Christopher’s eyes caressed the shapely backside and admired the way the breeches stretched tightly to her derrière when she knelt to retrieve the hat. “You weren’t merely passing by, my lady,” he pointed out. “You were following me. Why?”
Erienne whirled to face him. “Aye! That I was, and from what I see, someone should follow you to see what mischief you’re up to!”
“Mischief?” His tone was one of innocence and surprise. “Now, why would you be thinking I’m up to mischief?”
She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, indicating the black garments he wore. “A black steed? Black clothes? Riding out at night? ’Twould appear that you have the same habits as the night rider.”
Christopher smiled sardonically. “And, of course, you would have me murdering poor, simple folk while they sleep.”
Erienne looked at him levelly. “I was going to ask you about that.” She drew a deep breath to steady her voice. “If you were the night rider, why would you murder Ben?”
He returned the question to her. “If I were the night rider, why would I be so foolish as to murder a man who knew about my enemies? Do you call that wisdom, madam? Nay! I call that foolishness. But if I were one of those he could talk about, then I would have good reason to see him silenced before he told his tales.”
Erienne dared not release a sigh of relief, for there were other names on the list of murder victims. “What of Timmy Sears?”
“What about him?” Christopher inquired. “A thief! A murderer!” He shrugged. “Perhaps he was even one of those who set fire to the wing at Saxton Hall.”
“Did you kill him?” she asked.
“If I were the night rider, why would I be so foolish as to murder a man who blubbered tales, places, and names of my enemies? Neither is that wisdom, madam. I believe Timmy’s mistake was in confessing too much to his friends. Not having the saintliness of priests, they sent him to a higher judgment.”
“And the others who were killed?” she pressed.
“If I were the night rider, madam, I would protect myself to the point of killing those who try to take my life. I do not count that as murder.”
“You are the night rider, aren’t you?” she said with conviction.
“Madam, if the sheriff comes to you and asks the same about me, what can you tell him of a certainty? Why should I confess and possibly make of you a liar?”
Erienne stared at him, feeling suddenly confused. She could not bear the thought of him being hanged. The idea frightened her as much as if her own life were threatened. Perhaps even more so.
“Mind you, I make no confessions, madam.”
“Nor do you make any denials,” she responded.
He grinned and spread his hands innocently. “I had business abroad and with so many tales of highwaymen roaming about, I took what precautions I could to pass unnoticed, and, of course, I chose a swift horse. What else can you say against me?”
“You needn’t waste your breath further, Mr. Seton. I am convinced that you are the one the sheriff is looking for. I don’t as yet understand your reasons, but I hope they are honorable.” Though she waited, no assurances came, and she realized she would hear none. Dusting off the tricorn, she glanced about for her mount and failed to see any sign of it. “You frightened off my horse. How am I going to get back home?”
Christopher raised his head and gave a low, warbling whistle. In the waiting silence, hoofbeats were heard, and then Erienne gasped as she caught sight of the glistening black steed galloping toward them. Freed from restraint, the stallion’s unswerving direction gave her cause to wonder if he would stop. For safety’s sake she stepped behind Christopher, cautiously taking hold of his shirt as the beast came to a skidding halt beside them. Having little trust for stallions or their temperament, she held her breath as she was lifted onto the back of the steed and gratefully accepted the comforting presence of the Yankee behind her. She allowed him to hold her against his warm body, and at the moment it didn’t matter that the threadbare breeches did not provide much protection between the two of them.
Still clutching the tricorn, she shook out her hair, preparing to bundle it beneath the hat, but at Christopher’s exaggerated cough, she turned a questioning look over her shoulder to catch his rueful smile in the brightly gleaming moonlight.
“I believe, my lady,” he choked, “that you have gathered a bit of dust from the road. I’m afraid we’ll both need a bath after this.”
Erienne raised a dubious brow, and his grin widened.
“Separate baths, of course. I wouldn’t want to burden your virgin-minded purity with the sight of a naked man.”
“I’m not a virgin!” Erienne protested, then cringed in chagrin as his chuckling laughter raked her composure. She sought to hide beneath the hat, but in her haste to don it, the thing went tumbling to the road.
“Then you wouldn’t be appalled by bathing in a common tub?” he queried with humor. He leaned close to her ear, and warm shivers went through her as he whispered, “The idea fairly entraps my imagination.”
The warmth that went through her could not be laid entirely to a hot blush. “You, sir, have a very evil imagination!”
“Nay, madam,” he denied. “Vivid, aye! But nothing about you is evil, and that’s all I think about.”
“ ’Tis obvious that you’re easily…” She paused, searching for a more sarcastic and descriptive word than “encouraged.”
“Aroused?” he queried.
Erienne gasped. “Certainly not!”
“Have you changed your mind? You said at a twitch of a skirt…”
“I know what I said!”
“The subject seems to be on your mind quite a bit, my lady.”
“I wonder why,” she retorted with unmistakable satire. It was impossible to ignore the manly feel of him against her.
