A Rose in Winter (3 page)

The persistent summons came again as she reached the door. She laid her hand on the latch, a cool vision of poised womanhood, and swung open the portal. For a brief moment the space seemed entirely filled by a tall expanse of darkly wet cloth. Slowly her gaze traveled up from expensive black leather boots, over a long length of redingote, to the face beneath the dripping brim of his beaver hat, and then her breath halted. It was a man's face, and far and away the most handsome she had seen in many a year. When a slight frown marked the brow, as when she first glimpsed it, the features appeared awesomely stern and foreboding. There was a tense, almost angry look to the crisp, chiseled line of his jaw, the taut cheeks, and the slightly aquiline profile that would have been well at home at sea. Yet humor came quickly, flitting about the features and compressing the tiny wrinkles of mirth at the corners of the eyes. The grayish-green eyes were totally alive, as if searching out every last note of joy in life. They openly and unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze ranged over the full length of her. The slow grin that followed and the sparkle in his translucent eyes combined to a most disarming degree to sap the strength from her knees.

This was no doddering ancient or swaggering fop, Erienne realized, but a man alive and virile in every fiber of his being. That he greatly exceeded her expectations was undeniably an understatement. Indeed, she wondered why such a man had to resort to seeking a bride by way of barter.

The stranger swept off his hat in gallant haste, revealing a short, thick crop of dark, russet-brown hair. His rich, masculine voice was as pleasing as his good looks. "Miss Fleming, I presume?"

"Urn, yes. Oh, Erienne. Erienne Fleming." Her tongue seemed unusually clumsy, and she began to fear that it would stumble and betray her. Her mind had begun to race, forming thoughts totally counter to what they had been earlier. The man was nearly perfect! Without visible flaw! Yet the question persisted. If the man was willing to wed, how could he reach a mature age without being entrapped by at least a dozen women?

There must be a flaw! her common sense raged. Knowing Father, there is a flaw!

Race as it might, her mind was fairly outdistanced by her suddenly active tongue. "Do come in, sir. My father said you would be coming."

"Indeed?" He seemed to digest her statement with a certain amount of amazement. The quirk in his lips deepened into an amused, one-sided grin as he peered at her inquiringly. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course!" She laughed brightly. "We've been expecting you. Please come in."

As he stepped across the threshold, a faint frown of perplexity furrowed his brow, and he seemed almost reluctant to yield her his hat, riding crop, and gloves. Tucking the latter into the crown of the hat, Erienne laid the articles aside.

"You surprise me greatly, Miss Fleming," he commented. "I had expected to be greeted with resentment, not kindness."

Erienne mentally cringed at the implication of his words. She had not considered that her father would be so tactless as to reveal her unwillingness to wed. How could her parent have even thought that she would resent such a handsome suitor when he was so far above the rest who had come seeking her hand?

Responding with a feigned laugh of gaiety, she carefully expressed her concern. "I suppose Father told you of my reluctance to meet you."

The man grinned knowingly. "No doubt you thought me some horrid beast."

"I am much relieved to see that you are not," she replied, then worried that she had spoken with too much enthusiasm. She gritted her teeth, hoping he wouldn't think her a forward filly, but what she had said was almost an understatement.

Hiding her pinkening cheeks, she reached past him to close the door. A gentle cologne mixed with the pleasant smell of horse and man touched her senses with an acute awareness that left her almost giddy. Certainly no imperfection here!

His long fingers were deft and quick as he unfastened the buttons of his redingote. He swept the garment off, and try as she might, Erienne could find no flaw in those wide shoulders, lean waist, and long limbs. The ample swell of manhood beneath the snugly fitting breeches gave bold evidence of his masculinity, and remembering the cause of his visit, she was suddenly aflutter, as if already a bride.

