouldn't believe a word you said."

"Then you might as well sleep if you can. We'll be staying the night here, and I see no reason to bore you further with any more lies."

"I won't stay here! Not with you!" She shook her head passionately. "Never!"

Half frowning, half smiling, he peered at her. "Do you want to go back out into the storm?"

Turning aside, Erienne refused to answer him. She was not yet ready to leave the comfort of their haven, but she couldn't trust him either. The sight of him was enough to make any maid wary. All he needed was a ring in his ear to be a swashbuckling pirate. The white shirt, open to the waist, revealed the firm, muscular chest with its crisp matting of hair. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, he even had the torso of a pirate, or at least those of fanciful dreams, and with his wicked smile and his wet hair curling darkly about his face, he would have made a most handsome buccaneer.

"If you refuse to answer me, then I must presume you see the logic in staying here. Good!" His amusement deepened as she tossed him a glare. "If the rain stops during the night, I'll see that you're home before sunup. Since your father is still in Wirkinton and your brother is probably sleeping off another drunk," he refrained from making any mention of Molly, "no one need know that you spent the night here with me."

"How dare you cast aspersions on Farrell!" Sparks of indignation flashed in her eyes. "How dare you!"

"You needn't feel insulted, my sweet," he said and grinned. "I don't judge you by your brother's antics."

"Oh, you cad! You utter cad! He wouldn't be like that if you hadn't shot him!"

"Really?" Christopher gazed at her dubiously. "The way the rumors have it, your brother was cutting a wide swath before we ever met."

He picked up her clothes and began spreading them before the fire. Any further retort Erienne might have made was squelched by his actions, for he seemed quite familiar with the intricate detail of the garments. Embarrassed, she rolled into a knot, facing away from him and jerking the redingote up close about her neck in what she hoped was a pointed dismissal. It was a long time before the seething irritation calmed. Exhausted, she lay still and watched the snapping, crackling fire until her eyelids sagged and her resistance gave way to sleep.

Erienne was jolted awake by the intruding suspicion that she was being watched, and a mild panic grew when she

failed to recognize her surroundings. A tallow lantern bathed the small area around her in a soft, golden light, and she felt the warmth of a fire on her cheek. Beyond the light, deep shadows wavered into an impenetrable wall of intense darkness. Huge, rough timbers formed an unfamiliar pattern above her head, too low and dark to be part of her own bedchamber. Beneath the prickly covering she felt a cloying dampness against her skin, and when she searched with a hand, she recalled it was the shift she wore... the single garment Christopher Seton had left when he had stripped her of the rest.

Everything came back to her in a rush, and she sat up with a gasp, her eyes flying in search of the knave. He was far too close for her peace of mind, for he sat with his back braced against a nearby post, a knee drawn up, and an arm dangling across it. His gaze never wavered from her, but when it dipped downward, she saw the light that flared in his eyes, making her conscious of her lack of modesty. The redingote had dropped away, and when she glanced quickly down, her fears were realized, for no detail was left to the imagination. Her skin glowed in the firelight, and the soft, rosy peaks of her bosom strained against the delicate fabric. With a shocked gasp, she snatched the woolen garment to her.

"How long have you been sitting there watching me sleep?" she demanded.

A slow smile touched his lips. "Long enough."

She was in no mood for games. "Long enough for what?"

His smoldering gaze passed over her. "Long enough to come to the determination that you're worth far more than any debt."

Erienne's mouth sagged slightly, and she stared at him in surprise, unconscious of the vision she presented as her hair tumbled about her shoulders in loose array. "Mr. Seton, you can hardly think of me as compensation for an unpaid debt. If you do, you've taken leave of a goodly portion of your senses."

"If your father has his way, 'tis exactly what you'll become. You'll be bought and sold for a mere pittance."

"I wouldn't exactly call two thousand pounds a mere pittance," she scoffed. "And besides, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have to marry at all. At least, not for wealth."

Christopher shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Your father need not consider finding you a rich husband. Your companionship in exchange for two thousand pounds seems a fair enough trade to me."

"My companionship!" She laughed caustically. "You mean your paid paramour, don't you?"

"Only if you would feel so inclined, my sweet. I have never yet forced a lady."

"And no doubt you've had many to sample from."

His smile was as smooth as his voice. "A gentleman never tells, my sweet."

Erienne tossed her head. "You rate yourself too highly."

"My mother did her best, but I have a mind of my own." His grin widened. "I've always held myself adaptable to the circumstances."

"You mean you're a self-made cad," she said with firm conviction.

"Aye, Erienne, but with me you'll never be bored. I promise you that."

The warmth in his tone brought the heat creeping into her cheeks. As if instructing an errant student slow to learn, she pronounced her words carefully. "Mr. Seton, I would prefer it immensely if you call me Miss Fleming."

His chuckle sounded low and deep. "I think after sharing a bed and spending the night together, we should progress to something more intimate, at least while we're alone. Now, my love, I should like you to consider the advantages of letting me become your suitor. I am not as ancient as my predecessors. A full score, ten, and three I be. I am strong and have clean habits. I have never been an abuser of women." He ignored her light scoff. "And I have wealth to see you richly garbed, as your beauty demands. As to my appearance..." He swept a hand before him. "You can determine that for yourself."

"I have the distinct feeling you're propositioning me, Mr. Seton," she replied brittlely.

"Only trying to convince you of my merits, my love."

"You needn't try. 'Twould be a waste. I shall always hate you."

"Will you, my dear?" His brows crinkled inquiringly. "Do you hate me more than Silas Chambers, perhaps? Or even Smedley Goodfield?"

