Read Online A Rose in Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
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like Avery Fleming could sire such a one.
Erienne listened with half an ear as his voice droned on. She was well aware of the reputation of Nigel Talbot. His exploits had been bantered among the gossips several times since the Flemings had moved to Mawbry. Thus she made a point to pass the front windows often so that any watchers (and she knew there would be at least several) could see and be witness to her continued innocence.
"I'll make some tea while we wait," she said hesitantly. She stirred the fire, placing a fresh block of peat on it, then hung a kettle of water on the hook above it.
Nigel Talbot regarded Erienne with growing ardor. Several weeks had passed since he had been to London and there was entertained by some rather lusty, lace-bedecked acquaintances in their richly appointed apartments. It was truly amazing that he had overlooked such rare fine fruit in his own orchard, but considering Erienne's subdued, ladylike composure, it was easy to understand why he had not really noticed her before. The bold ones drew immediate attention, yet it was not always the case that they were also the choice ones. Erienne Fleming was of prime quality and no doubt unspoiled.
His mind formed a vision of her in petticoats and stays, with bosom overflowing and tiny waist cinched to fit a man's hands. He imagined her black hair flowing loosely about her creamy soft shoulders, and his eyes widened as he realized the possibilities before him. Of course, this was delicate and must be broached with care. He did not intend to offer marriage, but surely Avery would not be foolish enough to turn down a substantial sum for her.
Lord Talbot rose to his feet and assumed his best heroic pose, his left hand on the casually braced cane, his right clasping the lapel of his brocaded coat so she might admire his manly form. A more experienced wench might have stared openly at what he was eager to display instead of trying to keep busy with inconsequential matters.
"My dear, dear Erienne..."
His wakening passion made his voice more forceful than he intended, and the suddenness and volume of his address made Erienne start. The cup and saucer she was placing on the sideboard rattled in her fingers, almost falling to the floor. Nervously she set them down and, clasping her still trembling hands together, faced him.
Nigel Talbot was a wise man beyond the impetuous years of youth. He retreated and tried again, this time more cordially. "My apologies, Erienne. I did not mean to startle you. 'Tis just that it comes to me that I have never really looked at you before." As he spoke, he closed the distance to her. "Never really seen your beauty."
He laid a long, slim, well-manicured hand upon her lower arm, and Erienne found no retreat with the sideboard to her back.
"Why, my dear, you're trembling." He looked down in the wide, frightened eyes and smiled tenderly. "Poor Erienne. Do not be afraid, my dear. I would not harm you for the world. Indeed, 'tis my fondest wish that we should come to know each other . . . much . . . much better." His fingers lightly squeezed her arm in gentle reassurance.
Suddenly a loud curse from the upper floor interrupted, and an uneven thumping and pounding was heard on the stairs. Lord Talbot stepped away from Erienne just as Farrell came stumbling past the open doorway. He almost went to his knees but managed to teeter to a halt. His eyes rolled several times past comprehensive vision as he straightened. He had managed to don a shirt, which now hung open to the waist. The breeches were loose almost to the point of embarrassment, and his stockinged toes curled away from the cold boards of the floor. When he managed to focus on the occupants of the parlor, his jaw dropped in surprise.
"Lor! Lord Talbot!" He rubbed his good hand against his temple as if to still a pounding there and raked his fingers through his tumbled mop of hair. "Yer lordship..." The "p" was oddly stressed. He mumbled an unsure apology and began to
Erienne listened with half an ear as his voice droned on. She was well aware of the reputation of Nigel Talbot. His exploits had been bantered among the gossips several times since the Flemings had moved to Mawbry. Thus she made a point to pass the front windows often so that any watchers (and she knew there would be at least several) could see and be witness to her continued innocence.
"I'll make some tea while we wait," she said hesitantly. She stirred the fire, placing a fresh block of peat on it, then hung a kettle of water on the hook above it.
Nigel Talbot regarded Erienne with growing ardor. Several weeks had passed since he had been to London and there was entertained by some rather lusty, lace-bedecked acquaintances in their richly appointed apartments. It was truly amazing that he had overlooked such rare fine fruit in his own orchard, but considering Erienne's subdued, ladylike composure, it was easy to understand why he had not really noticed her before. The bold ones drew immediate attention, yet it was not always the case that they were also the choice ones. Erienne Fleming was of prime quality and no doubt unspoiled.
His mind formed a vision of her in petticoats and stays, with bosom overflowing and tiny waist cinched to fit a man's hands. He imagined her black hair flowing loosely about her creamy soft shoulders, and his eyes widened as he realized the possibilities before him. Of course, this was delicate and must be broached with care. He did not intend to offer marriage, but surely Avery would not be foolish enough to turn down a substantial sum for her.
Lord Talbot rose to his feet and assumed his best heroic pose, his left hand on the casually braced cane, his right clasping the lapel of his brocaded coat so she might admire his manly form. A more experienced wench might have stared openly at what he was eager to display instead of trying to keep busy with inconsequential matters.
"My dear, dear Erienne..."
His wakening passion made his voice more forceful than he intended, and the suddenness and volume of his address made Erienne start. The cup and saucer she was placing on the sideboard rattled in her fingers, almost falling to the floor. Nervously she set them down and, clasping her still trembling hands together, faced him.
Nigel Talbot was a wise man beyond the impetuous years of youth. He retreated and tried again, this time more cordially. "My apologies, Erienne. I did not mean to startle you. 'Tis just that it comes to me that I have never really looked at you before." As he spoke, he closed the distance to her. "Never really seen your beauty."
He laid a long, slim, well-manicured hand upon her lower arm, and Erienne found no retreat with the sideboard to her back.
"Why, my dear, you're trembling." He looked down in the wide, frightened eyes and smiled tenderly. "Poor Erienne. Do not be afraid, my dear. I would not harm you for the world. Indeed, 'tis my fondest wish that we should come to know each other . . . much . . . much better." His fingers lightly squeezed her arm in gentle reassurance.
Suddenly a loud curse from the upper floor interrupted, and an uneven thumping and pounding was heard on the stairs. Lord Talbot stepped away from Erienne just as Farrell came stumbling past the open doorway. He almost went to his knees but managed to teeter to a halt. His eyes rolled several times past comprehensive vision as he straightened. He had managed to don a shirt, which now hung open to the waist. The breeches were loose almost to the point of embarrassment, and his stockinged toes curled away from the cold boards of the floor. When he managed to focus on the occupants of the parlor, his jaw dropped in surprise.
"Lor! Lord Talbot!" He rubbed his good hand against his temple as if to still a pounding there and raked his fingers through his tumbled mop of hair. "Yer lordship..." The "p" was oddly stressed. He mumbled an unsure apology and began to
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