The sergeant stepped before his men and flung out his arm in several directions as he gave them orders. When they had been dispersed, he took to the stairs, leaving the sheriff to poke about the corners of the common room.
Lord Saxton shifted his weight carefully in the chair and lent his attention to Erienne. “My dear, if you would be so kind. A brandy for the sheriff.”
Without a word Erienne crossed to the sideboard, struggling with the nervous tension that had sapped the strength from her limbs. After pouring a draught from the decanter, she turned with the glass in her hand, but her husband gestured again.
“A little more, my love. ’Tis a foul day out, and the sheriff will no doubt need the fortification for the ride back.”
Parker perused the comely feminine form as he took the glass, wondering how the girl could content herself with such a husband. He remembered Avery’s difficulty in finding a suitor to please her and had to believe the girl was handling her guise of devotion very well.
Upstairs in Erienne’s chamber, Aggie watched the men rudely search the armoire and tramp behind the draperies that secluded the bathing room. She cringed as Haggard’s sheathed sword fanned out behind him, bumping against the furniture and threatening costly vases and lamps. His face lit up as he passed Erienne’s dressing table, and he paused to sample the intoxicating scent of a dusting powder. Curiously he raised a crystal vial and, with his thick fingers, ever so gently lifted the stopper. He poked his large nose near the top and sniffed. An expression of dreamy ecstasy transformed his face, and for a moment he forgot the world existed.
“Aren’t you…?”
Haggard jumped, and the perfume vial flew from his hands, doing a spiraling cartwheel through the air, in the process dousing him with a liberal portion of the contents. He juggled his hands about, trying to catch the crystal container, and breathed a sigh of relief when he clutched it safely to his bosom. Finally he met the woman’s pained stare with a hesitant smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a man?” Aggie reminded him.
A light seemed to dawn in his brain, brightening his face, and Haggard hurriedly set aside the crystal vial. He glanced about, then dusted his hands, content that no one was hiding in the room. Beckoning to his confederates, he passed on into the hall. In his absence, Aggie waved the air in front of her nose and looked heavenward, as if she offered prayer for such a clumsy buffoon.
A second libation had been offered to and taken by the sheriff when his men returned to the hall. Haggard was grinning in joyful innocence for a task well performed and missed the widely skeptical stares of his companions. He crossed the hall to stand beside the sheriff, who choked on the remainder of his brandy as the overpowering fumes hit him. Coughing to catch his breath, Parker looked about with a mild tearing of the eyes. In the background Aggie smiled smugly, content that she had been present to see the expression on the sheriff’s face.
“No sign of a wounded man in the house, sir,” the sergeant announced.
“Satisfied, Sheriff?” Lord Saxton inquired.
The man nodded reluctantly. “I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, my lord. We will look elsewhere for the knave, but should he come here, I beg you detain him and send a rider to inform us.”
No answer came from the mask, and the sheriff pushed Haggard out ahead of him. Erienne held her place, listening to their departure until an overwhelming silence filled the manse. Lord Saxton gestured to Aggie, bringing the woman close, and spoke in a low voice to her. The woman straightened, cast a quick glance at her mistress, and hastily left the room.
Once they were alone, Lord Saxton raised himself slowly from his chair and half turned to his wife. “I would like a private word with you, madam. Would you be so kind as to join me in my chambers?”
Now that the moment of truth was at hand, Erienne was not nearly so certain that she wanted to proceed. Considering that Christopher had only recently vacated the chambers, she wondered if she should direct her husband elsewhere, but the suspicion that Aggie had already told him about the Yankee made Erienne hold her silence. Meekly she crossed the room and then paused at the entry leading into the tower to wait for Stuart, who came at a more awkward pace than usual. As he climbed the stairs, he seemed overly tired. Erienne ran ahead to open the door for him and was amazed to find that the bedcovers had been turned down and the pillows fluffed and piled in one heap. It was apparent that Aggie had already been there to prepare the room, and Erienne could not resist a question as Lord Saxton passed her with his slow, halting gait.
“Are you ill, my lord?”
“Lock the door, Erienne,” he rasped and, without appeasing her curiosity, made his way carefully to the chair by the hearth.
Erienne turned the key and stared dismally about, wondering what the next moments would bring. Her husband’s stoical manner boded ill, and she held no hope that she could approach him on the matter of their marriage without feeling greatly hampered by her trepidations. Hesitantly she moved to his desk and idly turned several pages of the tome as she tried to think of an opening.
Lord Saxton hitched the chair around to face his wife. “Will you pour me a brandy, my dear?”
The request startled her, and casting a curious glance at him, she reached to take the stopper from the crystal decanter that resided with several glasses on a silver tray. She poured a draught and felt his gaze as she brought him the libation. The fact was firm in her mind that he had never taken any substance in her presence, for doing so would have necessitated the removal of the mask. Unable to cease her trembling, she hurried back to the desk and lifted the crystal stopper to replace it.