"Let me take your coat," she offered, trying to steady her trembling voice. The impeccably tailored clothes were to be admired nearly as much as the man who wore them. Yet on someone of less impressive stature, they might have lost much of their flair. The waistcoat, worn beneath a dark green coat, was fashionably short and of a light buff hue that matched the breeches. The leather boots were made to mold the lean, muscular shape of his calves and were turned down at the tops to reveal cuffs of tan. Though the garments were stylish and costly, he wore them with a manly ease that held no hint of a foppish demeanor.

Erienne turned aside to hang the redingote on a peg beside the door. Stirred by the contrast of chilly wetness on the outside and the warmth on the inside, she paused to smooth the raindrops from the rich fabric, then faced him with a comment. "It must have been a miserable ride on a day like this."

The green eyes lightly swept her and catching her own, held them with a smiling warmth. "Miserable perhaps, but with such beauty to greet me, easily borne."

Perhaps she should have warned him about standing so close. It was most difficult to subdue the deepening blush of pleasure while appearing nonchalant. She berated her mind for its spring-halt inadequacy, but her thoughts had become mired in the fact that she was actually entertaining a man who, for once, seemed to fulfill every letter of her desire. Surely there was a flaw. There had to be!

"My father should be back any moment now," she informed him demurely. "Would you care to wait in the parlor?"

"If it would not inconvenience you," he replied. "There is a matter of importance I wish to discuss with him."

Erienne swept around to lead the way but almost froze when she entered the adjoining room. Farrell's shoe jutted obtrusively from behind the chair where she had left him. She was appalled at her own foolishness but realized it was too late to redirect their guest. In an attempt to distract the man, she gave him her prettiest smile as she crossed to the settee. "I saw you coming over the river from the north." She sank to the cushion and silently gestured for him to take a chair. "Do you live somewhere nearby?"

"Actually, I have a town house in London," he responded. He swept back the tails of his dark green coat, revealing its buff lining, and took a seat in the very chair that partially hid Farrell.

Erienne's composure faltered slightly when she considered how ridiculous she would feel if he chanced to spy the undignified heap behind him. "I... ah... was about to brew some tea," she stated in a nervous rush. "Would you care for some?"

"After such a wet and chilly ride, I would enjoy that immensely." His voice was smooth as velvet. "But, please, don't trouble yourself on my account."

"Oh, 'tis no trouble, sir," she hastened to assure him. "We have precious few guests here."

"But what of his one?" To her overwhelming chagrin he swept a hand toward Farrell. "A rejected suitor, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, sir! He's only... I mean... he's my brother." She shrugged helplessly. Her mind was too numb to allow a quick riposte. Besides, now that her secret was out, it was probably best to be completely honest, since there was no other logical explanation. "He . . . um . . . imbibed a trifle heavily last night, and I was trying to get him up to his room when you knocked."

Subdued amusement played on his face as he rose from his chair. Dropping to a knee beside her brother, he tossed aside the shawl and lifted a limp eyelid. The snores continued undisturbed, and when the man glanced up at her, his humor had grown more obvious. Strong white teeth sparkled behind a broadening grin. "Would you have need of assistance toward that end?"

"Oh, certainly, sir!" Her own smile would have charmed a sprite out of its lair. "I would be most grateful."

He came to his feet with a movement so easy and quick that it almost made her gasp with surprise. He shrugged out of his coat, confirming the fact that those broad shoulders belonged solely to him, and folded the garment neatly over the back of a chair. The vest had been meticulously tailored to fit the tapering chest that rose from a lean, narrow waist. When he lifted Farrell from the floor, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut for a moment, revealing the flowing muscles across his shoulders and arms. The weight that she had scarcely been able to move was casually laid over his shoulder. He turned to eye her quizzically. "If you will lead the way, Miss Fleming."

"Erienne, please," she bade as she brushed close by him to obey. Again the nearness and the fresh, manly scent of him filled her head, and she hurried into the hall, hoping he would not see the blush that infused her cheeks and neck.

