“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.”
“I shall resist the urge to boast of my Scottish ancestors lest I be taken for a highwayman or the like.”
She gazed at him in sudden worry. “Perhaps you should take special care not to tell my father. He gets highly upset when any discussion about the Scottish and Irish clans arises.”
Her companion dipped his head slightly to acknowledge her warning. “I shall try not to anger him unduly with such a revelation.”
She led the way from the room, speaking over her shoulder. “I assure you ’tis not a family trait. I have no reason to dislike them.”
“That’s encouraging.”
Erienne was somewhat dazzled by the warmth in his voice and failed to devote due attention to the stairs. Her slippered foot partially missed the first step, causing her to stumble and teeter precariously on the brink of a precipitous descent. Her breath froze in her throat, but before she could react, a long arm encircled her waist and yanked her back to safety. Caught against his broad, hard chest, she gasped in breathless relief. Finally, tremblingly, she raised her gaze to the face above her own. Filled with concern, his eyes searched hers until gradually the worry left them, to be replaced by a deeper, smoldering light.
“Miss Fleming…”
“Erienne, please.” Her whisper was subdued and distant.
Neither of them heard the front door being opened or the mingled masculine voices drifting up from below. They were caught in their own private universe and might have remained there undisturbed for several more moments had not an enraged bellow roused them to abrupt awareness.
“Here now! What’s the meanin’ o’ this?”
Still much in a daze, Erienne pulled away and glanced down to the hall below, where her father and another man stared back in equal amazement. The rapidly darkening, wide-eyed face of Avery Fleming was enough to unsettle her composure, but the thing that really roused doubt about the rightness of her world was the coarse-featured visage of the thin, bony stranger who stood beside her parent. He matched her vision of Christopher Seton exactly. All he needed was a large wart on his chin to be her foe incarnate.
Avery Fleming’s righteous display of anger fairly shook the house. “I asked ye what’s the meanin’ o’ this!” He gave her no moment to answer before
he ranted on. “I leave ye for no more ’an a moment or two an’ come back to find ye flauntin’ a man in me own…You!” Avery threw his hat to the floor, and his sparse hair stood on end. “Be damned! Betrayed in me own house! By me own kin!”
Red-faced with embarrassment, Erienne quickly descended the stairs as she tried to shush her kin. “Please, Father, let me explain…”
“Ahhh, ye needn’t!” he snarled in derision. “I can see it all with me own eyes! Betrayed, it is! An’ by me own daughter!” He flung up a hand contemptuously toward the man who came down the stairs behind her and sneered, “With this bloody bastard!”
“Father!” Erienne was shocked at his choice of titles. “This…” She also indicated the one descending down the steps. “This is the man you sent. Silas Chambers, I believe.”
The raw-faced stranger stepped forward, bobbing his head in a confused, birdlike manner. He jabbed his hat out in front of him to gain their notice and began to stutter, “I…I a-a-am, I-I m-mean, h-he…he’s n-not…ooof!”
The last was an abrupt exhalation caused by Avery when he stepped forward and flung his arms wide in a gesture of complete disgust. The gaunt man was brushed aside as the father’s discomfiture burst in broad display.
“Ye mindless little twit! Have ye lost yer wits? He’s not Silas Chambers!” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the bony one. “This one’s yer man! Right ’ere!” Then he struck a portly, bowlegged pose and stabbed a stubby finger at the man on the stairs. “ ’At one! ’At fatherless swine…”
Erienne leaned against the wall and shut her eyes tightly. She already knew what her father would say.
“…’E’s the one what blasted poor Farrell’s arm! ’E’s yer Mr. Seton! Christopher Seton, it is!”
“Christopher Seton?” Erienne’s lips formed the words, but no sound issued forth. She opened her eyes and searched her father’s face as if fervently seeking a denial of what she had heard. Her gaze went to the gawky stranger, and the truth was only too clear. He was no different from the rest of the suitors her father had brought for her consideration.
“You foolish ninny!” Avery continued to berate her. “This is Silas Chambers! Not that conceited scoundrel ye was wrapped up with!”
An expression of stunned horror on her face, Erienne stared up into the green eyes.
Christopher smiled sympathetically. “My apologies, Erienne, but I thought you knew. If you’ll remember, I questioned you about it.”
The dismay on her face yielded beneath the onslaught of pure rage. She had been duped! And her pride ached for revenge. Hauling back a hand, she let fly a stinging slap to his bronze cheek. “ ’Tis Miss Fleming to you!”
Rubbing the side of his face, Christopher Seton laughed softly, his eyes still warm and sparkling. Erienne could not bear his taunting gaze and presented her back to him. He admired it briefly before he lent his attention to her father. “I came to inquire about a debt you promised to make good, sir. I’m wondering when I might expect such an event to take place.”
Avery’s head lowered sheepishly between his shoulders while his face glowed a bright red. Avoiding Silas’s inquisitive stare, he mumbled something about paying the debt as soon as he could.
Christopher stepped into the parlor to retrieve his coat and came back shrugging it into place. “I was hoping you could be a bit more specific than that, Mayor. I don’t like to intrude on your hospitality too often, and you did promise to pay me within a month’s time. As you must be aware, the month has come and gone.”
