The Baron - The Offer Part 1

The Offer by Catherine Coulter.

To my sisters of more years than any of us would care to count.

Hereas to the second time around.

Aniko, Ildi, Ursula, Leslie, and Zita.

1.

aIf you donat get away from me Iall scream.a aOf course you wonat, my pet. And thatas what you are, you knowa"a little pet, my little pet. I can caress you and fondle you and you will stretch and moan with delight beneath my hand.a The portrait gallery was dim and shadowy and cold in the early-afternoon winter light. aYes,a he said, smiling at her as he walked slowly toward her, one graceful white hand outstretched, the emerald on his index finger glittering, ayou will enjoy what I will do to you, Sabrina. Iave known from the beginning that youare eager for me. I had to wait until I had wed Elizabeth. You understand. Now, thatas done and Iam here. Now we can be together.a Sabrina watched his fingers curl as if touching her flesh. She backed up until the corner of a huge gilded frame dug into her back.

Suddenly the memory of the portrait gallery faded into blinding white. Trevor was gone. She was alone.

She doubled over with the cough that gripped her so deeply. The pain continued even after the spasms subsided, making her feel as if her ribs were caving inward, grinding and s.h.i.+fting. She was shuddering with the pain. She managed to get hold of herself. She forced herself to straighten. She looked around. The whiteness of the snow was blinding. She had no idea where she was. She remembered reading that in Danteas inferno the deepest circle in h.e.l.l was cold, not hot. She was ready to accept it without question. She knew now this was what h.e.l.l was likea"a colorless cold, so cold, so intense, that her breath froze into nothingness in the frigid blank air. She clutched the palm of her gloved hand against her breast for warmth and drew to a stumbling halt against a large gnarled elm tree. She hugged its trunk and let the rough bark dig into her cheek. It hurt. At least she could still feel her face. She felt the bark through her cloak, digging deeper, through her gown, through her chemise. She savored for the moment the illusion of shelter it offered. The wind swirled about her, making her cloak billow at her ankles, making the naked branches overhead whip back and forth, tangling with other branches, rending and tearing, like fingernails pulling at flesh.

She gazed up. The snow wasnat too terribly heavy yet. But the full fury of the storm would soon be upon her, and she knew that unless she found her way out of the forest, she would die. She forced herself to look about again. Was the snow coming down harder?

She pushed herself away from the tree and forced her feet to move forward, in what she prayed was a southerly direction. She had been so certain of herself, even after her mare had gone lame, sure that she would find her way through Eppingham Forest. After all, shead lived here all her eighteen years and knew the forest well. She wondered now if she would ever find her way before the thickening snow blanketed any landmarks she might recognize.

The thorn of a bramble tore into her beautiful crimson velvet cloak, a present from her grandfather the previous Christmas. She bent to pull the cloak free. The pain in her chest gripped her again, and she doubled over with the cough that had become harsh so very quickly, and tears fell, cold and slick down her cheeks. She dashed her hand across her eyes, but when her vision cleared, it was Trevoras face she saw again, a pretty face, indeed, its finely chiseled features almost too pretty for a man. She saw his hooded pale green eyes were darker now as he stalked her. His lashes were too long and thick for a man, her sister Elizabeth had told her, but perhaps if she birthed a daughter, she would have her fatheras beautiful eyes and lashes.

Trevor had followed her to the portrait gallery in the east wing of Monmouth Abbey, where she painted when the weather was fine. That day shead wanted to copy a portrait of Isolde, the sixteenth-century countess whoad once caught the eye of Henry VIII. Sabrina forgot about her work quickly enough when Trevor had shown himself.

She could clearly hear him say again, aDonat fight me, my little Sabrina. Youave led me a merry chase and Iam not a particularly patient man. But you were different. You have teased me, made me want to shatter the illusion of innocence youave cloaked yourself in. But the chase is now over. No more of your clever games. I know why you came to this isolated gallery. Your plan is perfect. Come to me now, tell me how much you want me.a She was pressed hard against her great-grandfatheras picture frame. She could retreat no farther. Reason, she had to try to make him see reason. aYou have mistaken me, Trevor. I am your sister-in-law. You are newly married to Elizabeth. She is your wife. I have not tried to attract you. I have not wanted you to chase me. I donat want you and never have. Iam not lying or playing games. Please, leave me alone. I came here only to study a portrait that I wish to paint.a He smiled at her, saying nothing.

