Seduction on a Snowy Night Page 6

  The horse rose up on her hind legs and pawed at the air. Then she turned and charged down the hill, right toward him, full speed. He had seen many horses race in his day, even the champion Galahad, but he did not think he had often seen a horse run this fast.

  She swooped around him twice in a large circle, then charged back up the hill, as if daring him to race. Even though the horse he rode was no match, he took off after her.

  She did not stop at the top of the hill but headed down the other side. He reined in his horse to see where Guinevere aimed. A large pond of several acres lay there, and beside it stood another horse.

  Once more Guinevere rose up and pawed the air. He looked at that pond, searching for a young woman in pantaloons along its edge.

  Then he saw her. Not on the edge. Inside the pond itself. Only her head showed, and the arms of that boy’s coat. His heart rose to his throat and he kicked his horse.

  He was out of the saddle in a shot, running to the pond’s edge. “Caroline!”

  “Oh, thank God,” she cried.

  His breath returned when he saw she was conscious, and alive.

  “Don’t move. Stay right where you are,” he called.

  “I fear the ice I am holding will give way if I do anything at all.” Her voice broke while she spoke, and the rest came haltingly, while she cried. “It is very cold. Like being buried in a frozen world.”

  He stood on the pond’s edge and examined the surface while blood hammered in his head. His mind raced for a plan to get her out.

  “Don’t tell Tom,” she said, then swallowed a little sob. “He will be furious I fell in and blame himself.”

  “I’m going to blame you. What were you thinking?”

  She muttered something about the ice not breaking and trying it a bit farther in. “I was never more than a step or two away from the ground.”

  “You should have come and gotten me before you even came here,” he said, furious that their argument was probably why she had not. “You should have asked for my help.”

  “If you could wait until I am out of this cold water before scolding me I would appreciate it.” She sniffed, then added in a miserable little voice, “I really would.”

  The defeat and worry in her voice broke his heart. He tried his weight on the ice. It gave just enough for him to not risk it. Perhaps if he lay down . . .

  “Are you standing on the bottom?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Do not come out here or we may drown together.”

  It wasn’t drowning he worried about. “How long—”

  She swallowed another sob. “I don’t know. It seems forever.”

  He shrugged off his greatcoat. He lay down on the ground with half his body over the ice. “I am going to throw the end of this to you. Grab hold when you can.”

  It took three throws before she grasped the bottom edge of the coat. “I have it now.”

  “Can you hold tightly? I am going to pull you in.”

  She cast off her wet knit gloves one by one, then twisted her hands into the coat’s fabric. “My fingers are cold and stiff, but I think I can hold it.”

  “You must. Do not let go whatever happens. Even if the ice breaks in front of you, hold on.”

  He began pulling the coat toward him, bit by bit. Ice fractured around her and she moved closer through the shards. He could plainly see the fear in her eyes. He kept pulling more of the coat. Finally her body popped out of the water and slid toward him.

  He grabbed her arms, then the rest of her, and pushed himself back onto the ground, dragging her with him. Finally he had her soaked body in his arms. The tears had their way then, and she shook while she cried from relief and cold.

  He took a moment to catch his breath, then stood and picked her up. Guinevere looked on.

  “She saved your life,” he said. He threw his coat around Caroline, then lifted her into his arms. “Now we have to get you to a fire and warmth.”

  He set her in the saddle of his horse, then swung up behind her. He grabbed the reins of her horse and began the way back, embracing her shaking body close to his.

  Chapter 7

  He all but carried her up the stairs, and lifted her completely once they made the top. “Which door?” he asked.

  She pointed to her chamber door. She would have answered with words, but her teeth would not allow it, they gritted so hard in order not to shake her whole head. She had never before been so glad to see this house, or so grateful to be alive. But she still felt as if she were submerged in that water.

  Cold. So very cold. She wondered if she would ever be warm again.

  He carried her in, kicked a chair near the fireplace, and set her down. He bent and built up the fire, adding fuel until the flames reached high.

  He rose and turned to her. “Can you stand?”

  She shook her head. She did not want to stand. She wanted to huddle here in his greatcoat because if she removed it she would freeze.

  He set her on her feet. “You have to get out of those garments. They only hold the cold close to your body.” He peeled away the greatcoat.

  She tried to unbutton the coat she wore, but her fingers would not cooperate. He took her hands in his, holding them in a little shelter of warmth that felt wonderful. Then he went to work on the buttons himself.

  “I should . . . You should not . . .” she murmured while she watched his fine hands do their work.

  “Hush now. I do not importune women close to freezing to death. As it happens, my skill at undressing women is vast, and my innumerable views of feminine bodies have jaded me. You are safer with me than with a physician.”

  The cold seemed to be worse and deeper, down to her bones. She would do anything to stop it. She allowed him to strip away the coat, then the shirt and pantaloons. Somehow her nakedness became clothed in her nightdress. He wrapped her in a blanket he stripped off her bed.

  Removing the wet clothes helped, but not enough. She still shook. And she was still so tired and cold. She started to weep.

