“Ye evil little wench! Goin’ behind my back again wit’ this Yankee bastard!” Avery loudly berated. “I swear to ye ’twill be the last time ye do!”
The mayor brought his fist around with enough force to break his daughter’s jaw, and Erienne tried to brace herself, certain the blow would fall with brutal force, but once again her faithful protector was there close at hand. With a flare of rage, Christopher shot out of his chair and caught Avery’s wrist in a painfully tight grip, jerking him away from his daughter.
“Take yer filthy hands off me!” the portly man bellowed, attempting to gain his freedom, but the strong, broad hand held him fast.
Christopher’s tone was deadly calm. “I beg you to consider your actions, Mayor. Your daughter came here with the sheriff and Miss Talbot. Would you insult them by such a display?”
As if coming from a fog, Avery became aware of the other two who also sat at the table. Red-faced, he hurriedly stuttered an apology, and Christopher released his hold, curbing the urge to give a short, backward thrust as he did so. He would have enjoyed seeing the man sprawl on his backside.
Avery caught hold of his daughter’s arm again and hastened her toward the door. “Ye go on home now and cook me some vittles. I’ll be home after I’ve had me one or two.”
The door slammed behind her. Turning, Avery hitched up his breeches, glared about at those who still stared, and returned to the bar.
With tears of humiliation stinging her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, Erienne ran home. She wished now that she would not have allowed herself to be goaded by Claudia’s glowering threat. The disgrace she had suffered in the inn would make it extremely difficult to hold her head up in front of the haughty woman.
Then there was the other matter. Claudia was almost vicious in her ambition to be the unrivaled and heralded beauty of the North country, and to gain that end she used her tongue to slander, abuse, or destroy without the least regard for truth. Like a whip, her tongue had the ability to make one writhe in agony. Erienne had no doubt the woman would well flay her reputation in her absence, and Claudia would paint a wildly distorted vision for the Yankee’s eyes.
“What do I care?” Erienne mumbled miserably. “Claudia and Mr. Seton were most certainly made for each other.”
Chapter Four
IN the eastern sky, shafts of vibrant color radiated from the dawning sun and thrust through the mottled clouds, bathing the white-faced cottages of Mawbry with a rosy hue. Morning’s blushing light penetrated the crystal panes of Erienne’s chamber windows, rousing her from a restless sleep. She groaned and snuggled her head beneath the pillow, deriving no pleasure from the prospect that they must seek out another suitor in Wirkinton. She knew her father could not be swayed from his goal, especially since he had found her dining with the Yankee at the inn, and it was useless to delay.
Morosely she dragged herself from the bed and wandered down to the kitchen. Shivering in a threadbare robe, she stoked the fire in the hearth and swung the large, water-filled kettle over the growing flames. From a corner of the room, she pulled forth a copper tub that had been her mother’s and found the last remaining sliver of soap that Farrell had given her. Once he had been thoughtful enough to bring home small gifts from Wirkinton for her, but that seemed ages ago. With each progressing day he took on more of his sire’s qualities and remembered less the wise counseling of his mother.
It was a rare occasion indeed when she was allowed to travel beyond Mawbry or its surrounding countryside, and though the reason for going was definitely unappealing, she still groomed herself carefully and wore her best attire. At least no one in the port city could have grown bored with seeing the plum velvet gown.
Like any man of gentility, Avery left his daughter outside in front of the inn, there to await the coach while he himself entered the common room. Ensconced in his favorite place and with an ale to sip, he struck up a conversation with the innkeeper, making no effort to lower his tone as he spoke of his intentions to travel to the port city with his girl. Aside from gambling and drinking, exercising his vocal chords seemed Avery’s greatest delight. Engrossed in doing so this morning, he failed to notice the tall figure rising from the shadows behind a massive pillar. The front door opened and closed, but Avery gave it no mind as he avidly quenched his thirst.
The crisp wind flirted with the cluster of soft ringlets cascading from the crown of Erienne’s head and played with the hem of her skirts while it brought a fresh blush to her cheeks. Ramrod prim and bandbox polished, she was a most fetching sight for any man, many of whom paused after passing and openly glanced back for a second taste of her beauty. The one who was denied her company halted a moment outside the door of the inn and admired the trim, unbustled form. The fact that she had become a forbidden fruit for him only spiced his interest.
Christopher moved forward to stand close behind the young lady’s right elbow. Erienne sensed his presence but, thinking it was her father, was slow to respond. As she glanced around, her gaze caught sight of the tall, expensive black boots, and her wonder became questioning surprise. Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring into the handsome and pleasantly smiling face of that one who haunted her.
Christopher tipped his hat and grinned down at her, then clasping his hands behind his back, he gazed up at the sky, where fitful flocks of fleecy clouds gamboled restlessly along on a nor’westerly breeze. “A fairly pleasant day for a ride,” he commented. “Though I suspect we might be in for a bit of rain later on.”
Erienne ground her teeth, holding a tight rein on her temper. “Out to ogle more women, Mr. Seton?”
“Actually, that isn’t my prime purpose this morning,” he answered smoothly. “Although I’d be a fool to ignore the sights, such as they are.”
