Page 10 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 6

Fitz drankin the sight of Cesca as she watched him dismount, shading her eyes against the sun and smiling, her body taut with excitement. The sunlight burnished her hair to brilliant gold, and he thought he’d never seen anything lovelier—or more moving.

After the grim scenes of mud, sickness, and deprivation he'd witnessed this year, this vision of his beloved was a taste of nectar from Mount Olympus. He ached to sweep her into his arms right now and kiss her senseless. After which, like a conquering hero, he'd lift her up and carry her straight to the bedchamber, there to stake his claim and slake his desire.

Shaking these fantasies from his mind, he made his bow and kissed first Cesca’s hand, then Alicia’s. He shook hands with Mr. Heathcote, who’d struggled to his feet with the support of a stick.

Despite feeling sympathy for him, he couldn't wait to spirit Cesca away from her papa and Fernley Place. From her letters to him—though she never openly complained—he deduced she spent far too much of her time nursing her father and running around after her mercurial stepsister.

His heart sped up. Soon, he and Cesca would be married, and he'd have all her attention for himself. And if she could bear it, once Napoleon was defeated, he'd always be at her side, supporting her in whatever she did. In short, he meant to be the ideal husband. Today was the day he would ask her father for her hand.

“Lonsdale, how fortuitous you’re here,” Mr. Heathcote said. “We’re just about to go to Beaulieu to visit the earl.”

Damn and blast. He'd have to put off his plans a little longer. Maybe he could return to Fernley with them after their visit, and petition Heathcote then.

“Capital idea, sir,” he said, biting back his disappointment. “I’ve no objection to returning thither. Though I must warn you, there’s quite a crowd there already. My great aunt, Lady Widbrook, and her great-nephews, Arthur and Paulton Bairstoke, are in residence. Aunt has Doctor Pargeter with her at present, owing to a bilious attack.”

Heathcote brightened. “Is he likely to stay long? I hear he’s been working on a new treatment for the gout, and would be most interested in his views on the subject.”

“I suppose he may be,” Fitz replied, “but we’d better hurry.” If Heathcote were deeply involved in conversation with Pargeter, his eye would not be upon his eldest daughter.

He winked at Cesca and reveled in the ensuing blush. The way the color spread over the slender column of her throat and across her breast did interesting things to his body. How far, he wondered, did that flush descend beneath the modest neckline of her gown?

“If Fitz is riding, then I can ride too,” chirped Alicia. “You won’t need to spare a groom, Papa—he can look after me, and we’ll ride behind the coach.”

“In front of it,” said her father. “Where I can keep an eye on you.”

Fitz almost laughed. As if Alicia’s virtue was in any danger. Had Heathcote no notion how he felt about Cesca? He was in for a surprise later, then.

Fitz didn't look at Cesca for fear of putting her to the blush again, tempting though it was. Was she anything like as physically aware of him as he was of her? If he were to touch her now, it would be like a match to black powder—but he'd have to get her alone to test out his theory.

For the next twenty minutes, he was forced to pace up and down, kicking at the gravel, while the Heathcote family prepared themselves. Then finally, thankfully, they were all ready, and he was able to mount up and escort the carriage, side-by-side with Alicia.

She was riding a gentle-looking mare and looked very dapper in her riding habit. He’d been wrong to think of her as a girl. She was, what, almost eighteen now? Every inch a woman physically, though he knew she lacked the maturity he so loved in Cesca.

Hoping for light conversation, he was surprised to find Alicia reticent, unwilling even to make eye contact. Something was distracting her, and she kept pulling the mare's head up, making the animal chew on her bit and stamp her hooves in protest. His nerves were on edge by the time Beaulieu Manor came in sight. Had no one ever taught Alicia to ride correctly?

To his horror, the mare suddenly lurched forward, and shot off up the road, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Alicia squeaked in alarm and looked to be struggling to hold on, so he kicked Hector into a gallop, and chased after the fleeing horse.

In her efforts to stall the beast, Alicia jerked the horse’s head to one side, which sent it careering through an open gate into a mown hayfield. As he charged through after her, Fitz saw a group of people by the main entrance at the top of the drive, watching in shock as he and Alicia hurtled past.

Thank heaven! His quarry slowed, then stopped. But as he came up alongside, Alicia crumpled up like a deflated air balloon and slid from the saddle to the ground.

He dismounted in a single leap and knelt by her body. She was apparently in a faint, so he shook her gently until her eyelids fluttered. Then his soldier's instincts took over as he examined her ankles for breaks or signs of injury.

Nothing. Looking up at the sound of running feet, he saw help had arrived in the shape of his cousins, Arthur and Paulton. He was about to move back to give Alicia some air when she suddenly seized one of his hands and placed it on her breast, then dragged his head down and kissed him.

Shock rendered him rigid. For a moment he couldn’t believe the girl was pressing her lips against his, not just in an exaggerated show of gratitude, but like a lover kissing her beau.

Then reality hit him, sending him scooting backward, red-faced, accompanied by the gasps of his cousins. Fortunately, at that moment, Heathcote’s groom, Gadling, arrived and hefted Alicia up. “Can I assist, my lord?” he queried, looking at Fitz.

“Um, yes,” he croaked, running a hand through his hair. “Take her indoors. To the chaise longue in the music room—it’s airier there. Tell the footman to alert the housekeeper. Thank you.” He watched in relief as the man carried Alicia off in the direction of the manor.

By this time, the Heathcotes had joined his two cousins, and everyone started talking and explaining at once. The accident was lamented, and Fitz's bravery proclaimed. Though no one said anything, he could tell they were as shocked as he was at the way in which Alicia had demonstrated her gratitude to her savior.

“I don’t deserve to be hailed a hero,” he told Heathcote and a pale Cesca. “I did nothing but chase her and check her over after she fell. Essentially, Alicia saved herself.”

His voice trailed off and he raked his fingers through his hair again. Had Cesca witnessed the hideous moment when Alicia crushed his hand to her breast? The kiss could be explained away as something given in the heat of the moment—Alicia had been frightened, disorientated, and in need of comfort. But the intimate caress she'd forced him to make was a very deliberate action.

He needed time to make sense of it, to explain it away without seeming churlish by blaming Alicia. And whatever he needed to say to the angry-looking Mr. Heathcote was best done without an audience of his interested relatives. Biting his lip, he offered Cesca an arm to escort her into the house. On the way, he could whisper what had happened and exonerate himself of blame, thus salving his conscience for the moment.

As for asking Heathcote for Cesca’s hand in marriage—well, under the circumstances, now was not a good time. He’d better wait until explanations had been given, everyone had calmed down, and Alicia had recovered from her fright.

He’d try again tomorrow. It was only one day’s delay. How much difference could that make, when he and Cesca were going to spend the rest of their lives together?