“So, my dear…”
She faced him with thudding heart, the crystal piece clutched desperately in her hand, but she was hardly aware that she even held it.
“…You say I have let another man into my bed.”
Erienne opened her mouth to speak. Her first impulse was to chatter some inanity that could magically take the edge from his callous half statement, half question. No great enlightenment dawned, however, and her dry, parched throat issued no sound of its own. She inspected the stopper closely, turning it slowly in her hand rather than meet the accusing stare.
From behind the mask, Lord Saxton observed his wife closely, well aware that the next moments would form the basis for the rest of his life or leave it an empty husk. After this, there could be no turning back.
“I think, my dear,” his words made her start, “that whatever the cost, ’tis time you met the beast of Saxton Hall.”
Erienne swallowed hard and clasped the stopper with whitened knuckles, as if to draw some bit of courage from the crystal piece. As she watched, Lord Saxton doffed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and she wondered if it was a trick of her imagination that he seemed somewhat lighter of frame. After their removal, he caught the heel of his right boot over the toe of the left and slowly drew the heavy, misshapen encumbrance from his foot. She frowned in open bemusement, unable to detect a flaw. He flexed the leg a moment before slipping off the other boot.
His movements seemed pained as he shed the gloves, and Erienne’s eyes fastened on the long, tan, unscarred hands that rose to the mask and, with deliberate movements, flipped the lacings loose. She half turned, dropping the stopper and colliding with the desk as he reached to the other side of the leather helm and lifted it away with a single motion. She braved a quick glance and gasped in astonishment when she found translucent eyes calmly smiling at her.
“Christopher! What…?” She could not form a question, though her mind raced in a frantic search for logic.
He rose from the chair with an effort. “Christopher Stuart Saxton, lord of Saxton Hall.” His voice no longer bore a hint of a rasp. “Your servant, my lady.”
“But…but where is…?” The truth was only just beginning to dawn on her, and the name she spoke sounded small and thin. “…Stuart?”
“One and the same, madam.” He stepped near, and those translucent
eyes commanded her attention. “Look at me, Erienne. Look very closely.” He towered over her, and his lean, hard face bore no hint of humor. “And tell me again if you think I would ever allow another man in your bed while I yet breathe.”
This revelation was so different from what she had assumed, Erienne had trouble grasping the facts as they were presented to her. She knew the two were one, but reason failed to knot the elusive ends and brought the plaintive questions to her lips. “How? Why?”
“The one you thought was Lord Saxton is dead. He was my older brother, Edmund. He bore the title before me, but when the east wing burned, he was trapped in the fire. His servant found him…or rather what was left of him…in the ruins, and laid him in an unmarked grave atop the cliff overlooking the firth.” The muscles flexed in his cheek, giving evidence of his constrained anger. “I was at sea at the time, and the letters bearing news of his death never reached me. When I came to England, I was presented with the fact that someone had murdered him.”
“Dead? Three years ago?” Erienne repeated numbly. “Then when I married, it was really you…?”
“Aye, madam. I could not court you otherwise, nor could I think of a better ploy to confuse the ones who torched the manse than to resurrect the older brother whom they thought was dead. ’Twas you who gave me the guise and challenge when you said you would rather wed a scarred and twisted cripple.”
Erienne glanced about, unable to settle her misting gaze on a single object while her mind flew in frenzy. He reached to take her against him, but she eluded his hand.
“Please…don’t touch me,” she said sobbing, and ran to the windows, there refusing to yield even the smallest glance in his direction. A heavy guilt came upon him as he moved to stand behind her. He saw her slender shoulders jerk with her silent weeping and heard her racking breath, and the muted sound drove a piercing pain through his heart.
“Come, my love…”
“My love!” Erienne whirled, and her tear-filled eyes blazed at him as she choked on her sobs. “Am I in truth your love, a respected wife to bear offspring with a proud and noble name? Or am I just some tender tidbit you’ve taken for sport? A simpleminded wench to fill your needs for a night or two, perhaps? What amusement you must have had playing your game on me!”
“Erienne…listen…”
“Nay! Never again will I listen to your lies!” She swept the back of her hand across her cheeks to fling away the streaming wetness and snatched free as he tried once more to take her arm. “What was it that you wanted? A paramour to while away the hours with? Aye! A tender virgin to entertain you while you’re here in these northern climes. That was your first proposal, wasn’t it?”
She strolled toward him, hips swaying suggestively while her eyes flashed through their moisture. She caught her finger in his shirt and flippantly jerked the tail out of his breeches. “What does a good trollop earn in the time I’ve been with you? Fifty pounds? That was what you paid for me, wasn’t it? ’Tis so hard to recall. You gave with one hand and took with the other.”
Christopher cocked a dubious brow, somewhat amazed at the spirit of this woman he had wed. “No such miserly sum, madam.”
