A Rose in Winter (36 page)

"Madam? Did you speak?" Erienne asked in surprise.

Anne faced her with wide, innocent eyes and a bright smile. " 'Twas nothing, my dear. Nothing at all. I was only murmuring to myself. It comes with age, you know... talking to oneself."

She put a gentle arm around the younger woman. "My dear, you must be simply famished after that long ride, and those men have completely abandoned us for the sake of their dreadful business. We'll have a bite to eat together, and then we'll take a carriage ride about town. The day is simply gorgeous, and it would be a shame for us to waste it waiting for our husbands. Why, if we plan it right, we could be gone the whole afternoon."

They were indeed, and Erienne was entertained throughout in a manner she had not thought possible by a stranger. Anne Leicester was as gracious and kind as she was witty and warm. Her lighthearted charm was infectious, and Erienne felt the tension melt away with the laughter.

The evening swept past in a relaxed and congenial atmosphere. In the presence of the older couple Lord Saxton seemed a little less frightening. While dining, Erienne even managed to remain calm beneath his unwavering stare. As was his habit, he abstained from food and drink, choosing to eat in privacy at a later hour, and bestowed upon her his full attention.

It was late before they retired, and Erienne glided effortlessly to her room, pleasantly warmed with the wine she had sipped. She was aware of her husband following at his awkward pace, but the sharp edge of her fear had been blunted since their arrival at the Leicesters, and the sound failed to send the usual shiver running through her.

Lord Saxton was the one who felt the bite of discomfort as he admired the gentle, swaying hips and the incredibly narrow curve of her waist. His restraint was tested far beyond any limit he had ever considered, and fully aware that another disrobing might see the end of it, he took refuge in the adjoining chambers.

As she snuggled in bed, Erienne gave a great deal of thought to the proximity of her fearsome husband, for that awkward pacing continued until her eyes sagged with sleep. Her dreams were widespread and fleeting, like the clouds that chased the moon beyond the terrace doors. At times she floated in a vague, half-awake awareness or sank deep in the nether realms of Morpheus and was never quite sure through which she wandered. Shadows flitted across her bed as streams of silvery light flooded through the crystal panes, casting images that intertwined with her slumbering ventures.

A more manly form took shape in the thickening fog of her mind, and she strove to find the detail of him in the darkness. He stood tall and silent at the end of her bed, his furred chest and broad shoulders void of shirt, with a thumb hooked casually in the waistband of his breeches while his other arm hung relaxed at his side. His dark hair was short and tousled, his jaw lean and firm, and she imagined grayish-green eyes glowing at her from the shadows. The presence stayed with her, unmoving, unchanging, always staring. With a sigh, she turned her head on the pillow and in her dreams she saw him move close. His fingers plucked at the fastenings of her gown, and she felt the hot, licking flames of desire sweep through her as a warm mouth caressed the soft crest of her breast. The pulsing heat throbbed in her loins and spread like flaming oil through her veins. The face loomed above her, and sudden recognition of the man she had conjured brought her upright with a startled gasp.

"Christopher!"

Erienne glanced about her, peering into the shadows and dark recesses of the room. They were empty. Nothing stirred in the night-shaded stillness, and with a trembling sigh, she sagged back against the pillows, bemused and... disappointed?

He had only been a figment of her imagination, and yet her young body had been aroused by the imagined kisses and the bold caresses. Her clamoring heart refused to soften its deafening beat, and she pressed an unsteady hand over her bosom as if to slow its frantic pounding. It was a long hour before the pulse in her throat quieted, and she again relaxed in the embrace of sleep.

Shimmering rays of light streamed through the bedroom doors, filling the chamber with a rich abundance. Erienne stretched in the luxurious comfort of the bed, pulling up her long hair to spread it in thick waves across the pillows, then her brows creased in a troubled frown as she remembered the path her mind had wandered while she slept. Even in her dreams she could not escape the Yankee.

