“Good night, m’lord,” she told him firmly, formally.
His lips tight, Alistair wished his aunt the same, then sprinted up the stairs. Winter followed more slowly with the duchess, who turned off to her rooms.
Her leg cramped painfully, and she clenched her teeth. Sensing her depression, Mary said little as she helped Winter into her night dress. At the door later, she turned. “Things will be better tomorrow.”
Would they? Winter’s heart felt like it was being ripped in two by Alistair’s condemnation. She replayed the evening, wondering what she might have done to forestall what happened.
“I am such a green-goose, Lord. Why couldn’t I have guessed Hollingsworth was lying?” She closed her eyes against the tears. Anger burned with hurt that her guardian would assume the worst.
“Now what, Lord? Alistair surely will never believe me again. Never believe in You. I wish I had never come to London.”
Unable to sleep, Winter finally slipped from the bed and wrapped a long satin robe around her slender figure. Lighting a bedchamber candle from the still glowing embers in the hearth, she crept out into the dimly lit hallway, descended the stairway and made her way to the library.
Hoping to find a book to distract herself, Winter pushed open the heavy door expecting to find the room dark. Standing in the doorway, she blinked rapidly in the brightly lit room, focusing on Alistair hunched over his desk.
She could not, would not, face him tonight. Taking a step backward she prepared to return to her bedchamber when Alistair glanced up. “Winter? What?”
“I couldn’t sleep so thought I’d find a book to read.”
“Please come in.”
Winter hesitated before venturing farther into the room.
She sensed he studied her guarded expression. “What happened with Hollingsworth tonight?”
She heard the accusation, more she heard a certain disappointment. How foolish she had been in believing Hollingsworth!
“Winter, come here.”
Her back straight, shoulders stiff, she moved toward him, her eyes wide with unshed tears. Suddenly she stumbled, felt Alistair’s strong arms grab her and lead her to the couch.
“Please tell me what happened.”
“Hollingsworth said you were busy with, ah, Lady Bridget, and had asked him to escort me to where you were. I was such a goose to believe him.”
Alistair covered her hand with his own. “Go on.”
“When I realized he had lied, I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me. He went on about wanting me for himself, about meeting him in secret. He said he would soon have the means to give me anything I could ever want.
“He...he kissed me. It hurt.” She touched her lips as tears trickled down her cheeks. “You were so angry with me.
“I don’t understand why he wants me. He doesn’t want to marry me, he only wants... And Derik only wants my property. Can’t anyone love me for myself?”
As though not trusting himself to speak, Alistair gazed at her searchingly before wrapping his arms around her.
“Are you like Hollingsworth? Do you want something from me, as well?”
“No!” Alistair objected. “I will not hurt you, Winter. You are a very innocent and lovely young woman, and I care about you very much.”
Laying her head against him, she sighed contentedly. “I was so afraid. Afraid you hated me, afraid I had turned you away from God forever.”
“Is that important?”
“Yes, because...because...” Her words trailed off.
“Because why?”
“Because I think I lo—care for you,” she whispered.
“Oh, Winter.” His face reflected tenderness.
When he said nothing more, Winter hid her face against him so he could not see her hurt. He cared, but not enough. Or did Lady Bridget stand between them?
“I want to go home.”
“No,” he growled. “You will stay. I promise not to do anything to dishonor you.”
* * *
Alistair’s work was only a guise to keep his thoughts at bay. Why could he not make Winter happy by committing his life to the Lord as she asked? What held him back?
She loved him. Something warmed inside him, and yet he held back. Amelia, too, had declared her love. They were not alike, these two. How could he compare Winter’s openness and honesty to Amelia’s deceptive wiles?
His heart stopped, started again. “Why, I love her. I do. I love Winter.”
Suddenly he straightened. Hollingsworth told Winter he would soon be deep in the pockets. Was that all a hum? He was deep in dun territory, so how... He asked Winter to take him to the library? Alistair’s thoughts rocked him with their implications.
Hollingsworth? He was in the Horse Guards and had friends in the office. He came and went as he desired. Was there a more sinister connection?
Sitting there with his arms around her, Winter had fallen asleep. With a tender smile, he got up and carried her up to her room. Brushing a featherlight kiss across her cheek, he set her on her feet outside her room. As she awakened, he opened the door and pushed her inside. “Sleep well, Winter.” She blinked as he gently closed the door and headed for his room. There would be precious little sleep for him tonight.
* * *
The next morning, before Winter awakened, Alistair left the house to meet with the secretary. To his surprise, a tall young peer met him in their usual spot. “Spensor Melton,” the young peer said quietly. “The secretary thought your meetings were becoming too noticeable, so he sent me.”
Alistair frowned. “I’ve seen you before...the clerk at my door and in the secretary’s office.” Melton nodded and handed over a letter of confirmation.
Alistair read the letter, before assessing the assured young man. Melton read the question in his eyes. “Yes, I am young, but I already lost a friend to the accursed Corsican. I offered my services, such as they are.”
Melton had a firm handshake and a steady gaze that drew Alistair’s trust. Alistair tucked the note into his pocket before giving his report.
