“Oooiiee, girlie! Ye’re a fine one, ye are. Ain’t never seen such a doxie like ye before.”
“Let me go!” Erienne gasped. She struggled in earnest to preserve her dignity while avoiding the ruddy, puckered lips that eagerly sought her mouth. His breath, sour with the stench of strong ale, emitted from a gaping leer that grew wider as his brawny hands rudely pawed her back and brought her ever nearer to that broad, whiskered face.
“Unhand me!” Erienne shrieked and braced her arm against the man’s throat, trying to get some leverage in order to gain her freedom. The man howled with laughter and easily swept her arm aside. His embrace tightened about her, squeezing the breath from her, and Erienne shivered in revulsion as his slobbering wet lips touched her cheek and slid downward along her throat.
“Ye smell as sweet as sin, girlie,” he chortled.
Suddenly a large presence loomed close beside them, and Erienne looked up to find Christopher Seton standing at the man’s elbow. At her gasp, the seaman glanced around.
“ ’Oo’s this now?” the tar questioned sneeringly. “Some dandy what’s got his eye on me girlie? Go on an’ get yer own, mate. This one’s mine.”
A mildly tolerant smile touched the handsome visage, but the glint in the green eyes was hard as steel. “If you do not choose to make mourners of your friends today, my good man, I suggest you promptly release the lady,” he warned in a mild tone of reproof. “The master of Saxton Hall would take it much amiss if you did ill by his lady.”
The seaman’s jaw slowly sagged, betraying his confusion. He stared at the other as if wondering whether to take him seriously or not.
“The master of Saxton Hall? Have you not heard of him?” Christopher questioned in chiding amazement.
“Naugh!” the great lummox replied roughly.
“The ghost of Saxton Hall, some call him,” Christopher obligingly explained. “Burned to a crisp, others have said, but still he lives. The way the rumors have been flying about, you’re either deaf or a stranger to these parts if you’ve not heard of him. Were I you, I would take extreme care to treat his lady gently else you might shortly regret it.”
The tar hastened to excuse his error. “I didn’t know the lil’ filly was someone’s missus. The boys and me were only ’avin’ a bit o’ fun.” He set Erienne from him and in an anxious scramble restored her packages to her. “No harm done, ye see.”
“If that is the case, perhaps Lord Saxton will be lenient with you.” Christopher raised a wondering brow to Erienne, who reddened deeply beneath his bold inspection. “None the worse for wear, it seems.” He presented his arm gallantly. “Madam, may I escort you from this rowdy bunch and see you safely away?”
Erienne ignored his offer and walked stiffly through the gawking tars and tarts, who opened a path for her. Christopher followed, slapping his riding crop casually against his leg as he observed the indignant swing of her skirts. He grinned broadly and quickened his pace, catching up with her and matching his long stride to her brisk, angry step.
“You have your nerve,” she snapped, casting an indignant glare at him.
“My lady?” His tone questioned her statement while his eyes shone with suppressed humor.
“Mindlessly spilling tales about my husband that aren’t true!” she accused, then paused to rearrange several of the parcels she carried.
“May I lend you some assistance with those things?” he inquired solicitously.
“Indeed not!” she answered sharply, then gasped in dismay when a smaller one slipped from her grasp.
Deftly Christopher caught the package in midair. Curious, he brought it to his nose to sample its scent, then cocked a dubious brow at her. “Perfume for my lady?”
Erienne snatched it from him. “Spices for the kitchen…if you must know, Mr. Seton.”
“That’s reassuring,” he replied. “The scent was rather pungent, nothing like your usual sweet fragrance.”
“We were discussing my husband,” Erienne reminded him pertly.
“And so is everybody else. Indeed, the merest mention of him is likely to send a shiver of fear through the stoutest of hearts.”
“You do much to fan the flames with such foolish talk of ghosts and devils.”
“I only meant to convince the seaman to free you so there need be no shedding of blood. I gained your disfavor by defending myself against your brother. To avoid any further wounding of my reputation, I simply plied gentle words and warnings. Did I err? Would you have seen me give the man his due and deal him a death blow?”
“Of course not!” Erienne exclaimed in frustration.
Amused by her irritation, Christopher teased, “Pardon me for not playing the smitten suitor and defending you with blade in hand.” He glanced about him as if searching for someone. “I’d have thought your husband would still be panting about your skirts. Where is the chap, anyway?”
“He…didn’t come with me,” Erienne answered haltingly.
“Indeed?” Christopher’s tone held a strong, undisguised note of hope as he turned to gaze down at her expectantly.
“He had business elsewhere,” she hurried to explain.
“And do I dare hope that you’ve come here unescorted?” he asked eagerly.
“Aggie…I mean, our housekeeper came with me.” Erienne glanced down the street, not wanting to meet the warm, humorous glint in those gray-flecked green eyes. “She should be here somewhere.”
“You mean you are not yet ready to leave Saxton Hall?”
