Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (4 page)

‘Well—’ his deep voice was rich with laughter ‘—do I pass muster?’

She blushed vividly.

‘I asked Evans to tell you not to dress up today.’

He glanced down.

‘This is my usual country wear. Nothing special. The coffee smells good. May I have some?’

‘What? Oh—oh, yes. Of course.’

With a supreme effort Rose pulled herself together.

‘I found some muffins that your housekeeper had left for you. And there’s honey and butter…’

‘Excellent. Have you eaten yet?’

She shook her head.

‘Then we shall break our fast together.’

They sat down at one end of the big table and toasted the muffins before the fire. Rose found herself relaxing, enjoying the companionship—there could be no false airs when one was licking butter from one’s fingers. Sir
Lawrence was watching her over the rim of his coffee cup. She smiled.

‘Oh dear, have I made a terrible mess? There is no dainty way to eat these things!’ She picked up her napkin and wiped her lips.

He put down his cup.

‘You have butter on your cheek. Here—let me.’ He took the napkin from her fingers and leaned closer.

Rose held her breath. His hand was on her cheek, but his face was just inches from hers, so close she could see the tiny laughter lines around his eyes, follow the curl of each dark lash, study in detail those incredibly blue eyes. When she breathed in she was aware of the clean, fresh scent of him. She had heard that the Prince Regent used a perfume water scented with roses. Whatever fragrance Lawrence favoured it was not roses, but a much more subtle blend of herbs—lavender, perhaps. His hand stilled on her cheek and he looked down, exposing her to the full force of his gaze. Rose knew she must say something, and quickly.

‘Wh-what is that fragrance you are wearing, sir?’

The blue eyes never wavered from her face.

‘It is from France. Eau de cologne.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘I am sorry to say Bonaparte’s endorsement has made it rather unpopular in England. Do you not approve?’

Oh, yes
, she thought, her senses swimming as she breathed in the heady fragrance.

She cleared her throat.

‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove, sir.’

He was still hovering over her, tantalisingly close.

‘Most ladies seem to like it.’

The words were provocative. She should give him a set-down, but it was impossible. He was still staring at her and she could not tear herself away. But then, she did not wish to. All her virtuous resolutions had deserted her. She was drowning in a pair of blue eyes.

‘By gum, ’tis a cold ’un.’

A blast of icy air enveloped them as Evans came in, knocking the snow from his boots before shutting the door. The groom’s entrance had freed Rose from her inertia. Heavens, how close she had come to disaster! She rose quickly and began to gather up the dishes, clattering them angrily together.

‘Bad, is it?’ Sir Lawrence asked him, unperturbed.

‘Aye, sir. Nothin’s travelling today, that’s for sure. Miss Rose asked me to go down as far as where I guessed the main track should be, but the drifts are terrible deep. Once the packhorses have pushed through, then we can follow their trail, but I don’t expect to see ’em today. ’Tis Christmas Day, after all.’

‘So it is!’ Sir Lawrence turned back to Rose. ‘Let me be the first to wish you a Merry Christmas, madam.’

‘Do you mean to say we will be stranded here for another day?’ she demanded.

Sir Lawrence grinned.

‘At least.’

It occurred to Rose that her host was not at all upset by the news.

‘When do you expect your staff to return?’

He shrugged.

‘I had told them to come back tomorrow. However,
if it snows again that may change. If we cannot get out,
they
will not be able to get in.’

‘You do not seem very put out by the prospect.’

‘Why should I be? Mrs Brendon has left the larder well stocked with ham and cheese, probably biscuits, too.’

‘Enough for you alone, perhaps. But…cold meats on Christmas Day?’ She rose, brushing down her apron. He had accused her of being a managing female—she would prove him right! She said briskly, ‘Very well, then, we must get to work. Evans, have you checked the stables yet?’

‘No, ma’am. There’s a gert snowdrift across the door.’

‘Well, I think you should dig it away and look after the horses.’

Sir Lawrence stood up.

‘I’ll give you a hand—’

‘No, sir, I have another job for you.’ Rose gave him her sweetest smile. ‘I am afraid, Sir Lawrence, that the occasion calls for a sacrifice.’

