added fuel to the earl's temper. To have risked the life of himself and his groom, not to mention the lives of two prime pieces of horseflesh to rescue a silly girl who did not need rescuing, was enough to try the patience of a saint.
He did not immediately go into the inn, having been assured of his wife's safety by the landlord, who had come outside to welcome him; instead, he went around to the stables to attend to his horse.
After he had rubbed down his horse and given it fodder and had seen it wrapped in a warm blanket that had been heated before the tack-room fire, the earl was feeling hungry and drowsy.
He decided to see Emily first. Would he kiss her? Perhaps he just might.
But the only person waiting in my lady's bedchamber was the maid, Felice.
"Where is your mistress?" demanded the earl.
"My lady go out."
"_Go out?_ Go out where?"
"She ... I mean, my lady have this little cat and she think it go out in the storm and so she go out."
"And you let your mistress go out in this storm alone?"
The maid spread her hands in a peculiarly Gallic gesture, absolving herself of responsibility or blame.
The earl strode back down the stairs and called loudly for his servants. "Not you, John," he said to his exhausted Swiss. "The rest of you, my lady is somewhere outside looking for a _cat._ I do not like to send you all out in the snow again, but you must help me in the search. She cannot have gone very far.
You wait here," he told John the coachman, "and tell the landlord he must send his own servants to hunt for her as well. Do not bunch together. We will go in different directions."
The earl plunged into the storm, noticing as he did so that the visibility was becoming better, although the wind still howled.
"Is this going to be the pattern of my days?" he wondered savagely. "Running around in the worst weather this country has to offer, trying to find a runaway wife?"
He called and shouted into the storm. If she had any sense, so he thought, she would keep close to the inn. A cat would not go very far from warmth on such a night.
But Emily had no sense, so he assumed she had probably plunged out of the inn yard and into the road.
He was stumbling waist-high into the road when the storm, with a great roar, left, as quickly as it had come. One minute he could hardly see a thing, and the next all was empty and white, stretching for miles.
He saw, in the distance, a small black dot against the snow and, shouting _Emily_ at the top of his voice, struggled toward it.
One minute she was so very far away. The next she was tottering forward into his arms.
He held her very close and then turned up her face and kissed her mouth, feeling her cold, frozen lips turn warm under the pressure of his own. The world became a magic place, a white plain of passion, where they seemed to turn and turn and turn in each other's arms in slow, lingering ecstasy.
Then she drew back and sighed, "Oh, Peter," and he could have struck her to the ground. He had assumed there were no loves in her past. Who was this Peter whose name she cried after that long and passionate kiss?
Emily looked wonderingly up into his stern, angry face. His eyes were as cold as the landscape.
"I am very glad to see you, Peregrine," she said timidly. "I came out to look for my cat."
"Then I take leave to inform you that you have put me and my exhausted servants to a great deal of worry and unnecessary trouble. A cat will not go far from food and warmth. You should have searched about the inn. Pray return immediately and forget about the wretched animal."
"I cannot," wailed Emily, tears beginning to run down her face. "He is so small and..."
"God give me patience," the earl said between his teeth. "Let me carry you, and you can tell me about the cursed beast. Now, when did you last see the brute?"
"Felice took him up to our bedchamber, and, when I arrived, the cat was gone, and there was a damp spot on the floor under the window, although Felice swore she
He did not immediately go into the inn, having been assured of his wife's safety by the landlord, who had come outside to welcome him; instead, he went around to the stables to attend to his horse.
After he had rubbed down his horse and given it fodder and had seen it wrapped in a warm blanket that had been heated before the tack-room fire, the earl was feeling hungry and drowsy.
He decided to see Emily first. Would he kiss her? Perhaps he just might.
But the only person waiting in my lady's bedchamber was the maid, Felice.
"Where is your mistress?" demanded the earl.
"My lady go out."
"_Go out?_ Go out where?"
"She ... I mean, my lady have this little cat and she think it go out in the storm and so she go out."
"And you let your mistress go out in this storm alone?"
The maid spread her hands in a peculiarly Gallic gesture, absolving herself of responsibility or blame.
The earl strode back down the stairs and called loudly for his servants. "Not you, John," he said to his exhausted Swiss. "The rest of you, my lady is somewhere outside looking for a _cat._ I do not like to send you all out in the snow again, but you must help me in the search. She cannot have gone very far.
You wait here," he told John the coachman, "and tell the landlord he must send his own servants to hunt for her as well. Do not bunch together. We will go in different directions."
The earl plunged into the storm, noticing as he did so that the visibility was becoming better, although the wind still howled.
"Is this going to be the pattern of my days?" he wondered savagely. "Running around in the worst weather this country has to offer, trying to find a runaway wife?"
He called and shouted into the storm. If she had any sense, so he thought, she would keep close to the inn. A cat would not go very far from warmth on such a night.
But Emily had no sense, so he assumed she had probably plunged out of the inn yard and into the road.
He was stumbling waist-high into the road when the storm, with a great roar, left, as quickly as it had come. One minute he could hardly see a thing, and the next all was empty and white, stretching for miles.
He saw, in the distance, a small black dot against the snow and, shouting _Emily_ at the top of his voice, struggled toward it.
One minute she was so very far away. The next she was tottering forward into his arms.
He held her very close and then turned up her face and kissed her mouth, feeling her cold, frozen lips turn warm under the pressure of his own. The world became a magic place, a white plain of passion, where they seemed to turn and turn and turn in each other's arms in slow, lingering ecstasy.
Then she drew back and sighed, "Oh, Peter," and he could have struck her to the ground. He had assumed there were no loves in her past. Who was this Peter whose name she cried after that long and passionate kiss?
Emily looked wonderingly up into his stern, angry face. His eyes were as cold as the landscape.
"I am very glad to see you, Peregrine," she said timidly. "I came out to look for my cat."
"Then I take leave to inform you that you have put me and my exhausted servants to a great deal of worry and unnecessary trouble. A cat will not go far from food and warmth. You should have searched about the inn. Pray return immediately and forget about the wretched animal."
"I cannot," wailed Emily, tears beginning to run down her face. "He is so small and..."
"God give me patience," the earl said between his teeth. "Let me carry you, and you can tell me about the cursed beast. Now, when did you last see the brute?"
"Felice took him up to our bedchamber, and, when I arrived, the cat was gone, and there was a damp spot on the floor under the window, although Felice swore she
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