She had left the road at the very first gate into a field, hoping that her tracks would soon be obliterated as the wind whipped up the lying snow into fresh drifts. At least the rising moon provided her with sufficient light to see her way. The wind snatched at her cloak and hurled icy flakes into her face. When she had driven out this way in the gig she had passed several hamlets and hoped that she would find shelter at one of these before too long, although the lie of the land meant she could see nothing but a hedge some way ahead of her.
A white blanket disguised the uneven ground and she struggled to keep her balance as she sank into snow up to her knees. She was holding her hood closely about her face with one hand, the other trying to keep up her skirts, but it was impossible, and the edge of her travelling cloak was already caked and heavy with snow. Her feet were achingly cold and she felt every uneven bump in the ground through the thin kidskin soles of her slippers. She was not a great lover of breeches parts, where the role dictated she should dress up as a man, but now she thought fondly of the top boots and buckskins folded away in one of her trunks at the theatre. She also wished for her thick leather gloves-the silk ones she was wearing were soaked through and chilling her hands. A treacherous memory returned of Ross Durden covering one gloved hand with his own as he had escorted her to the Assembly Rooms. How long ago that seemed, and how naive she had been to think it a gesture of gallantry.
Tears started to her eyes, brought on by the fierce biting wind, she told herself as she prayed she might reach a dwelling, and soon, before she succumbed to the cold.
I could die out here.
The thought made her press on even harder. She had known the risks when she had climbed out of the window. She had decided then that the chances of surviving were greater out here than if she remained at Wheelston. The thought of Ross's sizzling kiss haunted her, but she was not such a fool as to think it meant anything to her captor. She might offer herself to him-that might buy her a little time-but the outcome would be the same. He could not risk her denouncing him as a highwayman. And since highway robbery was a hanging offence, what had he to lose by killing her?
Something, a sound, a vibration through the ground, caught her attention and she looked around to see a huge dark shape approaching. She knew it must be a horse and rider, but fright magnified the shape into a monster rearing up behind her, hunting her down. In a panic she began to run, but the flat expanse of snow ahead covered deep ruts and she quickly lost her footing. She fell headlong into the snow with a cry of frustration. Something cold and wet pushed into her face. The hot breath of a dog blasted against her frozen cheek.
‘Back, Samson.'
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and Ross hauled her none too gently to her feet.
‘Let me go!'
‘Don't be a fool.'
‘I'll not go back with you. You cannot make me!'
‘Oh, can't I?' The grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘If you don't cease struggling, I'll knock you unconscious and put you over my saddle.'
Charity felt the tears welling up.
‘You are a monster!'
‘You have already told me that, but I am trying to save your life. Come along now, let's get back to the house. Once we are indoors you can vilify me as much as you wish.'
As he turned her she caught the icy blast of the wind in her face and reeled away. Ross pulled her against him. He gave a low whistle and the horse came closer.
‘If I throw you up into the saddle, can you hold on?'
Charity forced her mind to work. ‘N-no. I cannot bend my fingers.'
‘We must keep you moving. Robin shall walk alongside and protect us from the worst of the wind.'
Charity allowed herself to lean against Ross and tried to match her steps to his as they trudged back through the snow. The dog, Samson, trotted ahead of them and seemed to have an instinct for finding the easiest path. With a strong arm helping her along and the great horse sheltering them, the going was definitely easier, but every step was painful. It seemed such a long way. Had she really come so far? As if answering her unspoken question her companion muttered, ‘We are nearly there.'
Then the house was in sight, a dense black square against the night. The front door opened as they approached, spilling golden lamplight onto the snow-covered drive, and a figure appeared.
‘I built up the fire in the bedchamber, like you said, Cap'n.'
‘Thank you, Jed. Stable Robin, if you please, then make two hot drinks, as I instructed-only no grog for the lady!'
Ross helped Charity across the threshold. He kicked the door closed behind him and with a curt command to Samson to go to his box, he swept Charity into his arms.
Ross climbed the stairs, taking care not to get his feet caught in the trailing skirts of her voluminous cloak. She lay passively against him, her head resting on his chest, golden curls tickling his chin. He tried not to think about that, nor the fragrance of her perfume, a light but heady mix of flowers and citrus that assailed his senses. It had been a long time since he had held a woman in his arms and he could not recall ever carrying one up to a bedroom before. In other circumstances he might have dropped a kiss upon that smooth brow or moved his hand to cover her breast that swelled just beyond his fingers. He dragged his mind away from the pleasant thought-the lady would not appreciate such gestures and right now his concern must be to make sure she did not suffer any ill effects from her imprudent escapade.
The door of the bedchamber was closed and he was obliged to set her upon her feet before he could open it. Gently he drew her inside. Jed had done a good job. A hearty fire now blazed in the hearth and the heavy curtains had been pulled across the windows, shutting out the night and adding considerably to the comfort of the little room. There was even a warming pan standing in one corner, ready to fill with coals later to warm the sheets before gently laying this beautiful creature in the bed. Once she had been undressed, of course. Most likely she was soaked through to her soft, ivory skin.... Ross felt himself growing hard at the thought of it.
He uttered up a silent prayer. This might be the place, but it was certainly not the time for such thoughts. He summoned up all the years of naval discipline to his aid.
‘Well, now,' he said crisply, ‘you must get out of those wet clothes.'
* * *
Dazed and exhausted, Charity pulled at the strings of her cloak and allowed it to slip unheeded to the floor. She was aware of Ross scooping it up and throwing it over a chair, together with his own greatcoat. Slowly she peeled off her long silk gloves. They were wet from the snow and she thought in a detached way that they were quite ruined.
‘Now your gown and petticoats. Your skirts are saturated.'
She wrapped her arms across her chest, shaking her head.
‘I have n-nothing to put on.'
‘I'll fetch you something.'
He went out. Charity moved closer to the fire and sank down before it, shivering. The flames were hot on her face, but she was aware that her back was cold, as were her legs, wrapped up in damp skirts. She should do something, but it was as if the cold had numbed her brain. All she wanted to do was stay here before the fire.
‘By heaven, haven't you undressed yet?'
The rough male voice roused her a little, but not enough to do more than shrug. With a sigh of exasperation he pulled her to her feet.
‘Come here, let me help you.'
He dealt quickly with the buttons at the front of her gown. His hands were surprisingly deft and in a matter of moments he pushed the heavy material off her shoulders and it slid to the ground with a whisper. Next he untied the strings of her petticoats and she stood before him in only her stays and her shift.
‘Well, thankfully your undergarments are dry,' he muttered.
The part of her brain that was still working told her she should be embarrassed, but she could not summon the energy. She noted dully that those dark eyes did not linger on her near nakedness. Instead he turned and picked up the wrap he had brought with him.
‘I'm afraid it will be a little large,' he said, helping her to put it on. ‘It is my banyan.' He wrapped it around her and tied the belt. He ran his hands up over the sleeves until they came to rest upon her shoulders. ‘At least it will keep you warm.'
There was a knock at the door. He released her and turned away.
‘The hot drinks you asked for, sir.'