Sir Lawrence scowled. ‘This is a damned unusual Christmas!’

Rose chuckled.

‘I know, Sir Lawrence, but needs must, as they say.’

They were in one of the outhouses, surrounded by feathers.

‘I only hope these birds were not the best layers,’ he muttered. ‘Mrs Brendon will have something to say when she returns.’

‘But, my dear sir, we must have something to eat today.’

He cast a fulminating glance in her direction.

‘My requirements were quite minimal. A slice of ham, a bottle of wine…’

‘But it is so cold I am sure your housekeeper will be pleased to know you are going to eat a proper meal,’ replied Rose, trying not to smile. ‘I have almost finished plucking my bird, Sir Lawrence. You do not seem to be making much progress with yours. But I acquit you, since you were the one who had to despatch the poor things.’ She looked up and laughed. ‘Fie, Sir Lawrence! I do believe that, at this moment, you wish it had been my neck that you had wrung!’

His mouth curled in a reluctant grin.

‘I admit I was sorely tempted, ma’am, when you told me what you wanted me to do.’

‘But you will enjoy your meal, sir, I promise you.’ She put aside her own bird and reached for his. ‘Let me finish that for you, Sir Lawrence.’

He looked at her, his brows raised.

‘Why do I have this suspicion that you will find me something equally onerous to do now?’

‘No, no, not at all.’ She laughed at him. ‘I only want you to go and make sure the fires are banked up! Evans has fetched in more peat, but you might wish to refill the wood basket.’ She added, in the way of a treat, ‘When you have done that and I have prepared these birds for the spit, perhaps we should step out and see for ourselves just how bad the roads are.’

The blizzards of the previous evening and the overnight snow had given way to a gloriously clear blue sky.
The glistening white world shone just outside the door. Rose was dazzled by its brightness. She longed to go out and explore it, but she had spent years teaching her pupils that leisure time was much more enjoyable when it was earned, so she carried the two hens to the kitchen and set everything in readiness for dinner before she allowed herself even to think about going out of doors.

When she ran upstairs to collect her cloak she stopped for a moment to gaze out of the window. The world was transformed by a blanket of white. She thought of her family back at Mersecombe. They would have realised how impossible it was for her to get home. She hoped they would not be too anxious; little Sam would not worry at all, he would be much too excited by the first real snow of the winter, but Mama—she knew Rose had Evans with her and would surely believe her daughter was sensible enough to take shelter. Rose gave a little laugh. Sensible! If her mother could see her now she would think her anything but sensible, stranded in a large old house with a man whose licentious reputation was known countrywide! But, in truth, what else could she do? The sensible thing had been to remain at Knightscote and it was eminently sensible to make sure they had a good meal. Humour bubbled in her throat again. Perhaps she could have fainted off, or had hysterics when she realised just who her companion was, but Rose could not see that such behaviour would have benefited her at all. No, she would just have to make the most of it. Her family would be at church now, so
she uttered up a little prayer for them as she picked up her cloak and set off to join Sir Lawrence downstairs.

The sun was high over head as they left the house.

‘I am surprised you are willing to quit your new do main,’ remarked Sir Lawrence as they set out across the courtyard.

‘It is not my domain,’ she told him. ‘Evans is only too happy to sit in the kitchen, smoking his pipe and keeping the fire in. My presence is not required.’

They left the grounds by a little wicket gate that led directly to the lane. Rose walked behind Sir Lawrence, placing her boots in his footsteps, but still it was necessary to hold her cloak and skirts high to avoid them dragging in the snow. It was only one hundred yards to the end of the lane, but by the time they reached it she was breathing heavily, her boots and the hem of her skirts caked in snow. Sir Lawrence, she noted, in his country jacket, York tan gloves and stylish beaver hat, looked as fresh as the moment he had stepped out of the house. He had not put on his greatcoat and his only concession to the cold was a muffler wrapped about his neck.

She came to stand beside him and they gazed down upon an alien landscape, only the black outlines of the trees and bushes showing against the dazzling white of the lying snow.

‘Evans is right,’ said Sir Lawrence, shielding his eyes against the glare of sun on snow. ‘It would be hard going for you to push your way through those deep drifts.’

