Seduction on a Snowy Night Page 3
He hoped his coat hung on a peg along the way, of course.
Footsteps on boards outside the chamber. The scraping of that bar. He pressed the far wall and faced the door, ready to lunge when it opened.
Only a man did not kick it back. Caroline maneuvered the door while she balanced a tray. She noticed him at the wall.
“What are you doing? Preparing to overpower me?” She set the tray down on the bed. “Let us have it then. Do your worst.”
“My, you are suspicious.”
“You are coiled like a cat preparing to pounce.”
He shrugged off his intentions. “I was not expecting you.”
“Obviously not. This is your dinner. It is quite good. I will tell the cook you send your appreciation of her efforts.”
He went over and peered beneath the white cloths. “That would be Mrs. Smith. Only that is not her real name. You might have chosen something more original.”
“Her name is indeed Mrs. Smith. She told you as much, after all. It is astonishing you think it isn’t, despite the evidence of your own ears.”
“She could not remember it at first when you introduced us. With a name a common as Smith, I think it would be hard to forget if it really were hers.”
“Any name would be hard to forget if it were hers, don’t you think? Nor did she forget it. You flustered her, that is all.”
“So you say. I say you gave her a different name in an attempt to obscure her identity. If I am to play a role in this farce you are writing, at least show some creativity. Mrs. Pepperstone, for example. That would be a fine name.”
“You are all nonsense and that is a stupid name.”
“And you are half-mad, at the least.”
She laughed. “I am not the least mad. Do I look it?”
“You abducted a lord. Only someone addlepated or half-mad would do such a thing. As for Mrs. Smith, a new name will not help her, as I said. She is in the thick of it, same as you, and will swing beside you.” He angled his head so as to gaze below her chin. “Such a lovely neck. How sad it will be.”
“You do not frighten me.”
“I should.” He moved the tray to the little table near the window and set the one chair beside it. “Do you provide conversation as well as food, or am I to live in silence, too?”
“There is nothing to talk about.” Yet she didn’t leave.
“I think there is a good deal to discuss. Why I am here, what you hope to gain, what will satisfy you so I can depart—” He set aside the white cloth. “Whether this is not about me at all, but other members of my family. Many things.”
He glanced over at the last. She reacted, much as she tried not to.
He proceeded to cut the fowl on the plate. It smelled delicious, but then he was very hungry.
Caroline stood there for a ten count before speaking again. “Why would you think this was about your family?”
He casually chewed some pheasant. Mrs. Smith was an excellent cook. “I saw the horses the men were feeding.”
“If that held significance to you, maybe you are the one half-mad. Many farms in these parts have horses.”
“I expect some have several and I know some have whole herds. Twenty, thirty, even more. I thought it odd that you have seven out there in addition to the ones in the stable. More than you would need for farming and a household.” He looked over at her. “Too few for a farm that breeds them.”
Those dark eyes just watched him.
“Unless—” He helped himself to another forkful of food while he let the word dangle.
“Unless what?”
“Unless there was once a much bigger herd, but it had decreased unexpectedly. Been sold off, for example.” Another bite. “Or suffered from a disease.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath, like a backward hiss. He looked over. Flames in those eyes now. Her expression had tightened.
“I knew I had seen you before,” he said. “You are Miss Dunham. This is Crestview Park.”
“You no doubt think you are very clever.”
He set down his fork and turned to her. “He had no choice. My cousin only sought to protect the other farms in the county.”
“We could have separated the ones that were sick. We could have kept them all here and let it run its course and kept others away. He did have a choice. He wanted to have them all killed.”
“That is too harsh.”
“He had bought Galahad and didn’t want another born who might challenge his champion. So he tried to obliterate the bloodline.”
He wished he could insist Nigel would never do such a thing, but Adam had seen his cousin’s ruthlessness on more occasions than he wanted to remember. He had also seen Nigel’s delight in possessing Galahad. In winning with him and in being the envy of the Jockey Club. Crestview Park had a long history of producing some of the best racing horses in England, slowly and carefully, until the strangling disease had taken hold here.
“That was over two years ago. You are rebuilding quickly.” His memory reexamined those dots on the hillside and their sizes. “Ah. He didn’t get them all, did he?”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if we rebuild, it will never be the same. It broke my father. Not only financially, but in his spirit. He died last year.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No one in your circles would know, since we don’t sell prize thoroughbreds anymore.”
“And now I am to pay for that? Is that why I am here?” If this woman schemed for revenge, this might be more dangerous than he had thought.
She gestured to his table. “Finish that up. I’ll be back soon to take the tray away. Please have your boots off by then, so I can take them, too.”
“My boots?”
“You know who I am. You know where you are. You probably think you can walk to your cousin’s home. But I don’t think you will go out in that weather without boots.”
* * *
“He knows.” Caroline informed the others of Lord Thornhill’s clever musings while they all ate dinner. The meal was always late, due to the work the farm needed and the few hands to do it. “He saw the herd, and guessed the rest. Not why he is here. He has that wrong. But where he is and the family who live here.”
