A Rose in Winter (35 page)

Her whole body quaked as she rose from the bed. Willing herself to accept her fate, she hurriedly slipped into her robe, but her hands were shaking when she lit a candle from the fireplace, and the wavering flame of the candle gave ready evidence of her nervousness. Needing no reminder of how frightened she was, she left the candlestand on a table. Her nerves stretched taut as she crossed the room, and her mind raced with wild imaginings that tore at her resolve. The rapping came again, and biting a trembling lip, she paused at the portal to summon whatever courage she could muster.

The key had barely turned in the lock before the door was shoved roughly open and she was flung back. She gasped in shock as she saw her mistake. It was not her husband at all, but the sodden roue from the common room. Garbed in breeches, stockings, and a loose-sleeved shirt that hung open to reveal a flabby chest, he leaned with insolent boldness against the doorjamb and held up a flagon of wine.

"Here, missy." He waved the bottle to tempt her. "I brought ye a little somethin' ter enjoy afore we gets down ter serious matters." Laughing, he lazily sauntered inside and kicked the door shut behind him.

Erienne had regained her spunk as soon as she realized her hour of doom was not at hand, but for caution's sake, she retreated, giving the man a crisp warning. "I'm not alone here. My husband is in the room across the hall."

"Aye, I saw the gimp, and I figured ye'd be needin' some good company tonight." The fop chortled and flexed his arms. "If I can't whip the likes o' him, I should be layin' in me grave."

"If you don't forsake this foolishness," she retorted, "he will accommodate you. He is considered a marksman..."

"Bah! I'll be well gone before he drags himself from bed." The drunk set the bottle aside, and his eyes fastened on her in burning lust. He lifted his chest to lessen the girth of the soft paunch that overran the top of his breeches and pulled his shirt free. "You know, if yer husband were any kind o' man at all, he'd be here with you. I wouldn't leave a pretty little thing like you alone, no, indeed."

"I will most certainly scream if you don't leave," she cried, outraged at the audacity of the man.

"Aw, c'mon, duckie." The fellow was unabashed by her threat. He was sure she would enjoy what he had to offer. "No need ter get yerself up in a ruffle. I'll just have me due and be off. No harm done ter ye 'cept a touch o' wear and tear."

He lunged at her, but Erienne had avoided many a grasping plunge and stepped nimbly from his path. Before he came around, she snatched up the fireplace poker and laid if firmly across his backside, eliciting a muffled yowl from the man. He came up hard against the panels of the wall and whirled, rubbing his posterior where the poker had cruelly bruised him.

"Ho! So's ye want ter play it mean, do ye?" He glared at her. "Well, ol' Gyles can be just as rough as milady wants."

Spreading his arms, he came after her. His eyes spoke of vengeance as strongly as his voice had, but Erienne was undaunted. The fire of defiance snapped in her own eyes, and she faced him, weaving the poker in front of her as she fell back until, much to her dismay, she came up against the side of the bed and was trapped there by the advancing debauchee. Seeing his goal near, Gyles chortled in glee and dove at her. Erienne was quicker. She ducked low and spun to one side, avoiding his far-flung reach, but the poker was swept away before she could strike. Gyles collided with the bed and bounced once on the mattress, then came to his feet again as she started toward the door. His arm stretched out and he seized her by the scruff of the neck. Erienne wasted no moment fighting over the loose robe. She jerked free of its flowing sleeves, leaving it in his grasp.

Raising his bewildered gaze from the empty garment, Gyles saw the sleek body barely concealed by the diaphanous gown fleeing toward the door. The lust flared brighter in his eyes, and he plowed after her, disregarding the sheet that twined about his foot until it was snared tight. Erienne heard the solid crash of the heavy body against the floor, and in a quick movement, she turned and flipped the blankets over him. His muffled curses filled the room as he twisted and roiled in an effort to get free. Erienne did not stay to help him but flew toward the door. When Gyles managed to free his head, he saw only the hem of her gown flit through the open portal. Muttering a lewd promise, he struggled up and staggered after her.

