Seduction on a Snowy Night Read online

  Then she was gone in a flourish of plain blue wool and flaring brown eyes.

  * * *

  Caroline left the study at six o’clock and walked down to the kitchen. This was where the household had taken their meals ever since her father died. Carrying food up to the dining room seemed an unnecessary elaboration. It had been much easier to join the Hoovers below.

  Redolent now with the smell of rabbit stew, the kitchen had been improved so Mrs. Hoover could cook for everyone at Crestview Park. The table had space for fifteen to sit and during the good times the servants from the stable and fields would come in, washed and tired, to take their meals there. Some remained long after they could be paid, mostly for the cooking. Eventually, however, financial realities had seen even those loyal retainers find other situations.

  Only the Hoovers remained now. We know nothing else, Mr. Hoover had said. You can’t do it all yourself anyway. So it was that she found a new family in them and they all shared the same impoverishment.

  At least Amelia had been spared the worst of the deprivations. Caroline always found a way to buy her new dresses and for six months kept a carriage just so Amelia could visit friends without arriving on the wagon. Their aunt and uncle had joined in the plan and invited Amelia to spend time with them in Carlisle while they doted on her and gave her something of the life she was supposed to have had.

  Caroline peered into the cauldron that Mrs. Hoover had left simmering. She ladled out some stew, then carried her plate to the table. She found the bread baked in early morning and set it on a board near her plate. She drew some beer from the keg, then sat to eat.

  She wondered if Mrs. Hoover had made any plans for their Christmas meals. Last Christmas had been barely celebrated, coming so close after her father’s passing. They should do more this time, lest they all lose the ability to experience the joy of the season. Of course, the amount of joy would depend on how things were settled with Lord Thornhill and Amelia. At the moment Caroline’s optimism on that had dimmed considerably.

  No sooner than she had eaten two bites than she heard boot steps on the stairs. She swallowed a curse, gritting her teeth instead. She had clearly told him seven o’clock and it was only ten minutes past six.

  Lord Thornhill strolled into the kitchen as if it were a drawing room, looking ravishingly handsome and ever so charming. If she were a man she would find a way to wipe that vague amusement off his beautiful face.

  “I said seven o’clock.”

  “I was hungry and the smell of that food permeates the house.” He went over and stuck his nose to it. “Rabbit?”

  She sighed. “The plates are in the cupboard over there. You may serve yourself.”

  She ignored him as best she could while plates clanked and the ladle dipped. He carried over his plate and placed it right next to hers. While he went looking for a fork, she shoved his plate across the table.

  Boot steps behind her paused, then reoriented themselves around the table’s head. He settled down at his new place.

  “Where did you get the ale?”

  “It is beer.” She pointed over her shoulder toward the keg, then thought better of it and stood. “Don’t move. I will get you some.” She did just that, making sure it was not too much. She did not need this man imbibing more than a half pint at most. Left to help himself, who knew how much he would enjoy?

  She brought the crockery cup back and set it before him. If he thought it too little he said not a word.

  She returned to her meal and he turned to his. She had wanted to dine separately so she would not have to talk to him. She would be damned before she entertained him now.

  “This is very good,” he said. “You have a prize in Mrs. Smith.”

  “Enjoy it while you can. Her husband normally hunts for us and this is the result of his last venture out. He will not be able to do so for at least a week because he hurt his leg. He rose to help me too soon, but I have told him he must rest it for an entire week now.”

  “What about the other one? The young man who helped abduct me? Can’t he hunt for you?”

  She poked at her food, wishing she had refused to talk. “Not right now. He has other duties to which he attends.” It sounded like she was hiding something, even to her.

  He was good enough not to press the matter. Silence fell again.

  “About your sister,” he said after another five minutes. “When am I supposed to have kissed her?”

  Caroline set her fork down hard enough that its contact with her plate rang through the kitchen. “You don’t remember?”

  “I don’t think I do, no.” He cleared his throat. “I have been combing through my memories, and there is no Dunham female among them.” He had the decency to at least look chagrined. “Perhaps her face—Does she look like you?”

  “Enough that you thought you had seen me before. Her hair is not as dark and her eyes are blue, however.”

  “I thought I had seen you before because I had seen you before. I am sure of it. At the country fetes my uncle and now my cousin holds. I come up for those, and you were at some of them.”

  “I am well aware that you attend the fetes.” Bold of him to even mention it. “I was not at the last one, to my regret. You did not remember me from a country fete years ago.”

  “I did. One year you wore a yellow dress and were present when your father handed Galahad over to my cousin.”

  She had worn yellow that day. “My sister wore blue and was right next to me. Did you lure her with a memory of her garments, too? Tell her how memorable she had been? Flatter her into trusting you?”

  “I am sure I did not. I regret to say, as I have already said, that I have no memory of her at all. Even her name.”

  “Amelia, you rogue. Her name is Amelia.”

  He pondered that name as if she had spoken Egyptian. “Amelia. Amelia. Amelia Dunham. No, nothing.” He flashed that damnable smile of his. “There has been a mistake. I never kissed her.”