She wasnat blind. There was raw hunger in his eyes, but also something else. Determination. He wouldnat listen to reason, not Trevor. He heard only what he wanted to hear, saw only what he wanted to see. There were always servants about, but shead neither seen nor heard a single one since Trevor had come. She allowed the contempt she felt for him to come out. aListen to me, Trevor, Elizabeth is your wife. She trusts you. My grandfather trusts you. I havenat trusted you, but that doesnat matter.a He laughed, his head tilted to one side. His light green eyes were filled with more hunger than just the moment before. aYou look lovely in that dark gray gown. I would have thought it would make you pale, but it doesnat. It must be that beautiful auburn hair of yours. You do have beautiful hair, you know, Sabrina. Iave watched you shake your head, making that glorious hair of yours fall around your shoulders when you knew I was looking at you. As sinful as a womanas red lips, your hair.a He was not a large man, but he was still considerably larger and stronger than she was. What to do? She was very angry now and shook her fist at him. aListen to me, Trevor, stop it! I have done nothing to attract you. The truth is I donat even like you. Thatas right. I wish you had never come, but there was no choice, was there? There was no direct male heir, so Grandfather was forced to recognize you, his brotheras grandson.

aLeave me alone, Trevor. Go away.a When she tried to walk by him because he hadnat moved an inch, he just stood there smiling at her.

aOh yes, youare right, Sabrina,a he said, his voice lower, softer, slippery as her satin sash. She shuddered. aBut everything will be mine once that d.a.m.ned old relic has shucked off his mortal coil. It shouldnat be much longer now. Soon all this will be mine. Elizabeth will soon call me her lord, her master, as will you, Sabrina. I like those words from a soft mouth when I reach my pleasure. Ah yes, and a warm womanas breath on my flesh, it heightens the experience.

aYou know I would have preferred to wed you, but it was not to be. The old earl forced me on Elizabeth. Elizabeth was older, she must wed first, it was only fair, he said. The old fool didnat want me to have you, truth be told. No, I couldnat have you as my wife, but you are still here, and we can be together.a As he leaned toward her, she pressed her palms against his chest, shoving as hard as she could. aGet away from me, Trevor, get away. I shall scream. The servants will obey me, not you.a He laughed, now so close to her face that she could smell on his breath the turtle soup head eaten for luncheon. aYell yourself hoa.r.s.e, Sabrina. No one is about to hear you, but you already knew that, didnat you? Ah, I feel you trembling, my pet.a aIam not your d.a.m.ned pet, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!a His fingertips brushed lightly over her cheek. She rammed her fist as hard as she could into his belly. As she felt the soft flesh give, she jerked away, almost free of him.

His hand grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back. Then his hands were around her neck. Her fingers clutched about his, her nails digging into him, but she could not get free.

His fingers tightened about her neck and his face blurred above her. He suddenly released her and she gulped in air. Then she felt his mouth slam against hers. His tongue probed at her lips to force them apart. She opened her mouth to yell at him and felt his tongue go deep. She gagged and bit down hard.

He jerked back and she released him. aYou little b.i.t.c.h!a He was panting with rage and pain as he drew back and slapped her hard on one cheek and then the other.

The force of the blows sent her reeling back against the portrait. She flailed the air with her arms trying to keep her balance. She was beyond herself then, screaming at him. aYou b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Iall kill you for this, you filthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d!a

2.

In the next instant she realized that her insults pleased him. She knew it, could see it as the rage faded from his face, and he laughed. aIave always liked my women to have a bit of spirit, not to just lie stiff and silent beneath me like martyrs, like that d.a.m.ned sister of yours. When Iam ramming really hard into her, I like to watch her go pale, bite her lips and moan.a He saw she didnat understand what he was saying. He laughed with pleasure. Head wanted to be the one to break her from the first moment head set eyes on her.

aYes, I like a girl with spirit, Sabrina. Fight me, do, if you like that game. A fine, aristocratic young lady you are, so proud, so sure of yourself and what you are and what is owed to you. I wonder when I take you, if your virginas blood will flow as heavy as Elizabethas. There was so much of it. I fear my poor little bride believed that Iad killed her. Moreas the pity that I hadnat.a It hit her with full force in that moment that he fully intended to rape her. He was pulling her wrists over her head. He moved in. She yelled in his face, aNo, Trevor. Iall tell Grandfather what you are, donat you doubt it. When I tell him, heall have you flogged and thrown out of Monmouth Abbey. Heall disown you.a aAh, I wondered if youad try that, Sabrina. If you open your sweet mouth to him, then I a.s.sure you that I shall a.s.sist him to his final resting place. It wouldnat take much to nudge him into the grave, you know.

aNow, my dear, enough of this flightiness. Iave waited with great patience for you. Iall wait no more.a His pale green eyes were narrow with purpose. He grabbed the neck of her gray wool gown and jerked it down. She knew he was staring at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She wouldnat let his hands touch her bare flesh. She lunged forward, striking at his face with her fists.