Disturbed by the betrayal of her subconscious mind, she donned a velvet robe and slippers and stepped out onto the terrace. The fresh scent of a frosty morn wafted on a gentle breeze that swirled through the trees and shrubs. She inhaled deeply of its fragrance, then watching her breath cloud before her eyes, blew long streamers of white into the chilled air. The cold penetrated her wrap, yet she was thankful for its crispness, for it cleared her mind of the haunting memory of her dreams.

The distant sound of muted voices drifted to her on a gentle rush of wind, making her pause. Peering through the trees, she recognized the dark shape of her husband moving through the carefully tended garden. At his side was a woman garbed in a long, hooded cloak. She was taller than Anne and moved with the confident grace of one well assured of her station in life. Erienne could not hear what was being said, but the woman seemed to be pleading with him as she walked along. Now and then she held an arm out in plaintive supplication, and Lord Saxton would answer with a slow shake of his head. After a time, the woman paused and faced the dark figure, laying a hand on his arm as she spoke intently for some time. The masked one turned away slightly, as if reluctant to listen, and waited in silence until she finished. He explained briefly, and again the woman made an appeal. He gave another small, negative shake of his head, and with a brief bow of farewell, he swung his heavily shod foot about and left her. The woman made as if to stop him but apparently thought better of it. After a moment she turned, and with head lowered, slowly walked into the house.

Confused by what she had seen, Erienne returned to her chambers. It was none of her business, of course, what her husband discussed with anyone. She had gained no right to question him, nor had she the nerve to do so. Still, the scene she had just witnessed left her curious. The woman had obviously felt no fear of Lord Saxton, for she had touched him freely, something his wife could not do.

A short time later Erienne joined the Leicesters for the morning meal, and her bemusement deepened when she was informed that Lord Saxton had left. Since they had connecting rooms, she thought it rather strange that he had refrained from visiting her in her chambers and delivering the message himself.

"Did he say when he would be back?" she inquired.

"No, my dear," Anne replied kindly. "But I assure you, you'll have no time to miss him. We shall be attending an assembly this evening, and you'll be too busy enjoying yourself even to think of your husband."

Erienne doubted the possibility of the woman's statement. Stuart Saxton was not a figure one could easily forget. His dreadful appearance burdened her mind like an oppressive weight every hour of the day.

That evening when she was dressing for the affair, a small silk box was delivered to her bedchamber, and the meticulously garbed servant who brought it decorously announced that the gift was from Lord Saxton. A note written in a bold hand and signed with the single initial "S" accompanied the box and bade her to honor the Saxton family by wearing the gift to the assembly. Erienne was puzzled by the aloof manner in which her husband was conveying messages and presents. She did not believe he had grown shy of late and worried that his absence might have stemmed from a growing vexation with her.

When she lifted the lid and beheld the triple-strand pearl choker resting on the bed of royal blue silk, her apprehensions ceased to exist. It seemed unlikely that her husband would bestow such an expensive piece of jewelry on her when he was angry with her.

Small diamonds and a large sapphire adorned the clasp, and more of the same precious gems embellished the pair of pearl earrings that completed the set. The gift was far better than she deserved, she mused as the dreams of the night past came back to accuse her. It would be much more beneficial to their marriage if she kept her fantasies to a more wifely path.

Seeking to fulfill Lord Saxton's request and present herself in a regal manner, Erienne chose a pale blue satin gown to complement the jewelry. A white fichu trimmed with a delicate lace sewn with tiny seed pearls was draped to bare her shoulders coyly. Tiny clusters of seed pearls nested in the tufts of the satin skirt. Tessie swept her hair back from her face and painstakingly curled it in a mass of ringlets that fell in soft tiers from the crown of her head and ended at the nape of her neck. The necklace and earrings were donned, and her reflection bore out the fact that she would at least do the Saxton name no harm.

She had only heard stories from her mother of the social gatherings of the elite and was rather nervous over what was to be her first experience. When they arrived, Anne introduced her about to the different lords and their ladies as the new mistress of Saxton Hall, gaily explaining that the manor was just as far north in England as London was south. By keeping up a stream of vivacious chatter, the woman gave little time for serious questions, and if any were overly curious, she laughingly swept her guest on to the next group.

