Seduction on a Snowy Night Read online

  She really wished she had taken the reins instead of Jason. She could manage this wagon just as well. Then she would not have to look at their captive. Now she could not avoid it, since she needed to keep this pistol on him so he did not jump off the wagon and run into the trees.

  He had lain down now, to take a nap it appeared, with his hat cocked over his brow, but she could still see his beauty. His limpid dark blue eyes alone would command attention. They had humor in them, even when facing a pistol. The result was the finest of lines on the side of the eye she could now see. As for the rest of his face, his regular features and rather perfect skin made him appear to have stepped out of a painting, where the artist embellished reality by removing the flaws nature inevitably provided.

  And yet, now, with his eyes closed and his face in repose, he appeared harder than he did when he looked at her and smiled. Older. Perhaps even a little weary.

  Of course he was a rake. With that face, what else could be expected? Women probably lined up when he entered a drawing room, all but begging to be seduced.

  She realized that she had just found a way to excuse him for his horrible behavior. All because of one brief touch through a glove. A fine caretaker of the family honor she was! She would have to be on her guard not to let his manner and appearance lead her to question her plan on how to save Amelia.

  He opened his eyes, looked to the sky, then sat up. He removed his hat and shook off the snow, then brushed his coat. “Will we go much farther?”

  She shook her head.

  “That weapon must be getting heavy. You can put it down for a while. I am not going to jump on you and take it.”

  So he said.

  “I give my word as a gentleman. See? I’ll keep my hands above my head like this.” He waved his hands, then clasped them behind his head. “And I’ll cross my legs so any move will take time.” He entwined his legs together, hooking one boot around the other.

  He appeared so comical that she smiled despite herself. “I never thanked you for the use of the gloves. It was not in your interest to do that. If my hands went numb, I could hardly shoot you.”

  “I would not know they were numb enough, however. With my luck today, I would take my chance only to have you shoot me dead in the road.”

  “Shooting you dead would not be necessary. An arm or leg would suffice to stop you.”

  He peered at the pistol, then into her eyes. “Are you that good an aim, that I might not end up dead by mistake?”

  “I am that good.”

  “I will take your word on that.” He looked at Jason’s back, then leaned in to speak quietly. “Would you tell me why he decided to abduct me? Was it just my misfortune to take shelter under those eaves, or is there a reason?”

  Goodness, his face was close now. Luminous in the overcast day. Her tongue felt thick, but she managed to speak. “He did not decide to abduct you. I did.”

  “Truly? You seem fairly sensible, but the situation is ludicrous. What if I had not stayed outside in the rain under those eaves?”

  “If you had not taken shelter, we would have found another way to do it. I had several plans.” One had been for her to enter the inn, flirt with him, and beckon him outside for a quick—whatever it was people did when beckoned outside. She had even worn a dress that might aid in that, hidden now beneath her pelisse and cape.

  Just as well he had gone to the eaves. She had not had much faith in that particular alternative. She had little experience in flirting, and no evidence it worked when she tried it.

  “Why? As I said, no one will ransom me.”

  “The marquess would not want to be known as a man who left his cousin to his fate because he was too miserly to pay a ransom.”

  There would be no ransom, but for now let him think there would be.

  Jason turned the wagon off the road and onto the lane leading to Crestview Park. Lord Thornhill turned to watch the new direction. “Are we going to that house up there?”

  “We are.”

  “What is it called?”

  She didn’t answer. The less he knew, the better.

  * * *

  “I’ll dry these out for you, and give the hat a good brushing.” The elderly, thickly built red-haired man took the garments as if he were a valet. Only he wasn’t a valet, but half of a pair of servants who greeted Adam when he entered the low-slung stone house, with its two levels of windows and rambling wings. He did not miss that lacking a coat meant escape would become a good deal less comfortable.

  The man left, limping to favor his right leg.

  The young man did not follow Adam in. Caroline did, still holding the pistol.

  “Warm yourself here,” said the other half of the pair, a short, round old woman in a big white cap and apron. She led him into a good-sized sitting room and toward a roaring hearth fire. Solid, serviceable wood furniture filled the room, with two high-backed upholstered red chairs facing the fireplace. A simple writing table in one corner held a thick ledger on its surface. The space appeared comfortable but far from luxurious, as if nothing new had been put in it for many years.

  At least they did not stint on the fuel. He positioned himself to both dry and warm. The old woman smiled with satisfaction at his expression of bliss in experiencing the heat.

  “May I know your name so I can thank you properly for building up the fire in preparation?”

  The woman’s face fell. She glanced at Caroline, then said, “Smith. Mrs. Smith. He that took your hat is Mr. Smith.”

  “I want you to know that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are not in any way involved in your being here,” Caroline said while she shrugged off her cape onto one of the red chairs. “They work here, and will help see to your comfort, but they are not part of it.”

  “That is good to know, but of little use to them. When my cousin starts looking for necks to stretch, he won’t care about nuances.”

  Mrs. Smith blanched. She grabbed the cape and hurried out.

  “That was unnecessary,” Caroline said.