Then he managed to grab one of her arms. He twisted it, jerking it upward behind her. She screamed again, the pain clear in her cry. She saw then that he enjoyed causing her pain. He twisted her arm even higher but she kept her scream in her throat.

aVery well,a he said. With his other hand, he grasped the edge of her chemise and tore it down to her waist. His eyes were blazing as he gazed at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. aMy G.o.d, youare a beauty. I imagined you would have nice b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but theyare exquisite.a He grabbed one breast and squeezed.

It hurt but still she held her pain inside. She wouldnat give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her beyond what she could bear. She leaned down and bit the back of his hand as hard as she could.

He backhanded her. aI will teach you obedience to your lord, to your master, to me. You bite me again and Iall make you very sorry.a His hand squeezed her breast again, then quickly he was at her stomach, his fingers digging in to find her through her gown and chemise.

aNo!a He laughed, and toppled her onto the hard wooden floor. She was struggling for breath. His body slammed down on top of her. He reared back and she felt that male part of him pus.h.i.+ng hard against her belly. She jerked her hand free and smashed her fist into his nose.

aYou b.i.t.c.h, you miserable little b.i.t.c.h!a He began to slap her, again and again, until she saw nothing except explosions of white pain. He was howling as he hit her, his eyes wild.

Suddenly he stiffened above her and she saw his eyes widen, then become glazed and vague. He slapped her again, cursing her, but this time his voice was soft, drowsy-sounding. He growled deep in his throat. ad.a.m.n you, d.a.m.n you.a He froze above her, stiff as a board. Then he rolled away from her to lie on his back, his legs spread.

She was on her feet in an instant, staring down at him. His breathing was harsh and low. He was looking up at her, his eyes tender, a gentle smile on his mouth. His smile widened when he lightly touched his fingers to himself. There was a wide stain on his breeches.

She took a step back from him. She was shuddering with reaction, with utter rage. Without thought, she kicked him in the ribs. aYou filthy animal, filthy, filthy. G.o.d, I hate you.a He tried to grab her ankle but she jumped back in time. He rolled to his back again. He gazed up at her and touched his b.l.o.o.d.y nose, his features once again beautiful and calm. aYou wonat kick my ribs again, but I canat say that I blame you. You overexcited me, Sabrina, this time, and I had no chance to pleasure you, to plunge deep into your virginas body. Ah, but next time.

aPain and pleasure, little pet, beautifully and irrevocably intertwined. I shall have you, and no one shall stop me, least of all you. Donat even try to lock your door against me, else I shall tip the balance to pain. You know, I think next time I shall have to tie you down. Youave bloodied my nose just like a schoolboy. My ribs ache, ah, and Iave spilled my seed on myself. Your fault, of course. I havenat known such excitement in a very long time, certainly not with your bloodless sister, or any of those silly maids. Not an auspicious beginning for us, but a beginning nonetheless.a Sabrina turned and ran from the portrait gallery, the low heels of her slippers clipping the wooden floor, ringing loud and hard in her ears.

She heard the cat-soft footsteps of a footman and huddled into a small embrasure until he pa.s.sed her. She ran into her bedchamber and with trembling fingers quickly twisted the key in the lock. Stepping to a long mirror beside a walnut armoire, she touched her fingers to her ravaged face. She gazed dumbly at her puffy eyes, still wet with her tears, and her swollen, stained cheeks, still marked by his blows, still hot and tender to the touch. She stared at herself in silence, raging against her own impotence, her helplessness against him, a man.

She remembered when he had first arrived from Italy but a month and a half before, so winsome in his charm, almost boyishly eager to win approval, particularly from Elizabeth. She thought about the first time shead noticed his hands, soft and white, like a womanas. Grandfather had growled under his breath that Trevor was naught but a pampered, vain fop.

Grandfather. Sabrina turned away from the mirror and sat, shoulders slumped, upon her bed. If she told him that Trevor had tried to rape her, after only two weeks of marriage to Elizabeth, he would go into a rage. She swallowed a sob. Only her grandfather stood between her and her cousin, and he was too old. Sabrina rose with sudden decision. She would go to Elizabeth. Together they would decide what was to be done. She quickly dashed cold water on her face. She still looked a fright. Well, Elizabeth would see the proof of his blows; she wouldnat have any doubts as to the sort of man shead married. She stuffed her torn clothes into the corner of her armoire, and changed quickly into an old brown wool gown.

