A Rose in Winter

  Christopher Seton’s eyes passed over the shapely figure with warm admiration. The light breezes teased the dark curls, and she paused to tuck the stray wisps beneath her kerchief. Her arms reached forward as she turned away to another chore, and for a moment the bodice of her gown stretched tight across the slim back, reassuring him of the fact that the waist was naturally narrow and had no need to be shaped by the tight cinching of stays. In his far-reaching travels he had seen his share of women and been most selective of those he had chosen to sample. His experience could not truthfully be termed lacking, yet it was hard in his mind that this delectable bit whom he scrutinized so carefully far exceeded anything he could call to mind, whether here or halfway across an ocean or two.

  In the past three years he had taken his four ships to the far eastern shores, sounding out fresh ports and seeking goods to trade. He had become much a man of the sea and ofttimes had been confined to a ship for long periods while under sail. Since arriving in England other matters had commanded his attention, and he had casually abstained from taking up a relationship until he met a companion worthy to be considered. Thus he was not unstirred by what he saw before him. There was a graceful naïveté about Erienne Fleming that totally intrigued him, and he thought he would greatly enjoy instructing her in the ways of love and lovers.

  Erienne reached to thrust a log into the fire and caught sight of the dog sneaking toward the raw fat that had been piled on a nearby table. Shouting a warning, she came upright with the stick in her hand and, as the dog skittered off toward the hole in the fence, turned to throw it after him. Doing so, she finally caught sight of the tall, nattily garbed onlooker, and the shock that went through her made her catch her breath. She stared at him as if stunned, distressed that he should be a witness to her undignified actions and dowdy appearance when he looked so dapper in royal blue coat and gray breeches and waistcoat. As if through a haze it came to her that she should be angry at his intrusion, but before that urging took some direction, the man stepped across the low fence and came toward her in long, hasty strides. Her eyes flew open in fear, and a scream built slowly in her breast. Though she knew she was about to be cruelly ravished, her legs seemed numbed and her feet firmly rooted to the spot where she stood.

  Then he was there before her, but instead of crushing her to earth, he bent aside and snatched the hem of her skirt from the blazing hearth. With quick swipes of his hat, he slashed the flames out, then lifting the smoldering cloth, rubbed it together until no wisp of smoke strayed forth. As she stared at him, he straightened and held up a handful of charred hem for her inspection.

  “I believe, my dear Erienne,” he began solicitously, the humor in his voice disguised by a disapproving frown, “that you either have a penchant for self-destruction…or you are somehow testing me…or my ability to protect you. I think this may bear further investigation.”

  It dawned on Erienne, as his gaze dropped, that he was far more interested in the considerable length of leg the raised skirt exposed. Catching the garment free of his grasp, she cast a sidelong glare at the man and moved a step away from him, then eyed him quizzically as he set aside his hat and removed his coat to lay it across a plank. The hearth radiated a fair amount of heat, warranting the shedding of the garment, but for a man who had been banned from the cottage, Christopher Seton seemed quite at ease.

  “I suppose I must thank you for what you did,” Erienne reluctantly conceded, “but if you hadn’t been standing there, this would never have happened.”

  His brows gathered in a lopsided query while a smile touched his lips. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “What were you doing spying on me?” she asked bluntly as she flounced down on a bench to inspect her charred skirts.

  The lean, hard muscles of his thighs flexed beneath the tight-fitting breeches as he half sat, half leaned on a high stool nearby. “I grew bored with viewing the ladies who meander about the markets, and I came to see if the sights were better here at the mayor’s cottage.” The corners of his lips twitched with amusement, and his eyes gleamed into hers as he added, “I am happy to report, they are!”

  Erienne got to her feet in a huff. “Have you nothing better to do than go about ogling the women?”

  “I suppose I could find something else to occupy me,” he replied easily, “but I can’t think of anything that’s nearly as enjoyable, except, of course, being in a lady’s company.”

  “Besides the fact that you’re a scoundrel at the gaming tables,” she responded tartly, “I’m beginning to suspect that you’re a womanizing rake.”

  Christopher grinned leisurely as his perusal swept her. “I’ve been a long time at sea. However, I doubt that in your case my reaction would vary had I just left the London Court.”

  Erienne’s eyes flared with poorly suppressed ire. The insufferable egotist! Did he dare think he could find a willing wench at the back door of the mayor’s cottage? “I’m sure that Claudia Talbot would welcome your company, sir. Why don’t you ride on over to see her? I hear his lordship traveled off to London this morning.”

  He laughed softly at her sneering tones. “I’d rather be courting you.”

  “Why?” she scoffed. “Because you want to thwart my father?”

  His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. He answered with slow deliberation. “Because you are the prettiest maid I’ve ever seen, and I’d like to get to know you better. And of course, we should delve into this matter of your accidents more thoroughly, too.”