She did not miss the meaningful sparkle in his eyes and asked crisply, “Then what is your prime purpose?”
“Why, I am waiting for the coach to Wirkinton.”
Erienne clenched her lips against a heated reply. She was appalled that such a coincidence should occur, but since he was well within his rights, she could say nothing. Glancing past his arm, she caught sight of his bay stallion tethered at the hitching post, which suggested that his mode of travel was undergoing a most recent change. Knowing that he had just left the common room where her father had gone, she could assume that Christopher had heard some exchange that had prompted his decision to travel by coach. She flung out a hand to indicate the animal. “You have a mount. Why don’t you ride him?”
Christopher’s grin was mockingly congenial. “I much prefer the comfort of a coach when I journey afar.”
She scoffed. “No doubt you overheard my father say we’re on our way to Wirkinton and intend to pester us all the way there.”
“My dear Miss Fleming, I assure you that I have a matter of great importance to attend to in Wirkinton.” He did not explain that anything to do with her was of primary importance to him. “Of course, your solution is simple,” he offered pleasantly. “If you cannot abide my company, you can always stay home. I have no way of forcing you to go.”
“We also have business in Wirkinton,” she stated, lifting her chin primly.
“Another suitor?” he questioned amiably.
“You…Oh!” Her deep blush, having naught to do with the wind, gave him quick answer. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”
“I have an investment in your family. I seek only what is mine, or at least some recompense should the debt remain unpaid.”
“Ah, yes, the debt,” she said, sneering. “The money you rooked from my father.”
“My dear, I have no need to cheat anyone.”
Erienne stamped her foot in protest. “Mr. Seton, whatever else I am, I am not your dear!”
A soft chuckle conveyed his delight. “You’re the dearest thing I’ve seen for some time.” His gaze swept downward, gliding effortlessly over her rounded bosom and slim waist until it reached the narrow black shoes peeking out from beneath her hem. E
rienne immediately wished she had borne the prickly discomfort of her coarse woolen cloak instead of leaving it lay across her satchel, for his careful scrutiny left no curve untouched. Indeed, his close attention seemed to peel the very cloth away. When his eyes returned to meet hers, her cheeks were hot with indignation. “Aye.” He smiled into her glare. “You are a sweet, dear thing indeed.”
“Do you always undress a woman with your eyes?” she inquired sharply.
“Only those I have a yearning for.”
In an irritated huff, Erienne flounced around and tried to ignore him but found the task beyond her means. He was about as easily dismissed from mind as a black panther at heel. There was, however, a way to protect herself from his relentless regard. Taking up the cloak, she spread it about her shoulders and warned him off by a wordless glower when he reached a hand toward her to lend assistance.
Giving a lazy shrug of his wide shoulders, Christopher smiled and withdrew his hand. Erienne concentrated on tying the cords at her throat and was not aware that he had drawn much nearer until his whisper brushed close against her ear, sending a warm, tingling shiver through her.
“You smell as sweet as jasmine on a summer’s night.”
Erienne snatched the hood up over her head, afraid he would notice the gooseflesh he had raised. Totally aware of his presence, she remained cautiously silent until the coach halted before the inn. The driver climbed down, and wiping his dry lips, he announced to the occupants of the coach that there would be a short delay, then turning, strode purposefully toward the common room. A portly fellow and his tall, thin companion plowed their way between the waiting couple, forcing them to step quickly aside or be trodden down underfoot.
When Erienne could reach her satchel again, it was already clasped in her adversary’s hand. She raised a stern brow of disapproval, but Christopher awaited her with an amused patience that made resistance a simple, threadbare sham. Pointedly ignoring him, she lifted her skirts to step aboard and immediately felt his hand beneath her elbow aiding her ascent. He tossed her valise into the boot as she settled in the interior, then strode off, making Erienne crane her neck in an effort to see where he was going until he came back leading his horse. Quickly she pressed back in the seat, regaining her lofty air before he could take note of her interest. After securing the animal’s reins to the rear of the boot, he climbed in and took the seat directly opposite her.
The other passengers, having satisfied their thirst and their various needs, came trooping back to the coach. Avery was the last to emerge from the inn, and being in high spirits, stepped sprightly to the carriage door. However, when he caught sight of their traveling companion, his jaw plummeted. Blustering in indecision, he stamped and fumed until finally, having no other choice, he joined them. Taking a place beside his daughter, he gave her a withering glare, making it obvious that he suspected her of inviting the man.
The wheels splashed through a large puddle as the coach swung onto the road, and Erienne leaned back, bracing herself against the jolting ride. The countryside along the way failed to hold her interest, for the presence of Christopher Seton wiped everything else from her mind. His gaze was persistent and touched her warmly. A smile was in his eyes and on his lips. Even in her father’s company, he was completely at ease, not caring that the older man’s scowl darkened progressively at the close attention he gave to the daughter.
The other travelers were openly delighted with Christopher’s company, for he talked and laughed with them freely. He related stories and experiences gleaned from his many voyages and showed animal-white teeth against the warm bronze of his skin as he recounted more humorous tales. He had the portly man holding his sides with mirth, but Avery’s rage grew with each passing mile.