She found her sister in her bedchamber, seated at her small writing desk, penning letters, Sabrina thought, to the wedding guests.

aLeave us, Mary,a she said to the maid.

Elizabeth raised pale blue eyes to her sister, but said nothing until Mary had finally and reluctantly closed the bedchamber door. She laid down her pen and out of habit smoothed a wisp of pale blond hair back into its knot at the nape of her neck. Both Trevor and Elizabeth had soft blond hair. Where Trevoras eyes were a pale green, Elizabethas were blue. aThereas no need for you to be rude to Mary. Sheas a sensitive girl. I donat wish to see you behave like that again. Now, what do you want? As you can see, I am quite busy. How am I to thank the Viscountess Ashford for that hideous cachepot? Can you imagine, blue tulips strewn all over the thing? Trevor laughed and laughed.a aThe cachepot is ugly but Mary Louise meant well.a Sabrina slashed her hand through the air. aThatas not at all important. Listen to me, Elizabeth, I must speak with you. I know that this will come as a shock to you, but you must help me. Itas Trevor, Elizabetha"he just tried to rape me.a Elizabeth arched a pale blond brow and glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece. The brow went higher. There was a twisted smile on Elizabethas mouth. aFirst you are rude to my Mary. Now you tell me that my husband of two weeks tried to rape you. Is this some kind of game, Sabrina? Are you that envious of my new status? Such a thing is scarce possible, particularly when it is only three oaclock in the afternoon.a Sabrina gazed dumbly at her sister, unwilling to believe the iciness in her voice. No, Elizabeth simply didnat understand. She rushed forward and laid an urgent hand on Elizabethas sleeve. aLook at my face. He struck me repeatedly. It gave him pleasure to hurt me. Look, d.a.m.n you!a Elizabeth shrugged. aSo, your face is flushed, nothing more that I can see. You are always in the sun so that is no surprise.a aItas winter, Elizabeth. We havenat seen the sun for days until just this afternoon.a Sabrina couldnat believe this. She went on her knees beside her sister, clutching her hand between hers. The sunlight was fierce on her face. She knew that the redness and swelling were clear to see. aYou must listen to me, Elizabeth. It would make no difference to Trevor if it was day or night. I went to the portrait gallery to look at the countessas portrait. I want to paint it. Trevor followed me. You know how isolated the gallery is. No one was near to help me and he knew it. Thatas why he followed me there. Elizabeth, look at my face. Donat tell me itas simply flushed. No, he slapped me and slapped me. Heas vicious and cruel, Elizabeth. Heas proved he has no honor. He even threatened to kill Grandfather if I told him what head tried to do. You must help me decide what we must do.a Elizabeth shook off her sisteras hand, as if her touch was distasteful to her. She rose slowly from her chair. Sabrina also got to her feet. Elizabeth was some three inches taller than her younger sister. She looked down at her now, and there was intense dislike in her pale blue eyes. aI forbid you, Sabrina, forbid you, to speak any more such absurd nonsense. Pray remember that you are speaking of my husband and our cousin. Does it mean so little to you that he will be the Earl of Monmouth after Grandfatheras death?a Sabrina took an involuntary step backward. aElizabeth, havenat you heard me? Did you not understand what I said? d.a.m.n you, look at my face! You can see his handprints! My skin is still hot from the force of his slaps. None of it is nonsense. Iam sorry for this, but you must believe me. Trevor is vicious. He tried to rape me. Iam not lying. He isnat worthy of you. He told me if I tried to lock my bedchamber door against him, he would hurt me even more. Please, what are we to do?a

3.

Elizabeth sat back down on the delicate French chair and tapped her fingertips softly and rhythmically together. She smoothed her pale blue wool skirts. She looked at the glittering diamonds on her heirloom wedding ring, the huge faceted emerald that sat high in the middle. Finally, she looked up and smiled at her sister. The sight of her ravaged face was balm to her soul. aI gather you are still a virgin, Sabrina?a Sabrina stared at her sisteras calm, impa.s.sive face as her question rang in her ears. She sounded bored, indifferent.