Head tilted, Viscount Melton listened to Alistair’s suspicions. “Does Hollingsworth have reason to be involved? I mean, he may be a bounder, but a traitor?”
“I think it is worth checking out, don’t you?”
“Are you perhaps overreacting due to his overtures toward your ward?”
“I don’t think so.” Alistair’s voice was hard. “She’s hardly his type. Small of stature, not exactly the build he usually goes for. And, she, uh...she is disabled, somewhat.” He spoke the last reluctantly, surprised that he scarcely thought of her limitations any longer.
“We are aware that he is engaged to some country miss.” The viscount pursed his lips. “That might stand checking out.”
“Her father’s estate is not far from my own country seat.”
“I see.” Melton’s gray eyes narrowed with thought. “Might you have some pressing business to take care of in the country?”
“Hmm.” A laconic smile stretched Alistair’s lips. “I am certain I mentioned it.”
* * *
Winter awoke to a quiet house. Downstairs, she encountered the duchess. “Have you seen Justin?”
“Have the two of you discussed your differences and made things right?” The duchess actually winked, and Winter blushed.
“I think so. Where is he?”
“I am sorry, but he was in somewhat of a hurry when I saw him. Said he had some pressing business in the country. Be gone for several days as I understand it.”
The happiness faded from Winter’s face. “Oh. He didn’t leave any messages for me.”
“Not that I know of other than to tell you what he told me.” Winter felt bereft. Again he had gone off without telling her as he had
promised he would. Anger surfaced, then acceptance. He left because he promised not to hurt her. She could respect him for that.
Her spirits low, she decided that maybe a ride on Jupiter would raise them. Terrance Carlyle, the tall groom who seemed so familiar earlier, accompanied her. His engaging manner was not quite servile. His smile infectious. Still her flagging spirits did not revive. Later, Winter attended the opera with the duchess and a particular friend of hers, an elderly but dashing peer who made Winter feel awkward and out of place.
Winter knew it was time to face reality. Without Justin’s presence, she disliked the social round immensely. Since he had gone away without a word to her, she concluded he was trying to distance himself from her against a declaration of love.
“Poor man is probably in a state of shock,” she told herself. “Still, why did he hold me like that?”
Could she dare hope he might someday reciprocate her feelings? What had she to offer beside the likes of Lady Bridget?
Trust me, came the voice inside.
“I am trying Lord, I am trying.”
More and more she longed for the security of Renton Hall.
Chapter 10
Winter rode Jupiter in the early morning. Though she enjoyed the ride, the tall trees and meandering stream in the park only heightened her longing for the green fields, open countryside and clean air of Renton.
Beside her on a restless gray rode her usual escort, Terrance Carlyle. His easy manner and self-confidence gave her a sense of security. That morning, she found Mary wrapped in the groom’s long arms. Seeing her averted face, Terrance Carlyle chuckled.
Mary cuffed him playfully. “Have done, Terrance.”
Smiling, she addressed Winter. “Lady Renton, may I make you acquainted with my husband, Terrance Carlyle.”
“Ah,” he said to Mary and chuckled, “our lady thought we were engaging in a few stolen moments, my love.”
Winter flushed as her eyes met the amusement in the man’s eyes. Definitely not servile! She was recalling the incident and puzzling over the thought that his behavior seemed more to the manor born than the stable when Hollingsworth loomed up beside her on a huge black gelding.
“Winter, fancy meeting you here at this hour.”
Winter guided her horse away from the encroaching gentleman and urged Jupiter into a canter. The groom smoothly followed, a decided smile on his face.
Hollingsworth kicked his animal into a canter. Fighting the animal, Hollingsworth caught up with Winter, who slowed Jupiter at the turn. Again, Hollingsworth hauled on the reins, seesawing them against the animal’s tender mouth. Curses rolled off Hollingsworth’s tongue.
Winter turned Jupiter to face him. “Stop abusing that horse!”
“I’ll do what I like with what is mine,” the man growled, his face red with exertion. “I’ve tamed wilder ones than this.” Winter heard the slap of the whip on the horse’s rump and winced as the animal shuddered.
A slender groom rode beside his master. Winter heard him try to calm the horse with his soothing voice. Again Hollingsworth held the reins so tightly he arched the horse’s head, almost touching nose to chest. “Haven’t seen Alistair of late.”
Winter snapped, “He has been busy.” She had her hands full trying to keep her own frisky animal still.
Hollingsworth’s horse shifted and again the bounder slapped the whip. “Out chasing his bit o’muslin, mayhap?” For a second his eyes narrowed. “Has he left you all alone in the wicked city?”
“Cyprians are your department, Hollingsworth,” Winter countered.
“So he warned you, did he?” The man struggled a moment, cursed, then managed a leer. “I daresay his affairs have been more touted than my own.” Winter was unable to hide the hurt that flitted across her face, and Hollingsworth nodded in satisfaction.
Terrance Carlyle interjected. “M’lady, I believe it is time for us to return.”
Hollingsworth noticed the tall groom for the first time. “Too familiar by half,” he drawled. “Groom, is it? Mayhap the lady has been dallying with more than her erstwhile guardian.”