“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Hoover said. “I’ll not have to pretend I have a different name at least.”
“You will. And you, Jason—he’s barely seen you, so I don’t want him seeing you again until it can’t be helped.”
“I won’t even be here.”
“You still think to go?” Mrs. Hoover said. “Surely not, Caro. There’s snow and—”
“No more than four inches, Mum,” Jason said. “Of course I’m still going. I’ll ride a horse and bring another with me.”
“A horse! Amelia can’t come back on a horse!”
“Don’t see why not,” Old Tom said. “Safer than a wagon. Less bumpy, too. She won’t be jostled nearly as much. You take the chestnut mare, Jason. She’s mild enough and sure-footed.”
Mrs. Hoover turned to Caro, exasperated. “We must wait for the weather to clear.”
“Then we contend with either frozen or muddy roads and lanes,” Caro said. “Listen to your husband. He is right. The horse will be safer even then.”
“I don’t like it.” Mrs. Hoover passed around the platter of pheasant again.
“We could just leave her where she is,” Caroline said. “Do you think we should? Let her stay with Aunt Elizabeth and let Lord Thornhill go?”
Mrs. Hoover shook her head. “You be careful with her, Jason. You hear me?”
“I’ll be careful. If she is not doing well on the horse, I’ll hire a carriage. I’ve some coin.”
“Where’d you get coin?” Old Tom asked.
“Never you mind.”
Caroline finished her meal. She drank the rest of her beer, then rose to help Mrs. Hoover clear the t
able.
“You are not to worry,” Caroline said when they were alone in the kitchen. “Once Amelia is here, it will all settle into place. He’s a gentleman, and there are rules about these things for them. Remember how my father would do things he’d rather not because he was a gentleman, too, and honor counted for more than money?”
“It’s not money we expect from him,” Mrs. Hoover said. “He may be a gentleman by birth, even a lord, but there’s been talk about him in the county since he was a boy and would visit his uncle. Wild doings. He never outgrew that either.” She shook her head and turned to the washbasin. “I hope you are right about all of this.”
“I am doing what my father would have done. Papa isn’t here, so it is left to me. I can’t call him out like a man would, but I can make sure he faces her, and accepts his duty. He will not be able to avoid her this way. He will not be able to put us off, or refuse to receive us, the way he could in London or at his cousin’s house.”
Mrs. Hoover sighed heavily while she lifted a hot kettle from the hearth.
“Say, let me do the washing today,” Caroline said, grabbing an apron off a peg.
“You need to go up and get that tray.”
“I’ll wash and you can get it. You will be getting the better half of the bargain. Bring some water, so we don’t have to take that later. And remove his boots from his chamber.”
Mrs. Hoover gave her a long look, lifted a pail of water, then headed to the stairs.
“Just take the tray and boots and leave,” Caroline said. “Don’t let him draw you into a conversation. He will try to frighten you then. So don’t dawdle.”
“Is that what he tried with you? Made you linger so he could frighten you?”
“Something like that. It didn’t work, though.” The last was a lie. She did not want to talk about what had frightened her and how she had lingered in part to watch how the dusky light made him even more handsome, casting his face in silvery tones so he looked like a beautiful statue come to life.
She plunged her hands into the water. She could be such an idiot at times.
Chapter 4
Adam woke with the dawn. He lay abed a good while, not wanting to relinquish the warmth of the coverlet. For a prison, the room had a comfortable bed.
He finally cast the bedclothes aside, strode to the fireplace, and threw on some fuel. A blaze roared. He stayed there while it heated the small chamber and the pail of water, then went to the window and bent to look out. Already he could tell that the sun would shine today, but the frost on the window’s glass indicated it would not help much with the temperature.
He judged there to be a good four or five inches of snow. While he took its measure on the wall below, two figures emerged from the house and climbed the stairs, bundled and anonymous. One hat looked like the same as that worn by his male abductor, though. That figure walked away, and the other returned to the kitchen door.
He washed, shaved, and dressed, deciding that his own garments would survive one more day. Those brought to him yesterday looked to almost fit, although whoever owned them was a bit stouter. Not as stout as the old man, but more so than the young abductor. While he would not buy the coats himself, they were of better quality than he expected, and the shirt had been ironed. The cravats had no starch and would only be acceptable in the most informal of ties. Still, no one intended to make him look like a rustic.
Having finished his day’s preparation, he pulled the chair to the door, sat, and examined the latch and closure. Last night, lacking anything to occupy him, he had begun testing the bar on the other side. First he tried the razor but quickly nicked himself. One of the journals brought by Miss Dunham had firm binding and was thin enough to press through the small crack, however. It seemed to him that when he slid it up, the bar had initially resisted but then risen a bit. Could he raise it enough that it slid down one of the makeshift ledges holding it on either side of the door?