aWell, are you? Are you stupid? Canat you speak?a Sabrina didnat want to, but she turned red, remembering Trevoras howling yell, seeing again the stain spread on his breeches. G.o.d, she hated him, she hated what head made her learn, all in an instant of time. aYes, Iam still a virgin, no thanks to that b.a.s.t.a.r.d.a Elizabethas lashes nearly closed over her narrowed eyes. aSo, my dear little sister, what happened is that you teased Trevor, and being a man and weak of flesh, as all men are, he gladly accompanied you to the gallery. You then ran away from him when you realized he had every intention of taking your teasing seriously. Were you afraid head make you pregnant, Sabrina?a Sabrina grabbed her sisteras arm, saw the disdain in her sisteras pale eyes, and dropped her hand. aListen to me, Elizabeth. You cannot believe what you just said. You make it sound as though I purposefully tried to seduce your husband. I tell you, he is vain and cruel, a strutting evil man who scorns us all.a She wasnat about to tell her sister what her bridegroom had said about her. aPlease, Elizabeth, you cannot ignore this, you cannot pretend it didnat happen. You must help me, help yourself.a Elizabeth stood abruptly again, standing on her tiptoes so she could tower over her sister, and flattened the palms of her hands on the desktop. aNow you will listen to me, you pampered little wretch. For years, even before our parents died, I have watched you twist Grandfather around your little finger, wheedle your way so firmly into his affections so that he had no love left for me. Oh yes, Grandfather allowed me a season in London with Aunt Barresford, hoping that I would find a husband so he would be rid of me. But I always knew that my place was here, even though at every turn you have tried to usurp my position and my authority as the eldest.

aNo more, Sabrina. I am Trevoras wife.a She squared her shoulders, standing even taller, the sunlight lacing through her blond hair, forming a pale golden halo round her head. She looked like a princess, tall and proud. Then she said, her voice colder than the wind that was tangling through the oak branches outside the window, aWhen that miserable old man dies, I shall be the Countess of Monmouth. On that day, my dear sister, I shall be the undisputed mistress here and you will be nothing more than I wish you to be. I wonder if I will even allow you to live here. Perhaps the dower house is the place for you. I doubt Iall waste my money on a London season for you.a Sabrina drew back at the naked hatred she saw on her sisteras face. Dimly she realized that the cold aloofness Elizabeth had always shown the world, had always shown to her sister, masked a bitterness that went very deep. Had she somehow been responsible for that? She was appalled. No, she hadnat done a thing. She was eighteen years old. Shead laughed and played, wept bitterly when her father had been killed on the Peninsula and her mother had died but a year later so needlessly, in the boating accident in the fall of 1811, but her grandfather had been there for her, and shead accepted his love, his warmth, never realizing that Elizabeth saw herself standing on the outside. Grandfather loved both of them equally, surely he did.

She struggled to understand her sister, understand her hatred, her defense of a man who didnat deserve to be her husband. But shead wanted him because she wanted to rule, to order. She said slowly, aElizabeth, surely you cannot mean that you married Trevor only so that you would be the Countess of Monmouth. No, you would not have done that.a The bleak five years since her eighteenth birthday and her one season in London stretched out endlessly in Elizabethas mind. Five years watching this precocious child grow into womanhood. She said with deadly calm, aI have done exactly what I intended to do, and you, Sabrina, never had, and never will have, anything to say in the matter. My feelings for Trevor are none of your affair. He is my husband and he shall remain my husband, his reputation unsullied by you, you filthy little liar.a Sabrina felt a knot of fear clog her throat. aElizabeth, Iam not lying! Trevor threatened to come to me again, even to my own room. He said he would hurt me if I locked my door against him. He hurt me this time, Elizabeth. Heas not natural. Surely most men arenat like he is.a aShut up!a Sabrina stared at her sisteras set face. Shead never felt so helpless in her life. aI had never thought that you so disliked me, Elizabeth,a she said finally, striving to sort through all the ugly words her sister had hurled at her. aI have never done anything to harm you. I canat believe that my loving grandfather made him care for you less. Donat turn away from me, Elizabeth. You are my sister and I seek only to protect you and me from that terrible man.a aGet out, Sabrina. I will hear no more of your pathetic lies.a Sabrina drew herself up to her full height. aIf you will not believe me, then I must go to Grandfather. I canat simply ignore what Trevor has threatened to do to me. He said he would come to my bedchamber. I wonat wait like a whimpering helpless female for him to come and abuse me.a She turned on her heel and walked quickly to the door.

