A Rose in Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page B

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