A Rose in Winter (48 page)

"Come, Allan." She coyly minced her way to the door. "I insist you forget about business and come dance with me. After all, it's my ball!"

Lord Talbot ignored both canes and followed the pair out of the room, tugging at the loose skin beneath his chin.

The festivities continued in grand style, and though the night aged for some, for Erienne it might have been nurtured by a perpetual fountain of youth. The quick music, the fast dances, the thrill and excitement of being swept along on a handsome man's arm and being almost openly courted filled her with a fresh gaiety she had never experienced before. She felt totally alive, and even Claudia's icy glowers could not penetrate the aura of bliss that surrounded her. Other men eagerly presented themselves for her attention, and the glow dimmed somewhat as she was taken from Christopher's side.

Lord Talbot came to claim his tithe of the dances and swung her away in a swirling waltz. Claudia felt no concern leaving the sheriff's side and went immediately to Christopher, coyly demanding a dance as payment for the invitation. As if by prearrangement, the musicians coursed through a lengthy medley of tunes, and Claudia warmed to the heady feel of his arms about her. She pressed her lightly clad bosom to him whenever the dance allowed and moved so close that her hips caressed his loins. If his eyes lowered to her, a pouting smile was ready beneath hooded eyes, as if she understood and only awaited his proposal.

Lord Talbot, for his part, began as a gentleman, concentrating on matching the bold, sweeping motions of the Yankee, but the light grace of the lady warmed him, and Erienne was forced ever to be wary in order to protect her modesty.

When the last notes of the music were struck, Christopher drew away from his partner, convinced that he had just suffered the most wanton assaults on his person he had ever experienced in public. He had, of course, a higher goal in mind and was not inclined to be dragged off to the lady's bedchamber, though she firmly looped an arm through his. Catching the eye of Allan Parker, he approached the man with a greeting and a moment later effectively disengaged himself, murmuring his excuse. Claudia's mouth came open to vent her objection, but he was already moving away and purposefully striding toward his destination.

Erienne had avoided the final pat of Lord Talbot and left the flushed and overexcited elder stewing in frustration. She was most happy to welcome the return of her appointed escort and to entrust her virtue to their truce. They met in the maze of guests, and from then on Christopher kept the larger part of the dance floor between them and their host while Talbot stood at the sidelines and, like an anxious stork, craned his neck for a sight of the one who eluded him.

"You're being obvious," Erienne cautioned her partner.

"So is he," Christopher replied, "and if he persists, he'll be lucky if I don't lengthen his stride by a boot in the rear."

"Why are you so determined to harass Lord Talbot?"

"You know my reasons for disliking the man."

"Me?" she asked incredulously.

"What little time I have with you, I am loath to share with him."

"Why, Christopher," the blue-violet eyes flashed with puckish humor, and the barest hint of a smile curved her lips to mock him. "Methinks thou dost protest the man overmuch."

He went mechanically through the steps of the dance while his mind plunged to a depth beyond her insight. When his attention returned to her, he nodded and agreed. "Aye, the man! Him, I do protest. I protest his arrogance, his careless flaunting of his power. I protest the wealth he wallows in while his tenants grub for a meager subsistence. Aye, I protest the man, and I decry the possibility that anything entrusted to my care should fall to him."

The dark frown that accompanied his outburst surprised Erienne. She leaned back against his arm to see his face clearly. She had never guessed that the frivolous and capricious Christopher Seton had such a deeply serious vein in his otherwise lighthearted character.

The black side of his mood was as fleeting as the leap of a trout in a stream, a surprise in that no warning of its presence had preceded it, then it was gone, with not even the fading ripples to evidence its passing. Again he was the smiling rake, poised, sure, sweeping her across the room in a swirling rhythm that dazzled her and made other couples seem ploddishly clumsy. He swung her past Lord Talbot, but before that worthy could as much as raise a hand to stop them, they were lost in the crowd again. Near the far doorway Christopher paused and, taking Erienne's arm, led her through it.