  He moved the chair closer to the fire. “Come here.” He sat in it and reached for her. “It will help, I promise you.” He set her on his lap and wrapped his arms around the bundle she had become. He made sure her feet were swaddled, then reached within the blanket for her hands. He took them both in his right one so his own warmth would seep into her.

  She cried hard then, out of fear for her close call and misery at her chills, out of relief that he had saved her and gratitude for the care he gave her now. He said not a word but let her weep until her emotions found some peace.

  Then she just gazed at the flames as very slowly, bit by bit, the worst of the cold began to pass.

  * * *

  She fell asleep in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder and her breath teasing his ear. He could put her in her bed now and pile quilts on her. With luck she would feel no ill effects of this misadventure.

  He kept her on his lap, suffering the heat from the fire and blanket, making sure she did not need more warmth and that her rest was a normal sort. The hands he cupped no longer had icy cold skin. He untucked the blanket a bit so he could see if any damage had occurred.

  Nice fingers. Tapered and long. Not especially delicate. They showed the results of months of labor on this farm. Knit gloves would never spare her that. When he returned to London he would buy leather ones and send them to her. If he had the fortune for it, he would send the men to do the work instead of her.

  Once she recovered he would scold her severely for venturing onto that ice. It was not something to try when alone, no matter what she might have seen her father or Tom do in the past. When Adam had not seen her at first, only her horse, when he had realized what Guinevere was trying to tell him, his blood had run as cold as the pond’s water. It would be wrong for such a remarkable woman to meet such an ignoble end.

  She stirred, and he thought she would waken. Instead she nestled closer. He held her closely while the flames subsided and both took and ga
ve warmth with the body in his arms.

  * * *

  Caroline opened her eyes to streaks of rose and orange outside her window. The sun must have come out and now set with a splendid display. She watched the colors peak and dim, then turned her mind to why she was in bed at dusk.

  It came back to her in a rush. The pond. The ice giving way and the cold water claiming her. Lord Thornhill finding her and bringing her back.

  Other memories joined the worst ones. Being held on the saddle. Being undressed. Being held in front of the fire.

  She sat up and looked around. He must have put her in bed once she fell asleep. She needed to thank him for all of it. After the way she had spoken to him while he was here, she wondered if she would find appropriate words.

  She rose from bed and padded to her little dressing room. She checked herself in the looking glass. Lord, she looked a fright. She wrapped herself in a long and heavy woolen shawl, slipped on some shoes, and made her way down to the kitchen to find some food.

  Mrs. Hoover bent over the cauldron. She looked over when Caroline entered.

  “You are to stay in bed until tomorrow,” she said crossly.

  “No one told me that.”

  “I’m telling you now. And His Lordship told me, so he is telling you, too.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Out with the wagon. Feeding the horses. He left almost an hour ago, so will be back soon. I’d be in my chamber by then if I was you.”

  “I am grateful to him, but please remember that while he is a lord, he is not our lord or lord of this manor.”

  Mrs. Hoover straightened and waved her ladle in Caroline’s face. “You could have died. What then? What of this manor and of us and your sister? How often did Tom tell you never risk going on the ice, no matter what?”

  “I have seen him do it.”

  “You are not him. He’s had over sixty years to learn how to do it right. And if you saw him, he was not alone. If Lord Thornhill had not been here . . .” She turned away and lifted her apron to wipe her eyes.

  Caroline embraced her. “How did you learn about all of this?”

  “He came and got me, didn’t he? Said you needed hot fluids, soup and such. Suggested tea, but we’ve none of that, of course. He asked Tom what needed to be done with the horses besides bringing them hay.” She spoke between sniffs. “He may be terrible about women, but I’ll not hear a word against him after this.”

  “Do you have any of that soup made yet? I could use something. I am hungry.”

  Mrs. Hoover pointed to the table and took a bowl off the shelf. “Chicken soup from the bones out of the stew. Should be hot enough.”

  Caroline spooned the rich liquid into her mouth. It warmed all the way down.

  Mrs. Hoover sat beside her. “I was thinking just as you came in that he might be a good husband for Amelia after all.”

  Memories jumped into Caroline’s mind, of a kiss that should never have happened. “He is a rake. He will break her heart.”

  “Yet he seems to know about horses. That would be a help here, it seems to me.”

  “He isn’t a farmer or horse breeder. He is a gentleman by birth and a peer and more likely he will return to London with or without Amelia. I would not build a lot of hope about him.” She spoke to her own heart more than to Mrs. Hoover’s ears.

  The temptation to become sentimental about Lord Thornhill was strong right now and Caroline knew she had to fight it. Yet he had saved her and taken care of her and perhaps even worried about her. Itemizing all the ways he really would not do under other than dire circumstances did not change the softness she felt toward him, much as she counted on it doing so.

  “He chatted with Tom a bit when he came to get me. Seemed he knew at least some about horse breeding. Not as much as your father, of course.”

  Few men had known as much as her father. Even fewer had his natural talent for it, as if he could smell a future champion on first seeing it born. Caroline had learned a lot just by standing by his side, but she could never duplicate his skill and instincts.