Pausing in the hall, Erienne glanced about in indecision. Though she feared the man himself, Lord Saxton was the only one who might provide some haven for her. She heard the plodding gait of the man behind her and, making up her mind, ran across the hall. After a quick rap on the door, she twisted the latch and bolted into her husband's room. The room was shaded in deep shadows, with only a dull shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window. It was enough to outline dimly the shape of the man who rose naked from the bed. Seeing him thus, Erienne halted in sudden confusion, not knowing whether to stay or go. The fop took the choice from her. Plunging through the doorway behind her, he saw her silhouette framed against the window and eagerly sought to throw his arms about her. He failed to see the larger shadow that moved in the darkness. As Gyles swooped to take her, Erienne spun about to avoid his reach but stumbled to her knees as his hand caught the back of her gown. The delicate fabric split down the front, and before the rending tear was complete a savage growl came, bringing the lusting roue upright with a start of surprise.

Gyles gasped as another's hand gripped his wrist in a painful vise, and in the next instant he felt the solid jolt of a hard fist in his belly. He doubled over, holding his middle, and as he moaned in pain, a bare knee came upward, striking his chin and flipping him backward onto the floor. He rolled and blindly scrambled for the door, crawling on his hands, belly, and knees until he gained the safety of the hall, and there sobbed in relief at having escaped that ill-tempered demon in the room. The door was slammed behind him, and Erienne clutched her gown together as her husband limped back to her. The indistinct glow of the moon cast more shadow than light, but a dull, silvery-hued ray slanted down across his body from midwaist to upper thigh, showing more detail than Erienne cared to view. She saw no deformity. The hips were slim, the belly flat and taut, and despite her innocence, she was inclined to believe he was as much of a man as any could hope to be.

He must have felt her gaze, for his reaction brought a sudden hotness flooding into Erienne's cheeks. Quickly dropping her gaze, she pushed herself up from the floor, thankful for the fall of long hair that formed a blanketing shield about her hot face. He stepped to lend his assistance, slipping a hand to her waist as she rose. Though she braced herself for the contact, the warmth of his touch penetrated the thin cloth.

"Are you all right?" His whisper no longer bore the lisping quality the mask lent to his voice, but still it seemed oddly strained.

Erienne kept her gaze carefully averted. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, milord. I heard a knock on my door, and as I thought it was you, I opened it."

"No need for your apology, madam," his rasping whisper assured her. "I can well understand why the man made the attempt. You are a rare prize indeed, and I cannot be offended by your willingness to admit me into your chambers." His hand lightly caressed her back through the fragile fabric, and though she stood unmoving, every nerve in her body tightened. "Will you stay in here with me?"

She bit her lip. The moment to put aside all refusal was at hand, yet for the life of her she could not say the word. Even after seeing him unclothed and being assured that he was at least partly unscarred, the sure certainty of the hideousness that remained held her at bay. "I... I would rather go back to my room, milord... if you don't mind."

His hand dropped away. "If you will then wait a moment, madam, I will see that the innkeeper is informed about this man's penchant for attacking his guests."

He reached for the robe lying across the end of the bed and shrugged into it. Erienne's gaze lifted, but the darkness cloaked his form, and her curiosity, as uncertain as it was, was not appeased. She came quickly to the determination that it was just as well, for she might regret seeing his scarred face. He pulled on his mask, boots, and gloves before entering the meager pool of light shining through the window. Moving to the bed, he tossed back the bedcovers.

"You might as well stay warm while you wait," he said, and as Erienne hesitated, his mockery surfaced as a gentle jibe. "You're not opposed to sharing my bed after I leave it, are you?"

Daring no comment, she crawled into the warm softness of it and was at once reminded by the lingering essence of the time she had awakened in Saxton Hall to find herself in his bed. That same pleasant but elusive scent had teased her senses then, just as it did now. There was some strange quality about it that she could not quite lay a finger to, a hauntingly vague memory of another time and place. Yet she could not quite bring the moment into focus. It was beyond her grasp.