Avery clenched his hands into tight fists but dared not bring them up from his sides lest the movement be taken as a challenge. “You’d best keep yer moldy presence away from here, Mr. Seton. I won’t have the likes o’ ye servicin’ me daughter. She’ll be gettin’ married, and I’ll not see ye hinderin’ the nuptials.”
“Ah, yes, I did hear some rumors about that,” Christopher replied with a sarcastic smile. “After meeting her, I’m somewhat amazed that you haven’t been more successful, though it seems rather unjust that she must pay the rest of her life for a debt you made.”
“Me daughter is none o’ yer concern!”
Though Silas Chambers had jumped as each word was being shouted, Christopher had held a bland smile on his face. He appeared undaunted as he replied, “I hate to think that she’ll be forced into a marriage because of a debt owed to me.”
Avery gaped at him in surprise. “Aye? Ye wouldn’t be thinkin’ o’ forgettin’ ’bout the debt, now would ye?”
Christopher’s laughter dispelled the notion. “Hardly! But I’m not without eyes in my head, and I realize your daughter would be a most charming companion. I’d be willing to wait a bit longer for what is due me if you would allow me to court her.” He shrugged casually. “Who knows what might come of it.”
Avery nearly strangled over the suggestion. “Blackmail and debauchery! I’d sooner see her dead than taken up with the likes o’ ye!”
Christopher considered Silas, who nervously crushed his tricorn against his chest. When he returned his gaze to the mayor, his mockery was subtle yet direct. “Aye, I imagine you would.”
Avery blustered under the jibe. He was aware that Silas was not much to look at, but the man had a modest fortune. Besides, his daughter was better off avoiding marriage to a handsome rake who would get her with a brood of brats. Silas would be suitable enough for her needs. But then, after seeing her with this Seton devil, Silas might be hesitant about offering marriage for fear he might be getting tainted goods.
“There be plenty o’ suitors willing to pay the bride price,” Avery insisted, just in case Silas had any doubts. “Men what are wise enough to see what treasures she’ll bring ’em, and not one of ’em abused her kin.”
Facing Erienne, Christopher favored her with a lopsided grin. “I suppose this means I won’t be welcomed here again?”
“Get out! And don’t ever darken this door again!” she cried, fighting tears of anger and humiliation. Her lips curling with contempt, she gave him a scathing perusal. “Were a twisted, scar-faced, hunchbacked cripple the only other man on earth, I would surely choose him over you!”
Christopher let his gaze glide down her. “As for me, Erienne, were you cast down before me, I would not be wont to cross over you to get to some broad bovine.” He smiled in wry humor as his eyes met hers again. “ ’Twould be pure foolishness to spite myself for the sake of pride.”
“Out!” The word was spat from her lips with vengeance as her arm thrust out in the direction of the door.
Christopher gave a curt, mocking bow of compliance and approached the peg which bore his redingote while Avery seized his daughter’s arm and jerked her into the parlor.
“What’s this now?” The mayor hissed in an angry demand. “Here I goes out and risks me fine health in a high-blowin’ nor’easter to bring yer beau to ye an’ returns to find ye throwin’ yerself at the likes o’ him!”
“Silas Chambers is not my beau!” Erienne corrected in an urgent whisper. “He’s just another man whom you’ve brought to look me over as if I were some horse to be traded. And I wasn’t throwin’ myself at anyone! I just stumbled, and Silas…Mr. Seton caught me.”
“I saw what the beggar was tryin’! Had his hands all over ye, he did!”
“Please, Father, lower your voice,” she begged. “ ’Twas not the way you think!”
As the argument continued and Avery’s voice grew louder, Silas Chambers twisted his tricorn in painful indecision. On the verge of panic, the lank, pale-haired, coarse-faced man cast repeated glances toward the parlor.
“I expect they’ll be engaged for some time,” Christopher stated, slipping into his redingote. As Silas glanced at him, he tipped his head to indicate the two in the parlor. “A strong rum might help settle your stomach. Or perhaps you would care to join me for a bite to eat at the inn? You can return here later if you wish.”
“Why…ah…I believe I…” Silas’s eyes widened as a jumbled bellow came from t
he parlor, and he made a hasty decision. “I believe I shall, sir. Thank you.” He jerked on his tricorn, suddenly grateful for any excuse to be gone from this place.
Hiding an amused smile, Christopher opened the door and allowed the man to precede him. As the chill wind and pelting rain struck them, Silas shivered and hurriedly pulled up the collar of his coat. His nose reddened abruptly and seemed to stand out like a large, glowing beacon. He drew on a pair of tattered gloves and stuffed a frayed scarf into his collar, causing Christopher to raise a skeptical brow. If the man had wealth, there was not a great lot of visible evidence to substantiate the fact. His appearance was that of some hardworking accountant whose employer miserly doled out his wages. It would be interesting indeed to see just how deep the man would dig in his purse should a contest evolve for the fair hand of Erienne Fleming.
Chapter Two