  She came close to throwing her dinner plate against the wall. Instead she held on to the thread of temper that remained and stood, took her plate and cup to the sink, and left them there.

  “Please put your things in the sink before leaving,” she said as she passed him.

  “You are angry because I don’t remember. Consider this, however. Perhaps it did not happen.”

  His words caught her at the bottom of the stairs. That last thread snapped. She turned to him. “Oh, it happened. Nor was it only a kiss, you scoundrel. You seduced her. You got her with child, and you don’t even remember her name.”

  She turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, taking small satisfaction at the look of shock on his face.

  Chapter 6

  A child. Was it possible?

  Adam finished his meal not even noticing that he fed himself. All of his thoughts were on Caroline’s accusation.

  He needed more information. He put his plate and cup in the sink and went in search of her.

  He saw that the study door was closed and assumed she had taken refuge there. He tried the door and found it locked. “Caroline, open the door, please.”

  No sound or movement came from within.

  “Miss Dunham, we need to talk. You cannot say such a thing and walk away.”

  Still no sound. Damnation.

  “See here, if I can break out of a locked chamber, I can break into one. Either that or I will wait until you retire and see you then and there.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Her voice sounded muffled but close, as if she was right on the other side of the door.

  “Wait and see what I would dare. I’ll not let you sleep until you have answered my questions. I deserve that much.”

  “You deserve nothing except a horsewhipping. Would that my father were alive. He would have called you out. I wish I could in his stead.”

  “Open the door, damn it.”

  Nothing. He eyed the door, to see how firmly its hinges were embedded.

  “Wait for me
in the library,” she said. “We will talk there.”

  He strode off to the library and cooled his heels half an hour before she arrived.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “There was a letter I had to finish.”

  The hell there was. She had made him wait just to prove she did not have to come at all.

  She sat on a small wooden chair. “You have questions?” she asked primly.

  “Many. First of them is what makes you believe I seduced your sister?”

  “She told me you did.”

  “She named me?”

  “When the evidence of her condition could not be ignored, she admitted to me that she had succumbed to the blandishments of the infamous rake Lord Thornhill. It was devastating news, but I don’t blame her. I blame you. She was an innocent and inexperienced. She would not know that your words were lies and your intentions nefarious.”

  “I am not nefarious and I don’t seduce innocents.”

  “Are you so sure? After an afternoon of drinking and whatever, have you never broken what remains of the few rules you claim to follow? Can you swear this?”

  It was a hell of a question and raised once more the problem of remembering that which cannot be remembered. “It has never happened before. Not those rules.”

  “Oh, not those rules. Because you are a gentleman, you mean. Even foxed, you would restrain yourself if those rules raised their flags. Of course you did not really know her, however. You could have convinced yourself she was not forbidden to you, especially if your judgment was impaired by drink.”

  She was proving adept at cornering him. “I am very sure that a mistake has been made. Perhaps another used my name.”

  “Do you expect me to believe something so unlikely? That another scoundrel and rake was there and chose to behave abominably using your name? I am not stupid, sir.”

  “Where was this seduction supposed to have taken place? When?”

  “At last year’s fete, as if you don’t know.”

  “Since I was not involved, I don’t know.”

  She stood abruptly. “Lord Thornhill, my sister is not a liar. Given a choice of her memory and yours, I think it safe to say hers is more reliable. She has been seduced but once, and would remember the man. You have seduced so often that I doubt you can name even half of your conquests.”

  “Other than youthful adventures at brothels, I can name every woman I have ever—um, all of my conquests, as you put it, although in truth in some cases I was the one conquered.” This was an odd conversation to have with a woman, but he saw no way to avoid it if she kept accusing him like she did.

  “Then it appears either you are the liar, or you had a new experience yourself late last summer. Now, the evening wears on and I have work to do tomorrow. You will have to excuse me.” She swept out of the chamber, leaving him far from satisfied with what he had learned.

  He followed her. “Do you have an image of her? A miniature, for example?”

  “I do not. Nor would any image do her justice. She is very beautiful, however. I can see why you might have lost your head on seeing her.” She began mounting the stairs. “It doesn’t excuse you, of course, but it is understandable.”

  The stairway’s shadows swallowed her. He watched until her footsteps disappeared when a door closed.

  She had tried and convicted him on her sister’s testimony. Nor could he swear he was innocent.

  There was some humor in being taken to task for a pleasure he did not even remember. It was the kind of devilish development that made the angels laugh. Less humorous was the way this revelation interfered with knowing Caroline better. He stood by the stairs, imagining her in her chamber. Nefarious scoundrel that he was, he pictured her removing her dress and stays and finally her hose and chemise, revealing layer by layer the body he had surmised while she wore pantaloons. The mental pictures made him hard and half-convinced him to go up to her, stupid mistake though that would clearly be.

  He went in search of some spirits in the library, thinking that if he was guilty of sinning with Amelia, he had definitely seduced the wrong Dunham sister.