Winter’s angry flush and quick denial brought a sneer to Hollingsworth’s lips.
“M’lady,” Carlyle growled, “we need to go.”
For a moment the black paused, heaving from his exertion. Hollingsworth took the moment to look more closely at the groom. “Strange. You bear a marked resemblance to the Stuart family. Wrong side of the blanket? Good. Quite good that.” He roared with laughter.
Now Winter, too, saw the resemblance. No wonder he had seemed familiar. No denial sounded from the groom’s tightly controlled expression. Winter felt his hatred of Hollingsworth as a physical thing.
Hollingsworth taunted her. “A tendre for Alistair, is it?” The black shook his powerful head against the choking reins.
“You blush so easily, my dear. Don’t be deceived. That rogue will take your heart and your innocence far more smoothly than I, but he has no more intention of offering marriage than I have.”
“So you say, but with all the other lovely widows of the ton—” she thought of Lady Bridget “—why would you single me out for your favors?”
Hollingsworth cursed when the black tried to sidle away from Jupiter. “Mayhap I wish to know why Alistair attends you—and he is so attentive. I see it now, a touch, a soulful look. A hug. Oh, he’s smooth that one.”
Winter clutched Jupiter’s silky mane. Hollingsworth witnessed her response. “Ah, so he has gotten that far.”
Her eyes darkened. “Justin has not hurt me in any way.”
“You are an innocent. One of these days Alistair will reveal his true colors, and when he does—come to me.”
“Never!” Winter lifted the reins to give her restless horse his head. It amazed her he had remained as calm as he did beside Hollingsworth’s unruly mount. Then she saw Carlyle’s hand on his mane and realized the groom had been keeping him quiet. She sent him a grateful smile.
Seeing what she was about to do, Hollingsworth kicked the black as the whip once more descended on his hindquarters. Neighing, the sensitive animal reared, neatly dumping the unsuspecting lord onto the hard ground. Terrance Carlyle laughed outright, while Winter’s own giggle pealed forth before she could contain it.
His face hot with fury, Hollingsworth stiffly got to his feet and carefully dusted himself off. His groom, who was busily soothing the wild-eyed horse, didn’t see Hollingsworth pick up his whip, nor did he see the menacing arm lifted before the whip descended on his groom’s unsuspecting shoulders.
“You incompetent scoundrel,” Hollingsworth roared. “This is all your fault.” Hollingsworth cursed the poor groom, who tried to dodge while holding on to the struggling horse.
Screaming curses, Hollingsworth raised his whip once more, bringing it down again and again across the shoulders of both groom and horse.
“Stop it! Stop it right this second!” With a boldness born of desperation and compassion, Winter rode Jupiter between Hollingsworth and his victims.
Though he pulled his swing, he could not stop in time and the whip snapped against Winter’s arm, slicing her riding jacket to the elbow. Hearing his mistress’s groan, Jupiter swung about, knocking Hollingsworth to the ground.
Terrance Carlyle rode to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, glowering at Hollingsworth, who was once more getting to his feet.
Fingering the tear, Winter nodded. Her arm stung where the whip slashed, though the skin did not appear broken.
Hollingsworth’s groom and horse stood trembling nearby. Reaching for the reins, Hollingsworth growled at the groom. “I’ll see to you later.”
After considerable difficulty, and with his groom holding on to the large animal, Hollingsworth managed to regain his seat. Turning, he glared into Winter’s cold white
face. “I hope you are satisfied, but you wait, innocent miss. One day I’ll have you in my power. One day.”
She retorted, “I hope I never see you again, Lord Hollingsworth.” She cantered away, feeling a chill between her shoulder blades.
“You’re well shot of him,” said Carlyle.
She shuddered. “Thank you for your help. I am glad you were there.” She managed a smile while her heart cried. Lord, please keep that dreadful man away from me.
His insinuations had done their damage, though. The seeds of doubt Hollingsworth planted in Winter’s mind about Alistair’s intentions brought back her own initial doubts.
“You mustn’t mind what he said about his lordship.” She realized Carlyle correctly guessed the direction of her thoughts. “His lordship is an honorable man.”
“Perhaps,” she said, remembering the whispered conferences and easy familiarity between her abigail, Carlyle’s wife, and Alistair. She wondered anew about Amelia. Then there was that intimate hug. Her cheeks flushed.
Sooner or later Alistair would return. She believed him when he told her he would not harm her, but just what was his definition of harm?
How could she forget his touch? When he put his arms about her, she lost all sense of propriety. No, she was much too vulnerable to him. Only one solution presented itself—she must return home.
Against Mary’s protestations, Winter insisted she pack a trunk. “Whatever doesn’t fit, leave.”
Mary begged, “At least wait until his lordship returns.”
“No, there is no time to lose.”
It was more difficult to inform the duchess of her intentions. Truth to tell, she waited until her trunk was loaded on the carriage she had ordered.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had an engagement, child? Who is attending you?”
“I am sorry, your grace, but I have decided to return home where I belong.”
“Haven’t you been happy here? Does Alistair know of this?”
“No, and don’t ask me to wait for him to return for I won’t.”
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