Chapter Twelve

WHEN the carriage turned up the lane leading to the sprawling country estate of the Leicesters, Erienne realized that her husband was not without influential friends. Here the grounds were well tended and orderly, a far cry from the wildness and rugged terrain surrounding Saxton Hall. The mansion reigned in stately splendor, and at her first glimpse of it, Erienne became immensely thankful that Tessie had enticed her to wear a rich costume of deep red velvet.

Lord Saxton spoke without preamble as they neared the house. "Though you may abhor and detest the form that is thrust upon me, madam, I assure you the Leicesters are exceptional people. They are indeed old friends of my family, and 1 greatly savor their friendship. There are several things I must set aright, and they have given me invaluable advice and assistance toward those ends."

A butler, grandly outfitted in white wig, red coat, and white breeches, met them at the door and took their wraps. They were promptly escorted to a drawing room, where the marquess and his lady were waiting to receive them. Erienne was somewhat overwhelmed by the wealthy decor, but when the marquess crossed the room, eagerly extending a bony hand in greeting to Lord Saxton, her attention turned to him and the small, trim woman who hung back, seeming reluctant to come forward as she glanced hesitantly toward the masked one.

White of hair, narrow of frame, and slightly stooped, the marquess gave the physical impression of age, yet his rosy cheeks, twinkling blue eyes, and ever-willing smile were the epitome of eternal youth.

"So kind of you to come this soon after your marriage, Stuart," he said warmly. "I was hoping I would be able to meet your young bride, and now that I see her, I can understand what has driven you in such a fever lately."

Lord Saxton slipped his gloved hand beneath his wife's arm. "The fever must be contagious. We had to fight off at least one smitten swain en route."

The marquess' eyes twinkled as he gallantly bestowed a kiss on Erienne's hand. "I suppose Stuart has been completely neglectful of telling you anything about us."

"Stuart?" She glanced at her husband with wide uncertainty. " 'Twould seem there is much he has failed to tell me."

"You must forgive him, child," the marquess begged with a chuckle. "His manners have been much afflicted by his enchantment with you. I'm sure his mother is as horrified as you are."

Erienne's surprise deepened. This was the first hint she had had of any living Saxton kin, and she lifted a wondering brow at her husband. "Your mother?"

Lord Saxton gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "You will meet her in good time, my love."

"His father and I were as close as brothers," the marquess interjected. "His death was a most dreadful thing, simply dreadful. And of course, the burning of the manse... vicious! I shall not rest until we find the culprits responsible for the deeds." He shook his head, for a moment seeming troubled, then suddenly he brightened and patted her hand. "You are a lovely little thing. As lovely as my own Anne."

His wife laughed chidingly as he held out a hand to her. She came to stand beside him and rested a long, slender hand on his arm. "Oh, Phillip, your eyes deceive you. I have never been as beautiful as this child."

She took Erienne's hand in her own. "I hope we shall be the best of friends, my dear."

For the most part Anne kept her gaze averted from Lord Saxton, but whenever she did deem to glance at him, she almost frowned. Her distress did not escape his notice.

"Have you come to hate me in my absence, Anne?" he questioned.

Angrily she flipped a hand toward his mask and stated quite brusquely, "I hate that thing!"

Erienne was amazed by the woman's reaction but had little time to dwell on the reply as Lord Saxton pulled her arm through his. He patted her hand gently while holding it firmly in place against her attempts to withdraw it.

"Believe me, Anne, when I say that my own wife hates what is beneath it even more than you do the mask." Turning, he bowed over the hand he had entrapped. "We shall return to you as soon as our affairs permit. Until then, my love, I leave you in the tender care of our gracious hostess."

He straightened and with his halting gait followed Phillip from the room. Anne seemed to grit her teeth and flinch at each thump of the thick-soled boot. When the door closed behind the men, she glared at it a long moment. Erienne could not be sure, but she thought she heard the woman mutter beneath her breath, "Stubborn whelp!"