It seemed as if the Leicesters knew nearly everyone present, for the circle around them widened. Erienne soon began to wonder if there would ever be an end to the formalities. Intertwined with the introductions were comments on the happenings in France. Everyone was aghast at the massacres of political prisoners in the streets of Paris and quickly agreed that such a thing could not happen in England. The fact that the French King had been taken prisoner was shocking, and what was even more disruptive to the orderly English mind was that many expected him to be executed before too much time elapsed.

Several ladies, anxious to speak with Anne, wedged their way in front of Erienne, separating her from the older couple. Left more or less to herself for the moment, she took the opportunity to look through the hall. The rooms, though elegant, were a trifle stuffy, and feeling in need of a breath of fresh air, she moved toward the tall French doors that led out onto the narrow balconies. She had almost gained her goal when a satin-garbed gentleman seized her arm. Surprised, she looked around and found herself staring into Lord Talbot's smirking grin.

"Why, 'tis Erienne! Sweet, little Erienne!" He was astounded at his good fortune and made only a small effort to subdue the lust that shone in his eyes as he warmly appraised her. "My dear, you are simply ravishing. 'Tis amazing what the proper clothes will do for one."

Erienne tried politely to disengage her arm, but he glanced about imperiously, appearing not to notice as he arched a darkened eyebrow.

"You came... unescorted?"

"Oh, no, milord," she rushed to assure him. "I am here with the Leicesters. We... ah... were separated..."

"You mean your husband didn't... ?" He let the incomplete question hang with heavy innuendo.

"N-no," Erienne stammered, feeling the full weight of the implied neglect. "I mean ... he had pressing business elsewhere."

"Tsk! Tsk!" Lord Talbot twitched the ends of his thin, waxed moustache as he pursed his lips in mild disdain. "The idea! Leaving such a lovely wife to fend for herself. Well, from what I hear of him, I can well understand his reluctance to appear in public and why he chooses to wear that hideous mask. Poor devil!"

Erienne's spine stiffened, and she was rather amazed at the hot indignation she experienced at this slur against her husband. After all, the statements had been very much a part of her own thinking. "I have seen no evidence that Lord Saxton is anything but human, milord."

Nigel Talbot pulled back his coat and, resting a hand on his hip, flexed a knee and leaned close, in the process gaining a clear downward view of the upper curves of her bosom underneath the fichu. "Tell me, my dear," he half whispered, "what does he really look like beneath that mask? Is he the horribly scarred wretch everyone thinks he is?"

Erienne stood rigid, stunned by the affront. "If he wanted people to know, milord, I'm sure he would give up wearing the mask."

"Is it possible"—Talbot straightened and glanced quickly to either side, then pressed a heavily scented lace handkerchief to his lips as if to squelch a threatening giggle—"that even
you
don't know what he looks like?"

"I have seen him in the dark," she stated, chafing under his snickering arrogance. It was one time she wished Lord Saxton would appear. She had no doubt that by his mere presence he could silence the muffled chortles and pale even the painted blush on the man's cheeks.

"In the dark, you say?" His eyes gleamed knowingly.

Lifting her slim nose to a lofty height, she refused to answer him. She would not gratify the man's salacious bent by explaining that the moment to which she was referring had naught to do with the intimacies of marriage.

Talbot was undaunted. His gaze was slow and pointedly bold as he perused her soft and exquisite radiance. "There is something about marriage that always enhances the beauty of a woman. I must compliment your husband on his excellent taste, at least in choosing a wife. However, I will chide him on his neglect of such a fair creature."

Turning slightly away from her, he scanned the crowded room. "I came here with several friends, all gentlemen of good account, of course." He drew himself up as if the association enhanced his own importance. "When last I saw them, they had obtained companionship for the evening and were preparing to leave, but I can hardly ignore my duty to Avery and leave his daughter unattended amid strangers. I see no help for it, my dear. You will have to come with me."