  She finished her soup and went above to return to bed. Perhaps Mrs. Hoover was right. Maybe Lord Thornhill would stay at Crestview Park and lend a hand to the horses. With time maybe he could even manage it all. He might even get his cousin to permit Galahad to breed with Guinevere.

  The idea should please her and give her heart. Instead a heavy thickness lodged below her heart. She forced herself to acknowledge the sadness for what it was.

  If Thornhill took an active part here, she would see that face and those eyes daily—while he built a life and a family with her younger sister.

  * * *

  The next morning Adam went down to the kitchen to see what Mrs. Smith had left for breakfast. He found porridge and crisped salt pork and coffee again. Hardly the variety or richness he would be enjoying at Nigel’s house right now, but he found it more satisfying.

  A step he now recognized came down the stairs. Caroline entered, dressed in gray pantaloons and a white shirt. The linen fell over breasts he doubted suffered the restriction of stays. She served herself some food and sat at the long table.

  “What are you doing up and dressed? You should be resting today, Miss Dunham.”

  “Any more rest and I would go mad.” She ate heartily, then gave him her attention. “I see they almost fit.”

  He looked down at his garments. He had used the ones she provided again. “Well enough. Thank goodness for the braces, though, or these trousers would be down at my ankles when I stood up.”

  She giggled. “That would give new meaning to your being an upstanding gentleman.”

  “I will picture that now whenever a man is called that.”

  “They were my father’s. He was similar in height, and an active man his whole life. There is a shorter coat than yours that you can use if you want to ride with me. I am going out and you can come along if you want.”

  Eager now, he finished his coffee quickly. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought I should see how the rest of the manor fares with this cold and snow.”

  They saddled the two horses in the stable, mounted, and rode toward the hill. She pointed to her right. “Those woods are ours and are good for hunting. Fowl and rabbits mostly, but on occasion deer. We will go around to the other side this way so we stay in the sun.”

  That sun shone brightly, making the land glisten with sparkles of rose and blue. The snow softened all sounds, even the crunch of their horses’ hooves through the frosty surface. Little wind meant the cold was bearable, even invigorating.

  They rode around the north end of the woods and onto a fairly flat plain. “It is an oddity,” she said while her arm swept the view. “It is as if the land just rose in one big mass. When we had the large herd, they tended to summer here but did not care for it in winter. There is water, but it is over at the far side, near our border. It is down a little cliff, however, so not convenient to horses.”

  “It is a plateau then. Is it fertile?”

  “Grasses grow on it, not much else. I doubt it could be farmed, but it might do for sheep if we wanted to build that kind of husbandry. Your cousin tried to buy it from my father, but I can’t imagine why.”

  Nigel had tried to purchase part of the Dunham property? He had enough already, nor did this look to be a profitable patch. “Perhaps he sought to make amends.”

  “My father would have none of it, no matter what the reasons. His solicitor offered again after my father’s death, but I refused, too. That was probably rash and sentimental. The money would have been useful.”

  She turned her horse abruptly and used her heels. Adam followed and they flew over the land, around the hill, past the pond, and on. To the west he could see the horses.

  “They appear well enough,” he said when his and Caroline’s horses slowed to a walk and plunged in among them. “Now this one here is handsome. I had not noticed him before.” The young stallion was almost black and maybe two yea
rs old. “Are you going to race him?”

  “One or two races would be good, to establish his speed and value. The fees, however . . .” She pointed to two other horses. “More important is to breed the mares. Guinevere, and those two. We need to bring in other blood.”

  “I disagree. If you race this one and he wins or places, Crestview’s name will be reborn. If you race Guinevere you will be famous at once. Even breeding the others will become easier as other farms seek yours out.”

  “I know how it is done,” she said mildly.

  “Of course. My apologies.”

  She laughed. “You can’t help it. You are a man. Even Jason tries to tell me my business at times, and he is no baron.”

  Adam fell in beside her as they moved out of the herd. “Jason? Who is he?”

  She turned to look at him. “Ah, that is right. You never learned his name. Jason is the young man who helped me abduct you.”

  He lined up his impressions of this Jason in his mind. Blond hair, blue eyes, attractive enough, taller than average, and a bit lanky. Well spoken. All of that did not raise any jealousy. That he was a close friend, close enough to join her in a crime, did.

  “Where is he now? I haven’t seen him since that first day.”

  “He went to bring my sister home. You didn’t think I had her locked up in the attic, too, did you?”

  Chapter 8

  “I assume you have a horse in London.” Caroline had slowed her horse to a walk while they approached the house and stable. She spoke after he fell in beside her. She had risen in the morning none the worse for her plunge in the pond. No fever or malady had taken hold overnight, to his relief.

  “I do.”

  “A good one?”

  “He is a fine gelding. I have had him four years.”

  “With your eye, I would expect him to be better than fine.”

  “He is finer than I could hope to own. Fortunately, my cousin believes that it won’t do to have a Prescott on anything except very fine indeed. There is the family reputation to uphold.”