Elizabeth yelled, aIf you have the audacity to carry your filth to Grandfather, I shall tell him that in your jealousy, you threw yourself at Trevor and that he repulsed you. Think, you little wretch, just think of what would happen. Everyone would revile you. You would disgrace your family. You would disgrace Grandfather. Know that you will get no quarter from me. Just what do you think Grandfather would think then, Sabrina?a Sabrina felt suddenly like a hated stranger in her own home. She stood uncertainly at the door, staring bleakly back at her sister.

Elizabeth pursed her thin lips and said more calmly, her words all the more deadly because of their emotionless calm, aNo, Grandfather wouldnat believe you. You know, of course, what Trevor would say. Go ahead, Sabrina, go to him. See how quickly he loses his doting affection for you. Trevor is his heir, you fool. He would take the side of his heir because through Trevor he gains his own immortality and the immortality of his precious line. Mayhap such a filthy story would topple him into his grave. Would you like Grandfatheras death on your hands? Well, would you?a Sabrina remembered Trevoras threat. No, surely he wouldnat try to kill Grandfather. But what would happen? She shook her head back and forth, unable to find words. Her face ached where Trevor had struck her. She saw the stain on his breeches and felt such hatred she was certain shead choke on it.

aYou know, Sabrina,a Elizabeth continued, carefully watching her sister, athere is really nothing left for you here. If indeed you are so concerned about my husbandas attentions toward you, perhaps it would be better if you left.a She saw wrenching fear in her sisteras vivid eyes, an incredible violet that everyone so admired, and turned abruptly away from her. Shead said enough. She wanted to smile, but she didnat. Shead nearly won. aLeave me,a she said, her voice as cold as the winter wind that was beginning to howl against the windows. A storm was coming. A very bad storm. aLeave me. I do not wish to look on your face again.a Sabrina licked away a tear that had fallen down her cheek onto her upper lip. She tried to talk some purpose into herself, to force herself to bury for the moment at least the terrible memories of the previous afternoon. Shead spent the night in a large cupboard in the old nursery, waking at dawn, dressing, and sneaking to the stables. Had it just been the day before that Trevor had attacked her? It seemed like a week had pa.s.sed, a week alone in the dizzying cold, watching the sky darken and fill with snow. She pressed her hand against her chest and felt hope at the thought of the three pounds tucked safely inside her chemise. It would be enough to buy a stage ticket to London, to her aunt Barresford. It would be dark soon. She didnat have much time. She couldnat press against this tree forever.

She pushed back a heavy lock of hair that had come loose over her forehead, and looked about her. Surely she had walked in the right direction. It could not be too much farther to Borhamwood and the warmth and safety of the Raven Inn.

She felt the searing pain in her chest again, and doubled over, hugging herself tightly. She could hear her own raspy breathing and admitted to herself for the first time that she was ill. aI donat want to die,a she said, the words freezing on her lips. aI wonat die.a She scrambled through the brambles, each tree becoming a goal to reach and pa.s.s. She felt a surge of hope, for she was certain that the trees were thinning ahead of her. Yes, that was an opening. She was nearly there, nearly free of the forest, nearly to Borhamwood.

Suddenly she went flying, stumbling on a large root that stuck up through the moss on the forest floor. She sprawled facedown on the frozen ground, stunned by the force of her fall. She felt curiously warmed by the thick moss.

She would remain here just a minute or two longer. She sighed. She would rest just a little while longer, then she would feel strong again. She would be so strong she would run to Borhamwood.

4.

ab.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.a Phillip Edmund Mercerault, Viscount Derencourt, drew up his bay mare, Tasha, gazed about him at the forbidding wilderness, and continued his cursing. d.a.m.n Charles anyway. He liked Charles, truly he did, had known him for more years than either of them could remember, but this was too much. The directions head provided to reach his house, Moreland, had landed Phillip in the middle of a forest in the middle of a snowstorm that could very probably become a blizzard. Phillip would shoot him when he next saw Charles.

If he next saw him.

No, that was ridiculous. Tasha was strong and sound. He knew he was going east. He just had to get out of this d.a.m.ned forest soon. But he hadnat seen a sign for a village called Borhamwood, there hadnat even been a farmhouse at which he could stop and beg a cup of coffee to warm himself. Of course since this was a forest and not farmland, he supposed it made sense that no farmers were around. He cursed again. There hadnat even been a ditch where he could get Tasha out of the snow, if for just a minute or two.

Head been a b.l.o.o.d.y fool to wave off his valet, Dambler, with his carriage and luggage. Dambler, despite all his lapses into martyrdom, had a nose for direction. It was uncanny, this ability, but unfortunately, at this point in the afternoon, Dambler was probably roasting his toes in front of a nice kitchen fire at Moreland. And here his master wasa"cold and hungry with only two changes of clothes in the soft leather valise strapped to Tashaas saddle.