  Twin spots of color grew in her cheeks, but the deepening dusk did much to hide her blush. Lifting her nose primly in the air, Erienne turned aside, tossing him a cool glance askance. “How many women have you told that to, Mr. Seton?”

  A crooked smile accompanied his reply. “Several, I suppose, but I’ve never lied. Each had their place in time, and to this date, you are the best I’ve seen.” He reached out and taking a handful of the cracklings, he chewed the crisp morsels as he awaited her reaction.

  A flush of anger spread to the delicate tips of her ears, and icy fire smoldered in the deep blue-violet pools. “You conceited, unmitigated boor!” Her voice was as cold and as flat as the Russian steppes. “Do you think to add me to your long string of conquests?”

  Her chilled contempt met him face to face until he rose and towered above her. His eyes grew distant, and he reached out a finger to flip a curl that had strayed from beneath the kerchief.

  “Conquest?” His voice was soft and deeply resonant. “You mistake me, Erienne. In the rush of a moment’s lust, there are purchased favors, and these are for the greater part forgotten. The times that are cherished and remembered are not taken, are not given, but shared, and are thus treasured as a most blissful event.” He lifted his coat on his fingertips and slung it over his shoulder. “I do not ask that you yield to me, nor do I desire to conquer you. All I plead is that you grant me moments now and then that I might present my case, to the end that we could share a tender moment at some distant time.”

  Her face gave no sign of softening. Even so, its beauty fed his gaze and created in his being a sweet, hungering ache that could neither be easily put aside nor sated with anything less than what he desired.

  “The harm you have done us all stands between us.” Her tone was bitter. “And I must honor those who have honored me.”

  He considered her for a space, then slid his hat onto his head. “I could promise ease and comfort for all of you.” He paused and tipped his head without releasing her gaze. “Would that be a kindness or a curse?”

  “Kindness or curse?” Erienne scoffed sneeringly. “Your wisdom escapes me, sir. I only know my father frets anxiously because of your accusation, and my brother whimpers painfully through his dreams because of your deed. With each passing day my own lot grows more wearisome, and that, too, because of you.”

  Christopher slipped an arm into the coat and shrugged it across those broad s
houlders. “You have set your verdict against me before I can voice a plea. There is no argument for a closed mind.”

  “Begone with you!” she snapped. “Take your saws and bend them on some willing ear. I will not listen to your excuses, nor will I tolerate your mincing inanities! I want no part of you! Ever!”

  He contemplated her with a half smile. “Be wary, Erienne. ’Tis a fact I’ve learned all too well that words cast out in the light of day, like doves, oft come home to roost in the darkest hours.”

  Incensed, Erienne searched about for a club and, finding none, snatched up the hearth broom, drawing it back over her shoulder as she advanced on him. “You lopheaded, caterwauling cock! Are you so boorish that I must drive you away like the hound? Begone from here!”

  The green eyes sparkled with humor until she swung the improvised weapon. He sidestepped gracefully, then grinned in the face of her rage. Before she could come around again with another stroke, he retreated rapidly and stepped spryly over the fence. She glared at him across the barrier as he turned about, well out of her reach.

  “Good evening, Miss Fleming.” Christopher swept his hat to his breast, gave her a debonair bow, and set the hat jauntily onto his head again. His eyes briefly caressed her heaving bosom before raising to smile into her glare. “Please try to stay out of trouble, my sweet. I may not be around the next time.”

  The broom sailed through the air, but he dodged it easily and, giving her a last leer, sauntered off. It was a long moment later that Erienne calmed enough to realize that the sense of loss she had experienced before was even stronger now.

  Disgruntled, she flounced back to the hearth and stared angrily into the flames until a small leather object on the brick floor caught her eye. Bending down, she realized it was a man’s purse, and a weighty one at that. She turned it over in her hands and stared at the initials CS scored in the surface of it. Ire prickled along her spine, and the desire to throw it far away from her was paramount. Yet caution prevailed. If it was a rich purse, as she suspected, he’d be back to fetch it, and if she could not produce it, he might charge her for its loss or even accuse her of thieving. Perhaps it had not dropped out of his coat by accident, and his intent was to cause her some form of embarrassment. She was, after all, the only member of her family who was as yet unsullied by him.

  Erienne glanced around, wondering where she might hide it until he came back. She had no wish for her father to find it, not when the initials clearly marked its owner. She could hear the accusations now. Her father would never believe she had not won the purse with the ultimate betrayal. The thought grated like sand against her peace of mind that Mr. Seton’s return might come at an inconvenient moment and make matters worse. She winced as she imagined the results of such a meeting with her father and brother. It seemed preferable that she should return it, but until she could find a free moment, it had to be hidden.

  The lean-to where her brother’s less-than-magnificent gelding, Socrates, was stabled caught her eye, and she smiled to herself. It was the best place she knew of to store something that belonged to a braying ass.