Erienne’s head snapped up in surprise, and her eyes searched his.
Christopher smiled pleasantly. “Lord Saxton is well known to me, hardly the sort a beautiful young woman would enjoy having as her husband.” He saw the flash of fire in the blue-violet depths, but he continued, undisturbed. “Despite your avowed hatred of me, Erienne, would you not find my company more enjoyable than that twisted excuse for a man? My apartments in London are certainly more comfortable than a cold and drafty manor house.”
“And what, pray, would be the rents on such an establishment?” she queried with icy sarcasm.
He disregarded the sardonic edge to her voice. Indeed, his smile would have been one of great compassion except for the leer in his eyes. “That question could be settled with almost no discussion at all. Though words tumble prettily from your lips, my sweet, to talk with you is not what I have in mind.”
Erienne turned and stalked away with an abruptness that gave him cause to quicken his step as he followed her. When he took a place beside her again, she gave him a glare that should have shriveled his heart to a nub. “You amaze me, sir! You truly amaze me! I’ve not been a wife a full week, scarce enough to know my husband well…”
“If at all,” he scoffed in muted tone.
“And yet,” she raged on, ignoring his interruption, “you insult the man, knowing him not at all, I’d wager. I must firmly tell you that there is more to him than others see. He has been kind and courteous to me, providing for my every comfort, and has never stooped to rudeness, unlike others I might mention.” She gave her head a toss reminiscent of a high-spirited filly. “He has been most civilized and gentlemanly.”
“Pray tell, sweet lady,” the unquenchable rake chortled close to her ear, “what else could he be? Has he taken you in his arms and proven his manhood?”
Erienne faced him squarely, her mouth agape at his crude affront. A half smile twisted a corner of his mouth as his eyes warmly caressed her.
“I assure you, my love,” he murmured softly, “I would not have wasted the time. By now, you would have had no doubt as to the readiness of my passion.”
Erienne gasped and felt a scalding hotness creeping up from her bosom. “You…you…insufferable, boorish knave!” she stammered in angry amazement. “In the last few moments you have proposed that I take a place as your mistress, and now you confront me with your open lust. Can you honestly believe that I take my vows lightly? Indeed, I do not! I am firmly bound by my word! But if you would
do me honor, however small, then take yourself from my sight and henceforth restrict me from your company.”
“I fear ’tis met that I cannot,” he sighed in overstated apology. “You have boldly captured my deepest desire, and with that, most probably my heart.”
“Most probably! Most probably! Ohhh!”
Erienne swung a daintily slippered foot with dire intent, but he lightly stepped aside and laughingly saved his shin from the blow.
“Such a temper,” he chided.
“Depart from me, you cloddish lout! Leave me before I retch at the very sight of you!”
Christopher grinned broadly and swept her a low bow. “As you wish, milady. Since I perceive that Aggie is that one over there craning her neck in an effort to find you, I shall leave you and be about my business.”
Erienne caught a glimpse of the housekeeper down the lane, doing much as he had described. Grinding her teeth in vexation, Erienne strode away from him and fairly seethed with hot anger as she heard his last comment.
“If my lady should change her mind, my ship will be here or in London. Captain Daniels will know where to find me.”
Erienne refused to gratify him with a retort, but it was a dire struggle she made for composure as the housekeeper joined her.
“Mum? Are ye all right?” Aggie questioned in anxious worry when she saw her mistress’ reddened countenance. Her next statement was almost an understatement. “Ye look a bit flushed.”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine,” Erienne answered stiffly. “There are just too many scalawags abroad for a decent woman to be straying off alone.” She cast a glance back down the street but could see no sign of her detractor. With his absence some semblance of sanity returned, and she relaxed, but only a trifle. Her temper was too badly frayed to allow her to devote too much attention to shopping. “After we find a kettle, I should like to return home.”
“But mum, ye haven’t bought anythin’ for yerself yet.”
“Lord Saxton has been generous. I can think of nothing I lack.”
“Very well, mum.”
A pot was found and purchased a short time later, and when they came from the shop, Erienne was astonished to find the coach waiting for them a short distance away. It seemed that with its presence the street had filled with a multitude of gaping bystanders who were trying to stare without really appearing to do so. Several groups of whispering women bent their heads together, but when her gaze came upon them, they quickly straightened and began to peruse the wares of a nearby peddler. Erienne’s bemusement vanished abruptly when the carriage door swung open and the cloaked form of her husband descended to await her. Acutely aware of the sudden silence on the street and the weight of many stares, she hurried toward him. Bundy stepped to meet her and, taking the packages, carried them to the boot. She released a trembling breath as she faced Lord Saxton.
“My lord,” her voice quavered only slightly, “I was not expecting to see you here.”
“I had business with Mr. Jagger, and since he was leaving for London, I begged a ride from him.” He contemplated her a moment. “Have you finished here, madam?”
“Aye, milord.”
He raised his arm, half blocking the entrance to the carriage as he offered his assistance. Erienne stared, unable to move.