“Because you lust after my body?” he asked, feigning innocence.
Erienne caught her breath in outrage. “I am a married woman, sir!”
He heaved a laborious sigh. “Here we go again!”
“Oh, you buffoon! Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Did I ask you to follow me?” he protested.
She groaned aloud in frustration. “I’m sorry I did!”
“Were you bruised?” He snuggled her closer against his body. “You feel all right to me.”
“Christopher, if I weren’t so afraid of this horse, I’d slap you,” she threatened.
“Why? I only inquired of your health.”
“Because you make free with your hands! Now, stop that!” She threw away the hand that had settled on her thigh. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing the rake?”
“The sport warms and excites me, madam,” he said, chuckling in her ear.
Erienne opened her mouth to give him a chiding comment but thought better of it, since he always seemed to have an answer ready for her. Though it was difficult, she refrained from further debate and let the ride continue in silence.
The moon poured out its silvered light over the hills and vales and lent to Christopher’s gaze a most fascinating view. With increasing repetition, he glanced downward to where the loosening laces of her shirt revealed the soft, swelling fullness and the deep valley between. On a pretext, he shifted her weight with an arm about her waist and was satisfied with the results, which left her more fully exposed and lent enticing glimpses of a darker crest.
Erienne was too frustrated with her inability to move away from the rutting rake to give notice to her attire. He seemed to be well warmed by her nearness, and no amount of effort could put his presence from mind. They were approaching Saxton Hall before she dared to speak again.
“I left my gown in the stable,” she confided. “I’ll have to go back there to get dressed.”
“I’ll get your clothes,” he offered. “Just tell me where they are.”
Erienne found no real reason to argue and carefully explained where she had hidden her garments. “Leave them in the pass
ageway,” she directed. “I’ll fetch them later.”
In a seemingly short time she was in her chambers, soaking in a tub of warm, soothing water. Aggie had dismissed Tessie, letting the young maid retire for the evening, while she stayed to fold down the bedcovers, lay out a nightgown, and assist her young mistress. The housekeeper left two pails of fresh water beside the tub and, intending to return when Erienne began washing her hair, stepped out to fetch more towels.
Erienne heard the door close behind the woman, then almost as an echo the distant chiming of the clock heralded the hour of eleven. She sat up in surprise, for the evening had seemed incredibly short. Lord Saxton could return at any moment, and how would she explain this late bath? If she dared mention Christopher, he might see something in her eyes that would betray her fascination with the man.
Hurrying now, she wet her hair and applied the fragrant soap, then began to scrub the soggy mass. Her eyes stung as soapy trails dribbled down her brow, and she splashed water onto her face in an effort to relieve the caustic burning. Clenching her eyes tightly shut, she felt alongside the tub for the full pail, then heard the door open and close.
“Aggie, come help me, please,” she called. “I’ve got soap in my eyes, and I can’t find the pail of water to rinse my hair.”
The large rug in her bedchamber muffled the sound of the footsteps, and Erienne felt a presence come near the tub. The bucket was lifted, and leaning her head forward, she waited for the liquid warmth to wash through her hair. It came as expected, and she spread the soapy tresses to catch the cleansing tide. The second bucket was emptied before she called for a towel. After wringing the wetness from her hair, she rose to await the linen, then receiving it, wrapped it tightly about her head. With a sigh, she flung back her head and finally opened her stinging eyes to find the grinning face of Christopher Seton before her.
“Christopher!” Her shocked gasp was followed by sheer panic, and she clutched an arm across her bosom, while the other hand tried to conceal her womanhood. “Get out! Get out of here!”
He reached for her robe. “You sounded as if you were in distress, my lady, and I thought you might have needed help.” He casually held out the garment. “Do you need this?”
Though she had to sacrifice another view of her nakedness to claim the offering, Erienne snatched it without delay, clutching it to her bosom. Her eyes blazed as she thrust an arm out toward the door. “Out! Get out! Now!”
“But Aggie’s in the hall,” he argued with a hint of a smile. The mirror afforded him an enticing reflection of a most shapely back. “I brought your clothes up, but she came up the stairs, and I had to duck in here or be seen.”
“I told you to leave them in the passageway!” she gritted.
“But there are rats and other vermin down there, madam.” His eyes danced with devilish humor as he played on her squeamishness. “I didn’t want them nesting in your clothes.”
Erienne considered his excuse reasonable, since the merest thought of the rodents in her clothes made her shudder, but she was quick to demand, “What if Aggie finds you in here?”
His wide shoulders lifted in a languid gesture of unconcern. “I locked the door. She will no doubt think your husband has come back and leave.”
“And what if Stuart should return?” she asked irately. “You’re bound to find yourself facing him over the sights of dueling pistols yet.”
He grinned and glanced toward the mirror again, admiring the narrow curve of her waist and the rounded buttocks. “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
Growing suspicious, Erienne looked around and then gasped at the sight of her own bare back reflected in the silvered glass. With a strangled cry of outrage, she came around with a doubled fist, but her arm was laughingly caught and held against her attempts to snatch it free.