  Erienne used the back door of the inn to gain entrance to the place. A narrow stairway just inside the postern led upward to the second floor, and with Christopher Seton’s purse hidden beneath her shawl, she made her way carefully up the steps. He had not come for the purse as she had feared, and rather than allow an occasion to arise where he could accuse her of being a thief, she would bring it to him and thus forestall an unpleasant scene.

  The hour was early in the morning, the light of dawn still dim and misty. She was dressed simply in a neat blue dress with a prim collar, having left the cottage with only a shawl for warmth on the frosty morn. The well-worn soles of her black shoes barely made a sound on the bare wood floor of the upper hall as she hurried along. Her intention was to find his room, knock on his door, and give the purse to him, hopefully before she was seen prowling in the hall.

  She had heard that the best rooms were on the east side of the inn, and she could not rightfully imagine the arrogant fellow accepting anything less. Most of the doors were closed, making her search for his room more difficult. At the portals of those chambers facing east, she paused to knock and chewed her lip worriedly as she waited for some response. When none came, she moved on to the third, pausing for a moment with her ear to the plank before she raised her knuckles and rapped.

  In a moment the door was jerked open, and Erienne stumbled back with a gasp as the Yankee appeared with only a towel wrapped about his hips and an angry scowl on his face.

  “I told you…” Christopher began harshly, then realizing his mistake, halted. His brows arched in surprise, and a slow grin spread across his lips. He seemed casually unconcerned with his state of undress.

  “Erienne…I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Obviously!

  Erienne’s face flamed. The sight of those brown shoulders and broad, furred chest increased her discomfiture, and she didn’t dare look lower than that. Nervously she drew forth the purse and opened her mouth to explain her reason for coming when the sound of footsteps hurrying up the back stairs made her start. The fear of discovery paralyzed her, and she forgot her mission. To be found in the hall with a near-naked man was the end of whatever shreds of reputation she had remaining. Her father would be privy to the fact before the morning was out, and his tirade would challenge the broad side of a ship of the line for smoke and thunder.

  Anxiously Erienne glanced up and down the corridor. She must fly, and the only other way was down the front stairs and through the common room. She had taken the first step in that direction when her arm was seized. Before she could resist, Christopher snatched her into his room. She stumbled in a short, quick circle, but the stout panel was already closed and locked when she returned to it. Her mouth flew open, but his hand clamped tightly over it to silence her protest. A frown and a quick shake of his head warned her. His other arm slipped about her waist, catching her close against him. Then she was lifted and moved away from the door until they stood near the bed.

  The footsteps paused outside the portal, and a light scratching came against the wood. Erienne’s eyes were wide and displayed her worry as she gazed up into the bronze visage and silently pleaded her case.

  Christopher cleared his throat, as if just rousing from sleep, and called, “Who is it?”

  “ ’Tis me, Mr. Seton,” a feminine voice replied. “Molly Harper, the servin’ maid. The chore boy’s taken with the sniffles this morn’n’, so I thought I’d fetch water for yer bath meself. I brung it all the way up ter ye. Will ye open up so’s I can come in?”

  Christopher cocked a brow down at Erienne, as if seriously tempted by what the maid proposed. Seeing the workings of his mind, Erienne shook her head frantically.

  “A moment please,” he answered.

  The fear tore through Erienne that he wanted to humiliate her just as he had her father. She began to struggle and became irate when he did not immediately release her from his grasp. He bent and whispered against her ear.

  “Stay close, Erienne. The towel has come loose. If you step away, it is at your own risk.”

  Clenching her eyes tightly shut, she buried her face against his shoulder to hide the crimson tides that swept over her and clung to him with a panic born of desperation. Unable to see his face, she missed the smile that widened his lips.

  “Come on, lovey, open up. These buckets is heavy.” The plea accompanied another tapping.

  “Patience, Molly.” Christopher paused for a brief moment, gathering the towel about him again. Then his muscles flexed, and if she had found the breath, Erienne would have shrieked as he lifted her and dumped her onto the bed. She half raised with her mouth open to hotly voice her objection to whatever he had in mind, but he flung the bedcovers over her head, squelching comment.

  “Lie still.” His whisper bore a tone of command that could prompt immediate obedience from even the most reluctant. Erienne froze, and with a smile
Christopher reached across to turn down the other side of the bed to make it seem as if he had just left it.

  Frantic visions involving her possible fate flew through Erienne’s mind. She considered the horrible humiliation she would suffer if she were discovered in the man’s bed. Her fears burgeoned, her rage peaked, and she threw back the covers, intending to escape the trap he laid for her. In the next brief second she caught her breath sharply and snatched the covers back over her head again, for the sight of him standing stark naked beside the chair where his clothes were draped was too much for her virgin eyes to bear. It had been no more than a glimpse, but the vision of his tall, tanned, wide-shouldered form bathed in the pinkish light of the rising sun was forever branded in her brain.