What had ever possessed him? Hunting and Christmas festivities at Moreland. He wondered if head find his way there by Boxing Day.

He patted Tashaas glossy neck and gently dug his heels into her sides. He swallowed snow even as he said, aCome on, Tasha, if we stay here much longer, that d.a.m.ned Charles will find us here thawing out in the spring.a Surely he was riding east. He tried concentrating on his nose, the way Dambler told him he drew the various lat.i.tudes and longitudes into his beinga"through his nosea"but all he got out of it was a sneeze.

It was getting late. It would be dark soon. If he didnat find his way to somewhere, he would be in big trouble. Tasha suddenly snorted, jerking her head left. To his left was a cottage nestled in a small hollow, carved out, it seemed to him, from the midst of the forest itself. He wheeled Tasha about, the thought of hot coffee scalding his lips making him forget that he wanted to bash Charles the next time he had him in the ring at Gentleman Jacksonas Boxing Salon.

No, it wasnat a simple cottage. It was a two-story red brick hunting box, its facade covered with ivy dusted white by the snow. He swung off Tashaas back in front of the columned entrance, stamped his cold feet, and thwacked the knocker loudly.

No answer and no wonder. It was indeed a hunting box. The owner, whoever he was, wouldnat return until spring. As he swung back into the saddle, he said, aTasha, I promise you an extra bucket of oats if you get me to Moreland so that I may thrash Charles before dark.a Phillip groped with one gloved hand through the rich layer of his greatcoat to the watch in his waistcoat pocket. It was nearly four oaclock in the afternoon. He gazed apprehensively up at the snow, coming down more thickly now, and turned Tasha about again toward the narrow, rutted path. If he didnat find his way out of here, he would return to the hunting box. Head give himself another half hour, no more.

Despite his fur-lined greatcoat, the swirling wind chilled him to his very bones. He s.h.i.+vered and lowered his head close to his mareas neck.

Snowflakes dusted the bridge of his nose when he chanced to look heavenward. He pulled his greatcoat more closely about his throat, pulled his scarf up nearly to his eyes, ducked his head closer to Tashaas neck, and urged her on. At a fork in the path, Phillip looked up again at the snow-filled sky. He had absolutely no notion of which direction to take. He drew a guinea from his waistcoat pocket, flipped it, and with a shrug turned Tasha to the path at his left. He wasnat about to forget the direction of the hunting box. If the impossible happened, then he would return there.

He grinned suddenly, imagining what his friends would be saying to him if they knew he was lost in the middle of a snowstorm in a forest in Yorks.h.i.+re. He doubted head live it down for many a good year. He could just hear his long-time friend, Rohan Carrington, say in that amused drawl of his, aWell, Phillip, what is one to say? You can find your way all through Scotland, but when it comes to the backyard in Yorks.h.i.+re, you lose yourself in a b.l.o.o.d.y blizzard.a And then there was Martine, his mistress. He could just see her lying there on her bed, wearing something frothy, something he could see through yet not really see through, something that would fill him with such l.u.s.t that he wouldnat, frankly, care if she laughed her head off.

The snowfall became thicker, if that was possible. He couldnat see the path beyond three or four feet ahead. Tasha quickened her pace.

He kept his head pressed against Tashaas neck. She would stay on the path. There was nothing more he could do.

Except go back to that hunting box if they didnat clear the forest soon, very soon. Say in the next ten minutes, maybe even nine minutes. He had a marvelous sense of timing, even Martine told him that. Yes, he knew the exact moment when she wanted him to do this and then do that. He was smiling as he pulled out his watch. Yes, head give it ten more minutes, then it was back to the hunting box.

Martine, his languid, glorious mistress, swam again into his mindas eye. At least she was a warm thought. When head told her that he was traveling to the north for a round of Christmas parties and would be gone from London for some time, shead roused herself, propping herself up on her elbows to gain his attention, and given a lazy laugh. aAh, my beautiful man, you prefer the dead of winter to a live me. Itas absurd.a He grinned, knowing that he would most willingly part with the bulk of his worldly goods if he could at this moment be warm and naked in her large bed, his face buried in her glorious bosom, showing her yet again his wonderful timing.

The snow was driving down in earnest now, and he drew up Tasha once again in an effort to get his bearings. It was the absence of thick snow that caused him to look again upon a large splash of crimson. He hooded his eyes with his gloved hand.