“Now I have you, my lady.” His eyes gleamed above a broadening smile. “And you will not escape me until I’ve had my say.”
“You think you can come in here like a raging lunatic, with no regard for propriety, and make me listen to you?!” Her ire rose that he might think her easy prey to his whim. “Do you think because of what happened in the coach you have a right to accost me in my own chamber?! Indeed not, sir! I don’t want to hear any of your confessions. I insist that you leave before Stuart finds you here!”
She stepped over the side of the tub, snatching on her robe in irate jerks, and would have left the bathing chamber to his disposal, but strong arms swept her off the floor and, despite her outraged gasp, lifted her up against a hard chest.
“Erienne, listen to me,” he said, growing serious.
The blue-violet pools flashed with fire. She would not relent for fear that the happenings in the coach might be repeated and with more devastating results. “I shall scream if you don’t leave this very minute! I swear I will, Christopher.”
The muscles in his cheek tensed and flexed as their eyes clashed. Christopher realized what he had to say would be better presented in a calmer moment, but he had hoped to have it out at last. “I’ll leave you to your saintly bed, madam,” he growled, “but first there is something I want of you, and I will have it!”
His mouth lowered towards hers, opening as it neared, and Erienne’s heart gave a sudden lurch as she became aware of his intention. She made a feeble attempt to turn her face away, knowing the weakening effect of his kiss, but his gaze bore into her, paralyzing her will. Then his lips came upon hers with a wet, hot heat that catapulted through her like a flaring comet, setting her whole being on fire. It was a wild, wanton kiss that uprooted every nerve in her body and cindered her meager resistance beneath the crushing weight of unquenched passion. His mouth slanted across hers, invading the dewy warmth until she felt consumed to the uttermost part of her being. A weak trembling began in her limbs, shaking her resolve and shredding her will, and yet he would not stop kissing her.
It seemed an eternity before he raised his head. Then his eyes burned into hers, and without a word he crossed to the bed with her. Erienne knew her vulnerability and seriously doubted that she could lift a hand to hold him off if he chose to take her. The grayish-green eyes stared into her very mind, and she was hardly aware of the moment he placed her on the bed. As he turned away, her feelings ranged from an apex of relief to the epitome of disappointment. She didn’t want him to go, but neither could she ask him to stay. In another moment he was to the door, and then he was gone.
Erienne drew the bedcovers over her shoulder and curled in a tight, miserable knot beneath them. The evening had taken its toll on her emotions, and she could not stop shaking. Her body was like a taut bowstring that still twanged after the arrow had left it. She clenched her teeth and fought against the tumult of frayed emotions, but no effort of hers could bring about a calming.
With a cry of frustration, she sat up and snatched the towel from her head, sailing it to the floor. The chill of her damp hair lent to her shivering, and she ran to huddle on a stool before the hearth. There she hung her head over her knees, spreading the long tresses before the heat of the fire while she brushed them dry. Though the radiating warmth brought a blush to her skin, it failed to soothe her tensed nerves.
She returned to the bed and, by dint of determination, forced herself to think of something sobering. A dark shape became the focal point of her concentration, and she envisioned the large, limping form of her husband while she crushed the dreamy illusions of Christopher beneath a stubborn will. The misshapen image tugged at the heart of her conscience, and gradually the trembling ceased. Encouraging the sobering thoughts to continue, she recounted the months and moments since her first meeting with Lord Saxton. The memories began to play with her consciousness, conjuring murky, indistinct visions and blending them until they were swept up in a confused jumble of events that lost touch with reality. As if through a murky haze she saw long-fanged, gaping jowls closing in for the kill, then geysers of water spraying upward from the path of churning black hooves. A cloaked figure swung
down from the prancing steed and splashed through the stream toward her.
Erienne heaved a soft sigh as she settled in the sheltering arms of sleep. Having been set to their course by the willful determination of her mind, her dreams took up the pattern. She stood amid swirling draperies, lost in their never-ending lengths. In confusion she ran hither and yon, but the pastel shades of silken cloth held her prisoner. Then through the pale-hued mists a dark-cloaked shadow limped haltingly toward her. Though she fled, she found no escape, and it came ever nearer until her world became a blackened void. She drifted, helpless, numb, wanting to sit or stand or scream, but paralyzed in the nether land, unable to move.
Strong arms reached to anchor her and drew her back. She felt the vibrant heat of a man’s body press close against her back. Her mind struggled to full awareness, for no dream had ever come so boldly to her. Though her eyes found only the same dark void of sleep, her senses confirmed the fact that reality had come to her in the shape of a man. Yet fantasy was still tightly woven through the warp of reason, and the two were inseparable, for he was darkness to her, warm and alive, but without a form or face she could recognize. She was seized by a sudden fear that the tormenting rogue had returned to lie in bed with her, and she started up with a gasp. A hand came to restrain her, and a rasping whisper calmed her.
A Rose in Winter Page 46