  * * *

  “He claims to have no memory of it.” Caroline spoke after eating her breakfast. Mrs. Hoover stood at the hearth, starting the day’s dinner. With no one hunting, the good woman had sacrificed one of her chickens to the pot today.

  “Not something she would get wrong, it seems to me,” Mrs. Hoover said. “A woman remembers the first time at least.”

  Caroline thought anyone would remember every time. Except a rake. She imagined all those names and faces melted quickly from such a man’s memory. Lord Thornhill’s claims to the contrary did not hold much credence with her.

  “He may refuse,” Mrs. Hoover said. “What then?”

  “I don’t know. I’m counting on him accepting responsibility when facing the truth of it here, where he can’t avoid Amelia. Perhaps I am too optimistic.” If she was, this entire plan could end very badly for all of them. The logic of it had seemed unassailable when she started down the path, but the pitfalls seemed to grow with each day. Increasingly Lord Thornhill’s assessment that she was half-mad to even attempt this looked correct.

  “He seems a gentleman, for all his sins. A bit weak when it comes to women, is all. That is common enough. I’d not give up hope yet.”

  “How is Tom faring?” Caroline wanted to change the topic. She had spent much of the night debating the character of Lord Thornhill and Amelia’s fate.

  “He’s saying he can get up and help you, but I told him he must rest that leg another few days.”

  “I said a week. I want him well healed, not having it give him trouble for years on end. Don’t let him leave the cottage. If matters become dire about the food, I will go hunt.” She knew how. She just disliked it enough that she avoided it if she could.

  “I’ll keep close watch.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “This will just cook away like yesterday’s stew. It will be ready when you want dinner. Until then there is cheese and fresh bread and eggs if you want them. You can cook that much.”

  Caroline’s lack of cooking skills had achieved infamy in the house. “Yes, I can do eggs.”

  “I’ll leave the porridge warming here on the hearthstone for His Lordship. I cooked some salt pork, too, so he keeps up his strength.”

  “He will find it, I am sure. I need to go out soon. It became very cold last night and I have to check the pond to make sure it didn’t ice over.”

  Mrs. Hoover swung her cape around her shoulders and picked up a pail with some of the porridge and pork. “You be careful. Don’t forget how Tom says to do it if you need to break the ice.”

  “Don’t tell him I might be doing it. He’ll only worry.”

  With a nod, Mrs. Hoover left.

  Amelia returned to her chamber and changed into the pantaloons and shirt. She pulled on half boots, wishing she had nice high ones like men wore. The snow would come over the tops of these, and her feet would be wet soon.

  She grabbed her coat off the peg below and let herself outside. The feeding could wait for afternoon. Right now she just wanted to make sure the horses had water. They could eat snow, but it wasn’t the same.

  She saddled a horse and rode across the pasture to the hill. She crested it and looked down. The pond of several acres lay at the base on the other side, fed in part by drainage and also a small spring.

  As soon as she saw the pond she knew she would be there for a while. Despite the overcast sky, light sparkled on its gray surface. She rode closer to confirm that it had indeed iced up.

  She dismounted and took down the pick that she had tied to her saddle. She approached the edge, set her legs apart for balance, then swung the pick and brought it down on the ice with all her strength.

  The metal bounced off the surface. The ice did not even show cracks.

  She swung again. And again. She stopped to catch her breath. While she did Guinevere broke away from the distant herd and came galloping toward
her.

  She petted the horse’s neck and gave her nose a kiss. “Don’t worry, girl. If this doesn’t work I’ll bring water out to you in pails on the wagon when I bring you dinner.” The time and work involved in doing that made her lift the pick again.

  She eyed the pond. It seemed to her the ice was not as thick farther in. Five feet away from the edge water could be seen beneath the solid surface.

  She set her boots gingerly on the ice in front of her. It held solidly. She took another step. Then another. Not daring to risk more, she raised the pick and stretched forward while she brought it down with a satisfying thump.

  The tip penetrated the ice. Small cracks formed and water flowed through. She was congratulating herself when a larger crack appeared, aiming right for her.

  She turned even as she felt the ice on which she stood moving. All of a sudden it sank in one large mass, and her body followed. Bitter cold shocked her and the water dragged her down and back. She found some sense within her panic and fought to get her head above water. Relief flooded her when her face broke above the surface. Desperate, she grabbed at a big ice slab behind her that had not given way.

  Shivering and exhausted, she clung with all her strength, inching her body out a bit. Then she screamed, even though she knew no one would hear her.

  * * *

  Adam finished his breakfast and returned upstairs. Silence greeted him with each step. No one was here, not even Miss Dunham.

  It was early to bring out the hay, but perhaps she had done so. He dressed warmly in the garments she had loaned him and went to saddle a horse. Perhaps she could manage on her own, but another pair of arms would make it easier and he had nothing else to do. Nor would he mind a good ride.

  He paced toward the hill, looking for evidence of the wagon. It had not been in the stable yard, but perhaps it was stored elsewhere and she was not using it after all. He was about to aim for the trees, to explore the little woods there, when a horse appeared on the top of the hill. Pale and perfect, she was the bay Caroline had called Guinevere.