She faced away, not daring to answer his question.

"I think not." He answered his own inquiry. " 'Tis my suspicion that you'd prefer a real man to warm your bed rather than one of those doddering fools your father would have you wed. They've passed their prime, and though they'd struggle mightily to perform the intimate duties of a husband, 'tis questionable whether they would be able to do anything more than drool in helpless lust."

His statements brought a bright hue creeping into Erienne's cheeks. "How dare you insult me with your halfwitted proposals, as if you were some grand gift to womankind. As I've already stated, Mr. Seton, I'd sooner wed an ogre than bed down with the likes of you!"

His answer, though spoken in a hushed voice, tore through her with more force than her father's bellowing threats could ever do. "Shall I show you how thinly guarded your insults are?"

Erienne scrambled up, desperately clutching the redingote about her. She was suddenly leery of being alone with him and of what he could do if he set his mind to having her. Still, she made up her mind that she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her daunted by his threat. "You're arrogant, sir, if you believe I'd ever fall swooning at your feet."

Christopher came to his feet in one quick, effortless motion, drawing a gasp from her. His taunting grin and the broad, half-naked chest made her realize the folly in baiting him. He had all but stated he was no gentleman and did exactly what he chose to do. He could choose to take her.

Gripping the coat around her shoulders, she stumbled back as he advanced on her with slow, deliberate strides and a devilishly wayward smile. As he neared, his booted foot trod on the end of the redingote, abruptly halting her retreat. Erienne fought to snatch it free, but he continued forward until she dropped it and fled with a strangled cry to the far side of the stable. The crumbling wall offered no haven from his approach, and she searched for a weapon, finding none close at hand.

"Stay away from me!" She glanced wildly about but quickly dismissed the idea of bolting past him. As evidenced on prior occasions, he was as quick as he was strong. He halted before her, his wide shoulders narrowing her world to a dark, limited space. Angrily she shoved at his chest, but her attempt to thrust him away only succeeded in pulling his shirt apart. His long fingers closed around her wrist.

"Pride and foolishness," he mocked while his eyes burned into hers.

Erienne tried to wrench her hand away, but his free arm slipped about her waist and brought her full against his hardened frame. In the next instant his lips were on hers, and his fiery kiss warmed her to the core of her being, twisting, bruising, demanding. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, forcing hers to open beneath his mounting ardor. His tongue played upon her lips, then slipped within to taste leisurely the full sweetness of her mouth, shocking Erienne's sense of propriety. She tried to turn her face aside, afraid that her will and her hatred would crumble beneath the onslaught of his fervor. She was held in an unyielding vise, her waist clamped beneath his arm, and her soft breasts crushed against his chest. His hand slid downward over her buttock, pressing her to him until she could not ignore the evidence of his burning passion.

His mouth left hers and slid down her throat, and her senses erupted in a ball of flame that followed his lips downward. She could not draw a deep breath or free herself from those hot, sultry kisses. She shook her head lamely in a denial, wanting him to stop before she was consumed. Then his mouth came upon her breast, and her breath caught as the wet, white heat of it scalded her through the thin cloth, bringing her nipple to a taut peak. With outraged modesty, she sought to push him away, sure that she would swoon if he did not stop.

"Christopher... don't!"

With a soft chuckle he released her, and Erienne's mind went reeling as he stepped away from her. She leaned weakly against the wall, gasping for breath. Holding a hand over her throbbing breast, she could only stare at him as if she, he, and the world had gone mad. No virginal platitudes could erase the astonished look of wonder from her face, nor soften the chaotic pounding of her heart.

"Be satisfied with your ancient suitors if you can, Erienne Fleming. Or face the truth of what I've said."

Almost in a daze, Erienne watched him as he turned and moved toward the stallion who had begun to snort and stamp nervously. She was much confused by her own emotions. Her newfound knowledge of Christopher Seton was like a mouse nibbling inside a wall, boding of trouble yet to come, and yet unstoppable at the moment.

Stepping out into the misty darkness, Christopher moved away from the stable and for a long moment waited in silence. He turned his head from side to side to catch the slightest murmur, then it came, a low, muffled sound in the distance, like a shadowed intruder flitting across the stillness of the night or like slow, plodding hoofbeats, only much softer, as if...

He ran back into the stables and began gathering the clothes from about the fire. "Get dressed. We'll have to leave. There are riders coming, mayhaps a score or more, and the horses are traveling with muffled hooves." He tossed her clothes to her. "I doubt they are honest men going about at this hour in that fashion."

Erienne hastily complied and was tugging at the laces of her stays when he returned and brushed her hands aside. Hurriedly he accomplished the task for her.

" Tis the least I can do, milady," he whispered close to her ear.

Erienne fumed in ungrateful silence as she yanked on her petticoats and gown. "Are you certain you heard someone coming?"

Christopher threw his redingote about her, giving her no time to fasten the gown, and pulled her toward the horse. "If you doubt me, stay here! You'll find out soon enough."

Erienne accepted his answer for the moment and stepped aside as he grabbed the old wooden bucket he had used to water his horse. He ran back to the fire and immediately doused it, then kicked dirt over the hissing, smoking pile of ashes until it was smothered beneath a heavy layer, and darkness once again reigned unchallenged in the dilapidated barn. He took the reins, throwing their cloaks and his vest and frockcoat over the saddle. He led the horse from the stable and into a thicket some distance away from the road. Erienne held onto the tail of the steed as they felt their way through the stygian gloom. They waited in the deepest shadow as the sound of muffled hooves drew nearer. A low voice called out in the night, bringing the band to a halt on the road, and soon a trio of riders pushed through the brush toward the stable.