Erienne deliberately misinterpreted his answer. “Oh? Then you must consider that you bought me for a real bargain if most doxies earn more than that.” Her lips turned upward in a coy smile as her eyes grew dark and sultry. “Am I not worth more than that now that I’ve learned some of the duties? Perhaps my speech is too refined.” She leaned her bosom against him and tauntingly rubbed her thigh against his as she slid a hand beneath his shirt to slowly caress his lean, naked waist. “Ain’t I worth more’n a couple quid a night ter ye, gov’na?”
He raked her with a brazen stare, able to give as good as he got, yet after a brief consideration he decided it would not be prudent to tempt Fate too far. She had a right to be angry, and it would behoove him to weather the storm with patience.
“What’s the matter, gov’na?” she asked in a feigned tone of hurt when she failed to win a response from him. “Ain’t I good enough for ye?” She twined her arm about his neck and, catching his hand, brought it to her breast and slowly rubbed the palm against the rising peak. “Don’t ye like me?”
“I do indeed, madam,” he drawled leisurely. He reached behind him, flipped open an armoire door and, taking out a sheaf of papers, held them before her eyes. “These are the rest of the receipts for your father’s bills I paid in London.” He tossed the stack in the direction of the bed, careless of how they scattered to the floor. “They account to more than ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand?” she repeated in questioning astonishment.
“Aye, and I would have paid twice that had there been a need. I couldn’t bear the thought of letting you wed another man. So when your father banned me from the roup, I took my rightful title as Lord Saxton and had my man bid for me.”
She stepped away, not willing to relent. “You tricked me. You tricked my father…and Farrell…the whole village. You tricked us all,” she sobbed, tears brimming in her eyes again. “When I think of all those nights you took me…held me in your arms…and all the while you were laughing at me. How you must have laughed at us all.”
“Madam, I never laughed at you. I wanted you, and I knew of no other way I could have you.”
“You could have told me…” she cried.
“You hated me, remember, and scoffed at my proposals.” He tugged off his shirt and threw it aside. Rubbing his knuckles in the palm of his hand, he began to pace slowly about as he sought some discourse that would soothe her ire. “I came to these climes to seek some clue to the identity of my brother’s murderers, and in the course of that venture, I viewed a maid whose fairness seized my heart. She entrapped me as surely as any southern water siren or sea maiden, and I desired her as I have never desired any woman.
“Fate decreed that we should be at odds from the start, and I was commanded to ignore the very one I wanted. The warnings only sharpened my desires to have her. I plied her at every opportunity, and though her words chilled my hopes, I glimpsed some wee chance that she might in time yield to me.” He lifted his right arm and rubbed the bandage with his other hand as if to ease a pain. “However, the moment wherein she would be wed to another quickly approached. ’Twas a choice I had to make…to let her go and forever regret that I had not been allowed time to woo her, or to present myself as the beast and take advantage of a ploy that could also aid me elsewhere. The longer I debated the matter, the more possibilities it presented. It seemed plausible, and it would allow me to court the lady at my leisure.”
Erienne’s voice was ragged with emotion. “So you duped me into believing I was marrying an unsightly beast. If you had really cared for me, Christopher, you would have told me. You would have come to me and eased my fears. But you let me suffer through the first weeks of our marriage, when I was so frightened I wanted to die!”
“Would you have been relieved to find yourself married to me?” he inquired. “Or would you have gone back to your father and set the word out against me? I had this matter of my brother’s death to settle, and I had no way of knowing I could trust you. Many had sought to kill us. My mother booked passage to the colonies after the attempt on her sons’ lives. She was frightened, for the hand of our foe seemed widespread. She hired a man with a daughter to sail with her and traveled under his name. When she arrived in the colonies, she adopted her maiden name and made a new life for us all. She feared us coming back, but ’twas meant to be. The rebellion in the colonies interfered, but nonetheless, after friendly relations were resumed, my brother came to claim his rightful place as lord. Nothing had changed. He was here only a short time, and they came with their torches and gave him no quarter. I was determined to be more wary, even with the one I had become enamored with. Her father was untrustworthy, and she had often confessed her hatred of me.”
Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped angrily at the twin trails of wetness that continued to
course down her cheeks. “I tried so desperately to be an honorable wife, but all the while I was just a pawn in your ploy for revenge.”
“Justice, madam, and I will yet have it, though I see the sheriff is working diligently to destroy me.”
“Allan Parker?” She forgot her anger for the moment as she stared at him in amazement. “Does he not work for justice, too?”
“Hardly, madam. He is the one whom the highwaymen call their captain. He led the attack on the Becker carriage, and that is how he came to know I am the night rider.”
Erienne could not doubt his accusation, though the shock of it lingered on, but she had some claims of her own to make. “You have been involved with so many games. The night rider is not the least of them.” Her unrelenting distress was evident in her tone. “You played the rutting stud with me and worked diligently to tear through my honor and destroy my self-respect. You seduced me in the carriage. You played your game with me there, and you would have taken me, too, and let me think that I was cuckolding my husband. Then later, when I came to this bed, you made love to me, deceiving me as you did, letting me believe you were another man while you made love to me.”
A Rose in Winter Page 52