What the devil was that mound of red? In another few minutes it would be completely covered with snow.

He turned Tasha off the path. He drew her up and gazed down in some consternation at a deep red velvet cloak that covered an unconscious small female.

He jumped off Tashaas back and knelt down beside her. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her? Why was she here in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a blizzard? He gently turned her over and stared down at a young girlas face. She was as pale as the white snow around her and her lips were blue with cold. He could see the veins beneath her white flesh. Two narrow scratches slashed down her cheek, the blood congealed with a crust of snow. A thick hank of red hair fell over her forehead.

The viscount stripped off a leather glove and slipped his hand inside the cloak against her chest. She was alive, but her breathing was labored, and slow, too slow. He lightly slapped her face. There was no response. He slapped her harder and shook her by her shoulders, but he couldnat awaken her. He had seen many cases of severe exposure two winters ago, when head spent the winter in Poland, after the French retreat from Russia, and knew that the result was more often than not a slow numbing death. He quickly scooped her up in his arms, wrapping his greatcoat about her as best he could. She didnat weigh much, despite her soaked clothing.

He realized that he couldnat continue on, even if he were alone, for the snow was so thick now he could scarcely see Tasha who was standing but four feet from him. The hunting box was the only answer. Even if the caretaker of the place didnat return, it would at the very least allow them shelter.

He pressed her tightly against his chest in an effort to warm her, and wheeled Tasha back toward the hunting box.

aLife becomes complicated,a he said to his horse. Her ears twitched and she neighed.

Phillip dismounted in front of a small stable next to the hunting box and quickly led Tasha inside, carrying the girl in the crook of his right arm. He laid her gently down on a pile of hay, quickly removed Tashaas saddle and bridle, and covered her with a thick horse blanket. aIall be back to feed you when I can, my girl.a He patted her rump, picked up the unconscious female, and carried her to the hunting box.

The heavy oak front door was, not surprisingly, securely locked, just as head expected it would be. His boots crunched in the thick layers of icy snow as he walked quickly to the back of the house. He came upon another door, this one less st.u.r.dy. He took a step back, lifted his right leg, and sent his boot cras.h.i.+ng into the door. It shuddered, but didnat give. He kicked again and this time it flew back on its hinges. Clutching the unconscious girl against his chest, he walked into a small kitchen.

He shoved the broken door closed and pulled a small table against it to keep out the freezing wind and blowing snow. The kitchen had a homey air, with many small personal items strewn about on the table and counters, a sure sign the place was not left abandoned during the winter months. A neat stack of logs climbed halfway up the wall next to the fireplace. Although he didnat take time to look into the pantry, he felt fairly certain that there would be sufficient food to keep them from starving.

He carried her quickly from the kitchen, down a narrow corridor that led to the center of the house. He gazed only cursorily into a small dining room and across the hall into a parlor. All the furnis.h.i.+ngs were covered in white holland covers.

Phillip felt the cold from her wet clothing and hurried up the staircase that wound up in circular fas.h.i.+on to the floor above, taking the steps two at a time.

He found a large bedchamber toward the end of the upstairs corridor, carried her to the wide bed in the center of the room, and whipped back the heavy counterpane. He held her against him, pulling off the cloak. Then came her gown, for it was soaked through as well. He laid her onto her back to unfasten the long row of tiny pearl b.u.t.tons that went from the waist to the throat. His practiced eye noted the quality and style of the gown. She was no farmeras daughter, that was certain. He frowned at the sight of her boots. They were riding boots, not made for trekking about in a forest. Where had her horse been? Had she been thrown and her horse had run back to its stable? That seemed likely. But why had she even been riding on a day like this?

He quickly stripped off her petticoat and chemise, both beautifully hemmed and embroidered in soft white batiste, and pulled off her st.u.r.dy wool socks. He looked resolutely at her face, but soon realized there was no hope for it. He studied her carefully, feeling her arms and legs for broken bones, pressing his palm to the pulse in her neck, to her breast. Her heartbeat was still slow, but steady. There wasnat a mark on her. No broken anything. What had happened to her?

He also saw that she wasnat a girl, but a young woman. Long-legged, no, he wouldnat catalogue her female points. It wouldnat be well done of him. He quickly bundled her under the covers and drew the sheets to her chin. He gathered up her hair, thick, waving around his hand, and as red as a harlotas evening dress, and spread it onto the pillow away from her head. He stared down at her. She looked like an angel, a dead angel, her skin was so white, her body so absolutely still.