He slid that journal through again. The bar rose an inch or so, but then he felt its weight defeating the journal. He pulled the journal out, lest it crumble and get caught, bearing evidence of his activities.
Being right at the door, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He swung the chair away to the table, and threw himself in it just as the bar scraped. The door opened.
Miss Dunham carried in breakfast. That brought a smile to his spirit. Her absence last night when the tray was taken had disappointed him.
She appeared fresh and bright and all business. The morning light cast her pale complexion in the coolest whites. Her dark eyes and hair made a stark, memorable contrast. She wore the simplest of dresses in brown, plain wool with a white knit shawl tied around her shoulders.
She strode across the chamber and all but dropped the tray on the little table. “We all have things we must do today. It may be hours before anyone comes for this.”
He lifted the cloth and noted the food but also the implements. “If you leave the door open, I would be glad to bring it down myself.”
She folded her arms over her chest and lowered her gaze on him. “You must think I am very stupid.”
“Not at all. I give my word as a gentleman not to escape.”
“Would that I could trust that word.”
“I have given you no reason to think you cannot.”
“Your whole life is a reason I cannot. Do you think we are so isolated we don’t hear about the gossip and scandals in London and elsewhere? Such stories are prized in these parts since they give people something to talk about.”
“What ones have you heard about me?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remember the recent ones.”
He laughed. “Are my scandals so bad that it embarrasses you to mention them?”
She flushed. “Fine. There was that problem you had with that actress you threw over who was going to kill herself, for one thing.”
“She had no intention of killing herself. She dined for a month over the threat of it, though.”
“And that family who accused you of breach of contract, and intended to see you in court.”
“Which they never did, because I had contracted nothing and promised even less. When I said sue or be damned, they went away.”
She set her hands on her hips and lowered her lids. “In the last eight months your name has been linked to three women at least, who were described as your mistresses.”
She had him there. “Such friendships are apart from matters of honor, such as keeping my word.”
“Three. In eight months,” she reiterated bluntly. “Such inconstancy does not speak well of your character.”
“I can explain that, but the truth does not speak well of me either. Each of those ladies chose to end an alliance when she learned that I made a decision last year to no longer go into debt over women. With the lack of jewels and other expensive gifts I became far less charming to their eyes.”
She seemed to find that interesting. “So you have begun to reform?”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying that. I merely decided not to owe every good tradesman in London.”
“Which has led to changes in your habits.”
“Of a sort.” He still owed money everywhere. Just not as much.
She smiled. “An important sort. You cannot be a rake anymore. Becoming domesticated probably has much more appeal now.”
That smile softened her whole expression. She might have just heard long-awaited happy news. “Domesticated? I don’t think—”
She was already at the door. “You should eat that before it gets cold.”
* * *
No one came for the tray. Morning stretched into midday. He read one of the journals, then looked out his window, left to his thoughts. He pictured the Christmas preparations taking place at Nigel’s estate.
It would be the first time in years that Adam had not attended those festivities. His father had brought the family each time, often braving worse weather than what lay outside this day.
It had been a way to have good food and entertainment that their own family could not afford. If Adam’s father had resented the better fortune of his older brother, he never showed it. Why should he? Having been named a baron in his own right, Adam’s father had done better than most younger sons.
Of course, this year others would be at Nigel’s besides family. Mr. Millerson had been invited along with his daughter Margaret. Pretty Margaret. Lovely, vivacious, spoiled, cruel Margaret. She thought herself fit for a duke no doubt. Adam wondered what her father had promised her to get her to agree to marry a lowly baron.
Jewels, probably. A house in London for certain. A percentage of the profits of that canal partnership that her marriage would allow him to buy into with Nigel? It was a massive endeavor, with canals large and small all over northern Cumberland. If she received any of that, it probably would go into trust so her wastrel of a husband did not gamble away the money and stocks.
He had overheard her berating her maid once. Margaret’s words had sliced the poor woman’s emotions to shreds. The maid’s transgression had been minor but Margaret’s criticism ruthless and hard. He had walked away, imagining that tongue turned on him every day, and not for his pleasure.
Movement outside. The wagon came into view, beginning its little journey toward that hill. Only one figure on it today. Adam wondered where the other two were.
The wagon stopped not far from the house. The driver stood and turned around. Adam realized that someone had come out of the house down below him. Mrs. Smith’s white cap identified her. The two exchanged some words; then Mrs. Smith walked away, down the length of the house.
Right before the driver turned to sit again, he turned his face upward, as if looking at the window from which Adam watched. White skin and dark eyes showed beneath the brim of the man’s hat before the figure turned. The driver was none other than Miss Dunham.
Why would she be going to feed the horses alone? The men must be occupied elsewhere. If Mrs. Smith had not returned to the kitchen door, the house might well be empty now.
He grabbed the fork off his tray and headed for the door.
Ten minutes later he walked through an empty house, in search of his boots.