"Some refreshment, my lady?" He met her questioning gaze and grinned. "Lord Talbot was near a state of apoplexy. He'll no doubt halt the music and seek you out."

They neared the lavishly covered tables, and he took up a small china plate.

"A tidbit? Some other morsel, perhaps?" He did not wait for an answer but laid several samples on the dish. When he had filled it, he pressed it into her hand.

"Really, Christopher, I'm not hungry," Erienne insisted.

"Then just hold the plate, my love," he whispered. "I will fetch you a glass also, and if Nigel appears you will have a case to present."

In the ballroom the music stopped as Christopher had predicted, and a murmur rose from the bemused dancers as Talbot pushed his way through them in his search for Erienne and her escort. The murmur grew louder as the host persisted in making several circuits of the room until he espied his goal in the adjoining chamber.

He charged hence, leaving his guests to their own ends, and it was Claudia who waved the musicians into motion once more. Talbot fought to control his irritation as he approached his quarry. Erienne quaked inside but took her cue from Christopher, who returned to press a glass of champagne into her hand. She sipped the sparkling, amber liquid, borrowing her bravado from his presence.

"There you are, my dear child," Talbot simpered, though his moustache quivered with suppressed ire. He struck a lordly pose as he paused before them. "I have been searching everywhere for you. You will, of course, be merciful and grant me another dance."

Erienne laughed as she showed him her plate. "Your table is so splendidly provided, I fear 'twill take me a full hour to finish what I have here. Besides, I am feeling a bit faint from the dancing."

"In that case, my dear..." He took the plate from her and set it aside, then interposed himself between the couple, taking Erienne by the arm. A note of victory crept into his voice as he continued. "I deem it necessary, in view of your plight, that you should retire with me to my parlor to rest."

"Your parlor?" Christopher questioned with a bland smile.

Talbot cast a haughty glare of supremacy to challenge that one's interference. He cocked a silk-stockinged leg in a kingly posture and reached a hand to brace himself on the table. It came down in the middle of Erienne's discarded plate. Feeling the ooze of caviar between his fingers, he jerked the member away. The plate flipped neatly upward and scattered its remnants on the length of his sleeve, then came down with a crash to the floor, speckling his white shoes with the black roe and splinters of china.

He twisted about, and the stiffened tails of his satin coat swept the table, tipping a carafe of fruity wine. He gasped as the snow-cooled brew soaked through his breeches and stood rigid until the chill passed. His breeches and stockings took on a bluish-violet hue as the wine trickled down his legs. Caviar mottled his right sleeve with a widening pattern, and a deep red canape perched like a trained snail atop his shoulder.

A twitter of laughter began nearby but retreated like a receding ripple as he cast a stony glare about him. Erienne sipped from her glass, then coughed delicately into a kerchief. Christopher's smile had not changed, while others seized the moment to admire the painted ceiling, the walls, or the baroque woodwork of the room.

Lord Talbot's fists were clenched at his sides as he took himself with squishing gait from the further consideration of gawking fools. In a few moments, whispers ran rampant as to how the lord of the manor had stormed up the stairway to his apartments, cursing the ball, his daughter, the cook, the servants, his manservant, who skittered anxiously in his wake, and above all, that damned Yankee!

The grand clock in the hall had chimed the twelfth hour, and the number of guests had diminished to barely a fourth. Claudia had found no chance to press her suit with Christopher but still seemed confident as she joined her father to bid farewell to a pair of their departing guests.

"I do hope you enjoyed yourselves." She smiled and nodded as the couple answered, then turned a brief sneer to their backs as they moved on. "Margaret is really getting plump, don't you agree, Papa? We'll have to enlarge the doors if she doesn't stop eating."

Talbot sighed as a memory assailed him. He could remember a time when the lady had been most tender to the touch and plump in all the right places. "She was such a pretty little thing when she was younger. As eager to please as anyone I've ever seen."

"That had to be at least a score of years ago, Papa. Neither one of you are spring birds anymore."