‘But how long must we wait for the packhorses to go through?’

He shrugged. ‘A couple of days at the most.’

‘Oh, no!’

He turned to smile down at her. ‘You need not worry; livelihoods depend upon the business. They will be on the move as soon as they can.’

‘Well, it cannot be soon enough for me.’

‘Ungrateful woman! Is my house so lacking in hospitality?’

‘Indeed it is,’ she retorted, ‘when I have been obliged to cook my food and to make my own bed!’

‘Neither of which was necessary. Mrs Brendon left plenty of cold food and my bed was made; I would happily have shared both with you.’

Rose gasped.

‘How…how dare you!’ she stammered, her cheeks flaming.

‘Oh, easily.’ He grinned. ‘I am quite notorious, you know.’

‘Y-you are quite outrageous,’ she retorted, trying not to laugh. ‘You are trying to put me to the blush.’

‘And succeeding!’

‘Well, I wish you would not. It will make for a most uncomfortable time if I have to spend the rest of my stay in the kitchen with Evans.’

‘It will, indeed, and I would not have you do that for the world. Shall we go back?’

The return journey was easier, for they had a beaten path to follow and Rose now found it possible to walk beside Sir Lawrence. His outrageous remarks had not disturbed her—quite the contrary, for there was understanding in his blue eyes and an invitation for her to
share the joke. He was obviously in good spirits and she was a little surprised therefore, at the serious tone of his next remark.

‘What you said to me last night,’ he said, gazing up at the sun, ‘do you think it true? That Annabelle never really wanted to marry me?’

‘Sir—’

‘No, tell me, if you please. I feel I have been surrounded by sycophants, people who only say what they think I want to hear.’

‘Whereas I will tell you the truth as I see it.’

‘Yes.’

Rose drew her breath, awed at the responsibility he was placing on her shoulders.

‘I did not know your Annabelle. Perhaps she
was
a saint, content to wait, but if she truly loved you, I wonder that she did not remonstrate with you.’

‘She never did. Not one word. As I told you, she was an angel.’

‘However much you might grieve for her, it will not bring her back. She is gone and the best you can do for her now is to make something of your life.’

He gave a mirthless bark of laughter.

‘And just what am I good for? Spending money, charming women…’

She gripped his arm.

‘You are young and strong. And rich! At the very least you should work to improve the lot of those you employ. And even if your land is in good heart and supporting you and your people, there are others who need help. For example, those poor wretches who fought at
Waterloo. Soldiers, proud men who are now cast off, unnecessary to the government. One sees them sometimes, even in this out-of-the-way place, starving at the roadsides. They should be honoured, protected. If you have the means to help them, then you should do so.’

He stopped.

‘Aha, so you
do
think a man can change?’

‘No, sir.’ She returned his look. It was easy to be brave when the winter world was so bright and fresh. ‘But I do not think that
charming women
is all you need do with your life!’

The house was in sight, long and low, the leaded windows twinkling in the sun beneath the covering of snow on its gabled roof. All around them the drifts were piled against walls and hedges, turning everyday outlines into magical forms. Rose breathed deeply: the clear air was as heady as wine.

‘It may interest you to know, madam, that my reputation is somewhat exaggerated. I do not go out of my way to attract females.’

‘But you do not
go out of your way
to avoid them.’

‘Well, no, but your sex can be quite…resolute.’ He grinned. ‘Especially when the prize is so worth the catching.’

When his blue eyes smiled in just that way Rose could understand why so many foolish women succumbed to his charms, but she was determined not to be one of their number. She said severely, ‘You value yourself very highly, Sir Lawrence.’

Again he flashed that wicked smile.

‘Who am I to dispute what the ladies say?’

They were approaching the wicket gate and he strode ahead of her so he did not hear her indignant gasp.

‘Why, you…smug…arrogant…
conceited
man!’

She scooped up a handful of snow and squeezed it between her hands, taking aim as he applied himself to opening the gate.

Her snowball caught him only a glancing blow on the shoulder so she quickly formed another and hurled it after the first. Her aim was hurried and the snowball would have sailed harmlessly past his head, if Sir Lawrence had not turned back at that moment and taken the full force of her missile on his hat, which was knocked clean off his head.