An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (2 page)

“Ah, here’s another!” the innkeeper’s wife cackled. “And I bet she’ll pay a pretty penny not to have to sleep out in the main room with the riffraff.”

She hustled off toward the lady without another word for Gray. He was just as glad for it. Right now his body was doing things he had not allowed it to do for months, hell, years. He’d been a veritable monk during that time, focusing on his investments, his fortune, his family.

Now he wasn’t feeling particularly monk-like as the lady newcomer smiled at the innkeeper’s wife and began to speak to her softly.

She looked nervous, though Gray could hardly blame her for that after her entrance. Every man in the room was still casting side glances at her like she was a sweet and all of them were starving. Gray included, it seemed.

She looked sophisticated, as well. Every movement of her body spoke of quiet elegance. She must have had money, for the innkeeper had now joined his wife in their discussions and both of them were practically drooling all over the newcomer.

The newcomer who was still unaccompanied except by her maid. There was no man who had yet marched through that door to wrap his arm around her and stake his claim before the masses.

The innkeeper’s wife smiled and motioned for the lady and her maid to follow her, guiding them through the crowded hall and up the stairs where the bedrooms awaited.

Once the mysterious lady had gone, the room drew breath again and the men around him began to make various lewd conversation about the beauty who had just been in their midst. Gray gripped his tankard a bit harder as he heard just snippets of the conversation of those close to him.

“Beautiful eyes—”

“…those breasts…”

“I’d like to—”

It seemed everyone in the room had the same lascivious thoughts about the lady. Gray certainly hoped she would be wary when it came to the men in the hall. Most would likely do no more than talk about her behind her back. But a few…Gray looked around. A few did not look savory.

The innkeeper now circulated into the crowd, taking over his wife’s job of pouring fresh whiskey and checking on the men in his company. As he passed by Gray’s table, he paused.

“And may I get you another tankard, sir?”

Gray stared at his still full glass. “Not right now, thank you. But I wonder if you might have more information about the lady who just arrived.”

The innkeeper’s eyes lit up with mirth even as he feigned shock. “Ah, I see, sir. You’re not the only one who has an eye on the lady.”

Gray pursed his lips, hating the teasing tone of the man beside him. “I thought I recognized her,” he lied.

“You and every bloke in the hall,” the man laughed.

Gray scowled before he reached into his pocket and drew out a coin. He pressed it into the man’s palm. “As I said, I think I know the lady. Perhaps you could verify that for me.”

The greedy innkeeper pocketed the gold piece swiftly. “Mrs. Wilde, she told my missus,” he said, his tongue now freed by heavier pockets. “I came in late to their conversation, but it seems she’s from a very important family to the west. She was trapped on her way to their great country estate, I think.”

Mrs. Wilde. Gray smiled at the name. The lady at the door hadn’t seemed particularly wild, but then, looks could be deceiving.

“And her husband is seeing to the horses?” he pressed.

The other man laughed again. “She don’t have one,” he said. “A widow, I think.”

Beneath the table, Gray gripped his fists on his thighs and tried to ignored the aching of his cock.

“Hmm, well, I thank you for the information,” he said.

The innkeeper took the dismissal as it was intended and bowed away to the next table, leaving Gray to ponder his situation.

He scowled as he thought about the foolish thing he’d just done. Asking after a lady he had no intention of pursuing? Paying for the damned information? A foolish waste of money. Yes, she was striking, and yes, his body was reacting in ways he’d made himself forget, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be distracted by a woman for a very long time.

He certainly didn’t intend to start now.

Rosalinde sat in a lumpy chair before a roaring fire, her eyes shut as Gertrude refashioned her hair. The wind had spun it up wildly, probably leading to all the stares in the hall below when she’d entered the Raven’s Wing Tavern an hour before.

“It isn’t much of a room,” her maid mumbled, pulling a pin from between her lips and sliding it through Rosalinde’s mass of curls and coils.

Rosalinde opened her eyes and looked around. Gertrude was correct in her assessment. The room was very small, with just a double bed a few feet from the fire and a tiny table beside the rickety window. The wind rattled the pane, and through the frosty glass, Rosalinde could see the outline of a swinging tree.

“It’s warm,” she said, leaning in toward the fire and yet still feeling her earlier chill down in her bones. “And it will do. Especially since we have little other choice in the matter.”

Gertrude sighed as she slid the final pin in place. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stay here with you?”

Rosalinde pushed to her feet and turned to face her maid. “Gertie, I’m sure you’d rather stay with Lincoln. You told me the innkeeper gave you a room together.”

Gertrude blush was swift and bright. “Er, yes. When I told her that Lincoln and I had only been married a short time, she declared we’d have a room away from the others. It’s tiny as a mouse’s house, but it
is
private.”

“Tiny might be a good thing when it comes to a marital room,” Rosalinde teased, laughing as Gertrude’s red face got even redder.

“I-I suppose,” her maid stammered.

“Honestly, I will be fine on my own,” Rosalinde said, squeezing Gertrude’s hand. “You go and see that Lincoln and Thomas have gotten warm in the servant’s quarters. They had a much worse ride than we did. I’ll have some supper and you’ll come see to me later to help me ready for bed. It will be morning before we know it and then we’ll be on our way.”

Gertrude sighed. “Very well. But if you’re going to eat in that main hall, do be careful, Mrs. Wilde. I didn’t like some of the looks the men were giving you.”

Rosalinde blinked. “Looks?” she repeated. “You must be mistaken.”

Gertrude drew back, lips pursed. “You underestimate yourself. Every man in that room noticed you when we came in. And some of them weren’t too genteel, neither.”