“Take my arm, madam,” he urged softly. “ ’Tis unseemly that you should embarrass me before so many.”
She quelled a shudder and reluctantly placed her hand on the proffered arm. She was surprised to find it well formed and firmly muscled beneath the cloth of his coat, not at all unpleasant to touch. The strength she had feared but never doubted was evident. Yet strangely, touching him made it all seem less sinister, as if for the first time she was able to think of him as a flesh-and-blood man and not some cold, scarred creature from the nether world. His other hand, briefly resting on her waist, helped brace her ascent into the carriage.
Aided by Bundy, Aggie climbed to the top of the coach and settled herself beside Tanner, purposefully leaving the privacy of the interior to the wedded couple. Bundy squeezed his bulk in beside the woman. Caught between the two hulking men, Aggie displayed a momentary distress before she gave first one and then the other a sharp jab with her elbows.
“Keep ter yer places now,” she warned. “I won’t be crushed ter smithereens by the likes o’ both o’ ye.”
Abuzz of voices rose along the street as Lord Saxton made his entry into the carriage. He braced his weighted foot on the step, grasped the sides of the door with his gloved hands, and hoisted himself into the interior. He settled into the seat across from Erienne, and the conveyance lurched into motion. When they had passed from the cobbled thoroughfare onto the dirt road leading from the city, a softly echoing chuckle came from Lord Saxton. Erienne stared at him, curious to know what had amused him.
“You see, madam?” His oddly half-whispering, half-rasping voice won her full attention. “Touching me is not at all like taking hold of a serpent.”
In sudden embarrassment Erienne glanced away. It was as if he had read her mind from the beginning, for the very words had flitted through her thoughts. She had never considered him to be a man, but rather something diabolical.
“I am a man, Erienne,” he assured her, the laughter gone from his voice, and once again he seemed to read her thoughts. “With all the needs and desires of a man. And you, my darling Erienne, are so beautiful it tortures me.”
Though she felt the eyes behind the mask resting heavily upon her, she could not look at the leather visage. Her answer was barely audible. “I struggle with myself, milord. My imaginings run rampant, and I think it eases my fears no more to see your mask than to glimpse whatever lies beneath it. Perhaps if I could see your face…”
“You would recoil in rage and horror,” he interrupted her curtly. “Wild imaginings might one day be conquered by a dream, but the surest knowledge of my face would forever bar the door between us. I would rather let darkness and uncertainty be your wooer than have sure knowledge of the fact haunt you. If I have to, I will bide my time, but even you must see there is a worth beneath the meanest of exteriors, that even a scratched and worn carriage may yet yield a comfortable ride.”
Erienne kept her silence, bracing herself against the sway of the carriage. His words haunted her. He wanted her, and someday she must submit. But for now, the fear of what lay behind the mask was still to much for her.
They were yet a goodly distance from Mawbry when gunshots sounded from behind them, startling the occupants of the coach. Bundy opened the small compartment above the forward seat and urgently announced, “Highwaymen, milord! A full dozen of ’em! Comin’ up behind!”
Lord Saxton leaned out the window to see the oncoming band of thieves but quickly ducked back in when a shot splintered the wood of the door near his head. He flung a command in the direction of the compartment. “Tell Tanner to keep them at a good distance. I’ll see what I can do to dissuade the beggars. And Bundy…get Aggie down.”
“Aye, sir!” the man responded almost cheerfully and slammed the small door. An outraged squawk was heard as he shoved Aggie down into the boot beneath his feet. In angry protest the woman sputtered a stream of curt insults but ceased the invective abruptly when a stray ball whined off a roadside boulder. Without so much as another snort, she scrunched deeply into the boot.
Lord Saxton faced his young wife with an apology. “Madam, I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I must ask you to move here to the forward seat.”
Erienne hurriedly obeyed as Tanner urged the horses into a faster pace and Bundy fired a few wild shots from the top of the carriage. As soon as she had cleared the rear seat, Lord Saxton grabbed the front part of the cushion and pulled up. To her amazement, a trunklike compartment was revealed. Within it was a neat stack of over a dozen muskets and a box of premeasured charges in silk tubes. Her husband hefted a flintlock out and reached across to the top of the seat, flipping a pair of latches that held a short, wide panel over the seat closed. He coc
ked the flint and checked the priming pan, then sat forward so that he was free of the swaying sides of the coach. A long moment passed as he waited, then he lifted the gun to his shoulder. It seemed it had no more than touched in place than a cloud of smoke, accompanied by a deep-throated bark, filled the coach. Erienne jumped at the ear-wrenching explosion, and a brief second later she saw one of the highwaymen swept off his mount as if by a puppeteer’s string. Lord Saxton set aside the fired piece and took another. The musket came up and, before Erienne could brace herself, the hammer fell, filling the coach with another deafening roar. Again the charging brigands suffered a loss as another rider sprawled in the dust.
A Rose in Winter Page 23