Forced to observe, Erienne reluctantly admitted, but only to herself, that the Yankee had the charm, wit, and manners to handle himself well in any company. His manners were those of one born to wealth and position. Indeed, he acted the part of gentleman so well he could have authored the rule book. Yet Erienne sensed he could be equally at home with a crew of bawdy, fun-loving tars. He appeared to enjoy every facet of life.
Beneath the shadow of long lashes, Erienne’s eyes passed carefully over the man. His broad shoulders filled a finely tailored coat of dark blue, and the breeches, of a light taupe hue that matched the vest, were close-fitting to display a superb length of firmly muscled limbs. It was obvious at a mere glance that he was boldly a man, even with all his clothes on. Much to her aggravation, Erienne realized he would be the standard by which she measured every suitor who vied for her hand.
The ride progressed southward, and Erienne could feel herself relaxing, almost enjoying the easy ways and casual banter of Mr. Seton. What she had feared would be a tense, stilted journey was becoming a pleasant outing, and she even experienced a mild disappointment when they reached their destination.
A small sign, identifying the inn as the Lion’s Paw, swung on its hinges above the doorway, squeaking and flapping like a distraught bird in the stiff breezes. Avery kept his daughter to her place while Christopher and the other passengers alighted, then after hastily climbing down, he beckoned impatiently to her.
“Don’t dally, girl,” he snapped. Yanking his tricorn down against the wind, he cast a wary eye about to find Christopher untethering his stallion from the back of the coach. Remembering the incident in the inn at Mawbry, he lowered his voice a cautious degree to continue. “Mr. Goodfield’s carriage is here awaitin’ us, but I’ll be havin’ ter find rooms ’ere at the inn ’fore we leave. So hurry with ye.”
Erienne’s lack of enthusiasm greatly annoyed him, and as soon as her feet touched ground, he caught her arm in a fierce, painful grip and hustled her off to a waiting landau. He ignored her pleas to be allowed time to freshen herself, fearful of what that Yankee rascal might do if they delayed. Perhaps Avery had cause to worry. Christopher observed the happenings closely as he idly gathered the reins over the stallion’s neck. He particularly noted the girl’s reluctance to be prodded aboard the conveyance.
The coachman stepped to the boot and hauled back the canvas cover that protected the baggage. With a gesture and a question Christopher directed the man’s attention to the landau.
“Why, ’at rig belongs to Mr. Goodfield. Oldest an’ richest merchant ’round these parts,” the coachman replied. “Ye follow this ’ere road a bit, then turn north at the crossroads. Ye can’t miss the place. Biggest ’ouse ye ever seen.”
Christopher flipped a coin into the driver’s hand to display his gratitude, bidding the man to take a draught of ale on him. Chortling, the coachman thanked him profusely and hurried off toward the inn.
Erienne hesitated on the carriage step and looked back, finding the grayish-green eyes fastened on her. Christopher gave her a slow grin and cordially tipped his hat. Avery followed his daughter’s gaze and glared when he found the object of her attention. Gripping her arm, he pushed her in, then hurried back to the coach to claim their baggage.
“Keep yer eyes to yerself,” he warned Christopher direly. “I have me friends here, and a word from me, and they’ll see ye done in good. Ye won’t be any use to any woman when they finishes wit’ ye.”
The younger man returned a tolerant smile to the threat. “You don’t learn very quickly, do you, Mayor? First you sent your son, and now you think to frighten me with your friends? Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I have a ship in port with a crew who’ve honed their teeth fighting pirates and privateers. Would you care to meet them again?”
“Leave me girl alone!” Avery spat the words out through his teeth.
“Why?” Christopher chuckled derisively. “So you can marry her off for a purse? I’ve got a purse. How much will you take for her?”
“I’ve told ye!” Avery thundered. “She ain’t for ye, no matter how weighty yer purse!”
“Then you’d best pay up your debt, Mayor, because I won’t be satisfied until it is done.” Christopher swung into the saddle and wit
h a nudge of his heel set his mount into an easy canter, leaving the mayor glaring after him.
An overwhelming feeling of depression came over Erienne at her first glimpse of Smedley Goodfield. He was old and wrinkled, with much the size and looks of a wizened elf. His hunched back and distorted shoulders were painful reminders of the taunt she had hurled at Christopher. Whatever she had said then, she was positive now that Smedley Goodfield would be her very last choice as a husband.
Shortly after their arrival, her father was bluntly invited to look over the gardens without being given much choice in the matter. She, on the other hand, was beckoned to sit on the settee beside Smedley. Erienne declined, taking a bench before the hearth, but she soon found this was only an invitation for the merchant to join her. From the first moment he sat beside her, she had to fight to keep his hands from invading the privacy of her clothes. In his fumbling eagerness he ripped her bodice, and considering her modest collar, his actions had no pretense of the accidental. With an outraged gasp Erienne threw off his bony hands and came to her feet, clutching the torn bodice together and snatching up her cloak.