  “She should know the truth. She is here. I am here. I am a prisoner. She is helping imprison me. That is all that will matter.”

  She untied her bonnet and cast it aside. Fire burned in her dark eyes. “You can frighten her as best you can and she will not be disloyal. She and her husband have been here for years, and are as good—Are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course.” Hardly. With that bonnet gone and the fire blazing, he could see her distinctly. His initial perceptions of dark eyes and hair and white skin, of a handsome face that would be more notable as she aged, held. Only now those eyes were ablaze with annoyance and her head balanced just so on exact posture and her presence warmed him as much as the flames at his back.

  “Then hear me when I say do not try that again. If you do, you will not eat well here.”

  “Surely you are not threatening me with bread and water?”

  “It won’t kill you. In fact, it might do you some good to lose a few pounds.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am not saying you are fat, only that you have thickened a bit, as men do when they leave youth behind and start softening in their middle years.”

  “Excuse me?” Thickened? Middle years? Softening? He was barely twenty-seven and at most weighed five pounds more than when in university.

  “Have I insulted you? Oh, dear. I do apologize.” She did not sound the least sorry. “Now you must come with me so I can show you your chamber.”

  She strode to the entry and called for Mr. Smith. The man showed up a few minutes later. With a flourishing gesture, Caroline bid Adam follow Mr. Smith up the stairs. She followed behind them both.

  They trudged up to the attic level, and to a chamber intended for a servant. Rough plank boards and a slanted timbered ceiling contrasted with simple whitewashed walls. A low window broke through the eaves to provide a view of the countryside.

  “You will stay here,” Caroline said. “Your meals will be brought to you, as will w
ater for washing and such. There is plenty of fuel for the fireplace, as you can see.” On her mention of it, Mr. Smith knelt to build the fire.

  Adam paced around the Spartan chamber. “What am I to do here? My baggage is gone. I have no clothing, no razor, no books, no anything.”

  She turned to leave with Mr. Smith. “I will find garments and books and send them up to you. As for how you spend your time, perhaps some reflection and penance would be good for the soul.”

  The door closed. A sound scraped against it. He waited a few minutes, then tried the door. It budged only an inch, enough for him to see that it had been barred. They had planned this for some time if they had constructed that to ensure he could not leave.

  He paced around the small chamber one more time. It had so little space that moving in it could not satisfy his restlessness. It was a damned prison. He tried the bed. At least the mattress had enough stuffing to cushion the ropes. He rose and checked a little wardrobe. It held nothing except a chamber pot.

  He disliked confinement of any kind. This would become annoying quickly. Already anger nibbled the edges of his mood.

  He bent to look out the small window. No tree outside, not that he could fit out the window easily. Down below, a stone wall held back the land from the foundations of the house and some steps that he guessed went down to the kitchen. If he jumped or tried to lower himself, he would drop four levels, not three. Only an idiot would risk it.

  He threw himself on the bed. Penance, she suggested. She must know more than a little about him. As for her recommendation, plenty of penance awaited him if he found a way out of this cell.

  That alone was enough to dampen his rising indignation. In a manner of speaking, this ridiculous adventure was a reprieve, brief though he expected it to be. A small delay before he chained himself to a woman whom he in no way suited or even much liked. Even her fortune might not repay him for the life she would subject him to.

  He went to gaze out the window again. The rolling land said they were still in Cumberland and probably still north of the lakes. If he could escape he could probably find his way to Nigel without undue time or trouble. He still had some coin on him, and his boots and greatcoat should keep him warm enough. He rather regretted not retrieving his gloves now.

  Then again, he could stay here and reflect, as Caroline put it. Review his carefree life before he sold himself in marriage to that woman. He could reminisce about lovers recent and old, about big wins at the tables, and ignore the bigger losses, about indulgences enjoyed despite no money to pay for them. He could revel in the infamy that meant even rustics like the ones in this house knew who he was.

  Why not? And if he could get out of this chamber, the hills out there and the sitting room below offered some unexpected diversion. He did not know why he was here, and that alone was an interesting little mystery to be solved.

  The scraping said the bar had risen. He sat up as the door opened. Caroline marched in and dropped a bundle on the bed. “Not the finery you are used to, but they should do and no one in society is going to see you. There’s a Bible there, and one of Mrs. Smith’s novels, and a journal or two. I added some newspapers. They are old, but not of London, so you may find them new enough. There are also a few necessities.”

  He eyed the stack of garments and publications. “How long do you intend to imprison me?”

  “Five days if the weather holds. Longer if the snow keeps falling.”

  “Until Christmas then.”

  “Yes.”

  He would regret missing the festivities. A marquess knew how to do up Christmas smartly. Watching his nieces’ and nephews’ excitement always provoked a pleasant nostalgia.

  “You do not have to bar the door and lock me in. If I did not try to escape off the wagon, I won’t now. Nor would it do me much good if I managed it. I don’t even know where I am.” He smiled his best smile, to cajole her to reconsider.

  For an instant her mouth softened at the edges and her eyes shone with new lights. Then her brow puckered while she glanced around the chamber to avert her gaze. She turned on her heel and left.