Talbot's dream burst like a bubble. Had it been that long ago?

He cleared his throat and paid her back full measure for her bold reminder. "I'm sure you're disappointed with the evening, my dear. That pretty little Erienne stole both it and the Yankee from beneath your nose."

Claudia tossed her head flippantly. "Huh, Christopher was only being nice because he felt responsible for her. Once she's abed, she'll be out of our hair, and I'll have plenty of time to assure him that I'm not angry."

"If your intention is that they spend the night, my dear, then you'd best hurry." He inclined his head toward the entry hall. "They said their farewells a few moments ago."

Claudia gasped as she followed his gaze and saw Christopher receiving their cloaks from the butler. She wasted no time reaching the foyer and making her protest known. "You're not leaving, are you? Why, I simply cannot hear of it. We've had rooms prepared for the both of you." She leaned toward Christopher, smiling suggestively. "Separately, of course."

Erienne hastened to allay the possibility. "I shall, of course, release Mr. Seton to whatever decision he might make. As for myself, I shall return to Saxton Hall."

"How sweet of you, my dear," Claudia almost cooed, but her hopes were quickly dashed as Christopher withdrew his arm.

"I am not released from my bond," he replied. "I gave my word that I would see the lady home. Lord Saxton will expect it."

"But you can't!" Claudia grasped at any excuse in an effort to win his company. "Look! 'Tis snowing outside. A storm is upon us."

Christopher turned with a questioning smile to Erienne.

"I must!" she stated simply.

He faced the other woman with a shrug. "I must."

Claudia stared at him and could find no further plea, though her lips parted several times as she searched for one.

"Good night, Claudia," he said, assisting Erienne with her cloak. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Yes," Erienne chimed in, deepening Claudia's confusion. " 'Twas a most delightful affair. Thank you."

The woman clamped her mouth tightly shut. With so many others about, she could not trust herself to make a decent farewell. The heat of her angry glare was felt by Erienne as she tucked her hand through her escort's arm. She smiled pleasantly.

"Good night, Claudia."

The impressively handsome couple made their way out to the waiting coach. Tanner had already mounted to the driver's seat, while Bundy waited beside the door of the conveyance and anxiously shifted his weight from foot to foot. When the couple were settled within, the man climbed to the top and, cradling a heavy blunderbuss in his arm, wrapped a heavy blanket about himself to ward off the piercing chill; then Tanner clucked to the horses, shook the reins, and the coach moved away.

The night was quiet, as it often is when the snow falls soft and gentle. The hushed, blanketed world of dark and virgin white enclosed them in a silken void where the only sounds were the muffled hoofbeats and the slight creaking and groaning of the carriage as it progressed through the deepening snow. The lanterns cast dim orbs of light into the night on either side of the coach, barely penetrating the heavy snowfall.

Inside, another pair of twin lanterns gave off their own fragile light as Erienne huddled in the corner of the rear seat, bracing herself against the sway. In the opposite seat Christopher pulled his cloak close about him and turned up the collar to ward off the chill. Avoiding his gaze, Erienne sat forward and pushed aside the velvet curtain for a moment to observe the downward flight of the huge, gold-washed crystal flakes that drifted through the pale lantern light. Settling back, she spread the thick fur robe over her skirts, channeling the heat of the warming pan upon her.

It was not long before Christopher gave up his struggle to find some warmth, and with a low grunt of dissension, left his place and his cloak and moved into the seat beside her. He lifted the robe and pulled it over his legs. After tucking it securely about them, he leaned back and silently dared his companion to object.

Erienne was uneasy with his boldness, and it passed through her mind that if Lord Saxton had given thought to the night's chill, he would have planned better and sent along another robe. Her worries burgeoned when Christopher placed his arm along the back of the seat. He met her wary gaze until she turned away, then he leisurely admired the soft blush on the creamy skin of her cheeks, the slim, straight nose, and the delicately formed lips, which seemed to beckon the touch of his own. He watched her as one might observe a trembling, dew-laden rose, awed by its delicate beauty.