Rosalinde shook her head slowly. It was hard for her to imagine her appearance would cause the kind of notice Gertrude implied. She just never pictured herself as an object of men’s desire. Her late husband Martin had made sure she knew just how
undesirable
she truly was.

“I’ll be careful,” she reassured her maid. “Now go on. Lincoln is waiting, I’m sure, and you’ll want to fill your own bellies too.”

Gertrude gave her one last uncertain look, but then she bobbed out a nod and said her goodbyes before she slipped from the room and left Rosalinde alone. Once she was gone, Rosalinde sagged against the chair once more.

In truth, sending Gertrude away had been for her own sake as much as the maid’s. In the past eighteen months, everything in Rosalinde’s life had shifted significantly. A night alone before she had to face the chaos that would surely surround Celia’s Society-approved wedding was something she actually looked forward to.

With a sigh, she straightened and walked to the window. The curtains were flimsy and did little to block out the chill that pierced the glass. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the storm outside. Since her arrival, darkness had almost entirely taken over outside. Still the snow was swirling, the wind slamming against the inn and banging through the trees until they swung in time to the rhythm of the storm.

It was a devilish night, but Thomas and Lincoln had both assured her they believed the worst would be over soon and that tomorrow they would be able to continue their way to Caraway Court, even though they might not reach the place until late the next night.

Her stomach rumbled and she dropped a hand to cover it. “I suppose I should go down and find some sustenance,” she said to herself. “I do hope the food is decent.”

She walked from the room, securing the door behind her, and down the hallway to the stairs. Already she could hear the buzz of the crowd below, mostly men’s voices echoing in laughter and talk. She smelled the mixing scents of food and ale wafting up the stairs as she made her way toward the hall.

But as she stepped from the last stair, she stopped. The hall, which had been about half full at her arrival, was now packed. Every table was in use, with men gathered together, shoving food into their mouths and drinks down their throats. A few looked up as she made her way into the light.

She thought of Gertrude’s implication that she might not be safe in such company, that the men would look at her with wanting eyes. Her body thrilled just a little at the thought, though she couldn’t exactly picture herself falling into the arms of any of the men she saw. They were all coarse and unkempt and…

Her thoughts trailed away as her gaze shifted toward a table in the corner of the room. There was room there only for two, but the man who sat at it was alone. There was something different about him. Unlike the others, he was seated ramrod straight, his shoulders even and broad. He was clean-shaven, with a harsh jawline and a full-lipped mouth. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but they were very dark.

They were also focused on her. Not in a leer like some of the others in the room exhibited, but merely in an even, intense stare that seemed to draw her in. She actually nearly took a step toward him and was only saved from such a foolish act by the appearance of the innkeeper’s wife. The frazzled woman stopped beside her, a tray brimming with drinks balanced precariously on her hip.

“Good evening Mrs. Wilde,” she said, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead with a gust of breath. “Have a seat, luv.”

Rosalinde looked around the room, this time purposefully avoiding the corner where the intense stranger sat. “Er, where?” she asked. “I see no open places.”

“Aye, it’s busy with all the guests,” the innkeeper’s wife conceded. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share a table with some of the others. Excuse me now.”

The woman took off before Rosalinde could ask a question or lodge a protest. She took a long breath and looked again at her options in the room. There was a spot at a long table, but it was currently inhabited by a large group of rough men, some of whom leered openly at her.

There
was
a table with a few women, the only others in the tavern, but it was full already. Rosalinde sighed. She could return to her room and ask for food to be sent up, but with the way the innkeeper and his wife were bustling around, she would wager her order would not be filled for hours, if ever. Once again her stomach rumbled, as if to mock her plight.

“Break bread with me,” came a low, rough voice.

She spun to find the very handsome man from the corner table now standing at her elbow. He was almost touching her, and a spicy scent, perhaps cinnamon or cloves, seemed to exude from his pores and warm her body. Up close, she could see his eyes were chocolate brown, dark and intense when focused. And they were
very
focused now on her face as he awaited her answer to his request.

“I—” she began, then cut herself off. She didn’t really know what to say. What he was suggesting wasn’t proper. It was entirely forward at best, dangerous at worst.

“Trust me, Mrs. Wilde, I am your best bet.” His mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. He motioned his head toward the crowd in the hall. “If this lot sees you with me, they won’t trouble you.”

Rosalinde arched a brow. “And how am I to know that
you
won’t trouble me?”

That smile grew to a grin, and Rosalinde caught her breath. God’s teeth, but he was handsome. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a well-favored man. He had a hard face, yes, but his features were each uniquely beautiful. Together they made up a picture of someone not to be trifled with, someone who got what he wanted, when he wanted it.

“You ask a good question,” he said. “What if I vow on my honor?”

She tilted her head, her breath now coming short for some reason. “I don’t know the value of your honor, sir. Some men have very little.”

What was she doing? Verbally sparring with the man? And rather flirtatiously at that? This was not her normal way of behaving. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Another good point scored by fair lady,” he conceded, and lifted a long, lean finger to his lips. The action drew her attention there yet again and she noted how full those lips were. Full lips meant for kissing.

She shook the thought away.

“And—and what is your rejoinder, sir?” she gasped.

“I am a gentleman,” he began, “though I may not be practiced at it as of late. I vow to you now that I have no ill intent toward you. But I do admit that I saw you enter the inn earlier and your beauty caught my attention. I cannot deny that I ask to share supper with you for my pleasure as much as in a noble attempt to save you from unsavory attentions.”