  He returned to the window. Fifteen minutes later two figures came up the steps down below. At the same time, the wagon rolled into view.

  The two figures, all bundled and hatted against the cold, climbed on the wagon; then it aimed toward the rolling landscape.

  Mr. Smith had been driving the horse at the wagon. It had appeared that the young man who abducted Adam had climbed into the wagon. A third man worked here, too, however.

  The three of them flowed away, getting smaller. As they did, spots appeared on the crest of the nearest hill. The spots trickled down the land toward the wagon.

  Adam squinted at the overcast, snow-filtered distance. Horses. A small herd of them galloped toward the wagon and its hay. The two men began throwing bales onto the ground while the wagon slowly moved.

  He gazed at those horses. He recalled how Caroline had looked familiar in some way. In a blink it lined up in his memory.

  He knew where he was and probably why he was here. The goal might be a ransom, but the motivation was revenge.

  * * *

  Heavens, but she was being a fool. That was what happened when a woman lived in isolation with no society and precious few friends. She turned into a puddle when a beautiful man gave her any attention, even if he did so for dishonorable purposes. She was supposed to be filling her father’s empty place, being clever and strong like him—not melting like hot beeswax when a bit of warmth entered Lord Thornhill’s eyes.

  Caroline threw another bale, harder than she needed, so hard that it made her arms ache from the effort. Old Tom noticed.

  “Don’t you go hurting yourself,” he scolded. He set down the reins and began to rise.

  “You stay there. You are the one who has been hurt.”

  “Should have stayed with Mum,” Jason muttered beside her while he bent to lift a bale himself. “Don’t know why you think you have to do a man’s work when there are two real men here.”

  Had Jason not been a childhood friend and if she did not depend on him so much, she might have put him in his place for that. Not that his place would be clear to either of them anymore. The very notion of places rang hollow these days.

  “You are not my brother, Jason, so don’t you dare scold me. I will do as I see fit and there was no reason for you and your father to stay out in this cold twice as long while you fed them yourself.”

  “If the snow keeps on, we’ll be doing this every day for a long time,” Tom said. “Maybe Jason should stay here until it passes and not go off.”

  “While Jason is gone, I will come out with you,” Caroline replied. “He has to go. We can’t keep Lord Thornhill in that chamber forever.”

  “Why not?” Jason muttered. “It’s more than he deserves. I’d have let him sleep in the barn.”

  “There was no way to bar him into the barn.”

  “You know what I mean. No need to give him all that fuel and a fresh mattress. A bit of discomfort is due him. And you told Mum to cook enough for him, which seems too generous to me.”

  “He will hardly be amenable to our demands if he has been freezing, eating gruel, and sleeping on a bad mattress.”

  “She has a point, Son,” Tom said over his shoulder while he maneuvered the wagon among the herd that now crowded them.

  Jason bent to his bales. “Don’t be asking me to serve him, that’s all. I’ll not be bringing him meals, or playing his valet. You cater to his needs, Caro, since you think it so wise.” His expression told Caroline that he still didn’t like giving Lord Thornhill comforts of any kind.

  She could expect nothing less, she supposed. Jason had taken the situation with Amelia very hard. He refused to blame her, which meant he had to blame someone else. Himself in part, for not watching over her better. Lord Thornhill mostly, since a gentleman should behave better. Jason and Caroline had been equals in play when they were children, but Amelia had been the y
ounger sister who needed protection.

  “That’s enough,” Tom said, turning to eye how many bales were left. All around them the horses ate, necks bent low. “If it turns colder the pond over the hill will ice and we’ll have to break it up. Looks to be a bad few days ahead. They should be fine until tomorrow, though.”

  Caro’s gaze surveyed the little herd through the steady fall of snow. She lingered on an especially fine mare of dappled pale gray whose coloring blended with the landscape. Three years old now, Guinevere had the blood of champions in her and should be bred with a stallion of equal lineage come spring. The one that qualified in these parts was not available, however. At least not at a fee they could afford.

  One more reason to dislike Thornhill and his family. She would think about every item on that list the next time he turned that disarming smile on her.

  Chapter 3

  With dusk came cold. Adam built up the fire. Enough snow had fallen that the hills shone white, reflecting the failing light.

  Nigel would know he was missing by now. Would he raise the hue and cry or tell himself something very ordinary had happened? He probably nipped up to a chamber at the inn with some woman, and missed the coach’s leaving while taking his pleasure. If so, it would be another day at least before the full significance of that unaccompanied baggage was acknowledged. Even then he would never guess who had his cousin.

  If he was right about where he was, he could walk to his cousin’s estate cross county in a day if the sun showed long enough to give him some sense of direction.

  He had made the best of a bad situation all day, but as the light dimmed outside he began to consider that had been a mistake. These might not be typical criminals, but that did not mean he should make this crime easier on them.

  He allowed his anger to rise. His food would come soon. One of the men would bring it up, he guessed. When that door opened and that fellow appeared, his hands occupied with the tray he carried, one push should send him sprawling. Once at a disadvantage, he would be easy to overcome.