Ascending the stairs, Erienne felt almost smothered by a perusal she knew by instinct never left her. Yet she dared not glance around, afraid she might prove her intuition correct. Indeed, if she had been able to note the admiring attention he paid her gently swinging hips and trim waist, she might have had even more reason to blush.

She ran ahead to Farrell's room to throw back the covers on his bed, and the man followed to dump his burden into the downy softness. She bent over her brother to loosen his stock and shirt, and when she straightened, her heart began to race, for the man was standing much too close again.

"I believe your brother would be more comfortable without his shirt and boots." Glancing down at her, he showed strong, white teeth in a sudden grin as he offered, "Shall I remove them for you?"

"Oh, by all means," she responded, warmed by his smile and solicitude. "But he's lame. Be careful of his arm."

The man paused and looked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No need for you to be concerned, sir. 'Twas much of his own doing, I fear."

His brow raised in wonder. "You're very understanding, Miss Fleming."

Erienne laughed to hide her confusion. "My brother is of a different opinion."

"Brothers generally are." The grin came back as she lifted her gaze, and his eyes moved leisurely over the fragile features, pausing at length on her soft red lips.

Erienne's senses felt dazed, snared on the brink of time. Distantly her mind observed that the irises behind those dark lashes were a clear green, with a hint of light gray around the inner edge. They glowed with a warmth that brought the color rising to her cheeks and made her heart thump unevenly in her chest. Mentally chiding herself for lacking the poise and aplomb of a highborn lady, she stepped away and began to putter about the room, allowing him to attend her brother. Since he appeared to have the matter well in hand, she did not offer any assistance, preferring to keep a secure distance. The silence grew long and stilted, and feeling a need to speak again, she tried a bit of clever repartee.

"The day has been quite miserable so far."

"Aye," he agreed with equal originality. "A most miserable day."

The deep timbre of his voice reverberated in her breast, and Erienne gave up trying to discern what his faults might be. In comparison to the ragtag collection of suitors who had come before him, he was about as close to perfect as she and her senses could bear.

When Farrell had been stripped to his breeches, the man came away from the bed with the shirt and boots in his hands. She reached to take the articles and was almost startled when his fingers deliberately lingered beneath hers. A warm shock went through her, slowly shredding her nerves. The thought formed in her mind that with all the fumbling, fondling caresses of her various suitors, she had never been affected as deeply as by this casual contact.

"I fear the weather will be much the same until spring," she said in a nervous rush. "Here in the north country, one can expect a lot of rain this time of year."

"Spring will be a welcome change," he replied with a slight nod.

The brilliance of their conversation did little to betray the active minds working beneath. The realization that he might soon become her husband dwelt foremost in Erienne's mind, and she grew curious as to what circumstances had brought such a man here in quest of her hand. Considering the choices her father had presented her of late, she would have felt fortunate if Silas Chambers had been only tolerable-looking and something less than ancient, but he was so much more than that. It was hard to believe her fondest hopes could be completely fulfilled in this one man.

In an attempt to calm her emotions and put a safe distance between herself and this man, she crossed the room and spoke over her shoulder as she put away her brother's clothes. "Being from London, you must find these northern climes quite different. We really noticed the change when we moved from there three years ago."

"Did you come for the climate?" he asked with amusement glowing in the clear green orbs.

Erienne laughed. "If you become accustomed to the dampness, 'tis quite pleasant to live here. That is, if you can ignore all the frightening rumors of highwaymen and raiding bands of Scots. You'll learn about them if you stay here for very long. Lord Talbot complained so fiercely about the Scottish bands raiding the hamlets along the border, my father was brought in as mayor and then a sheriff was appointed to keep the outlands safe." She spread her hands in a gesture of doubt. "I hear many rumors of distant skirmishes and of highwaymen murdering and robbing the rich as they pass in their coaches, but the best my father and the sheriff have done has been to catch a poacher on Lord Talbot's lands. Even at that, the man wasn't a Scot."