Page 20 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 12

Fitz now hadwhat he'd ached for all evening, his beloved Cesca in his embrace, and she'd just said the only words that could heal his damaged heart. The urge to kiss her was barely restrained.

Knowing she loved him must be enough for now. They were in a public place; the unpredictable Alicia was just inside—as well as the dangerous Captain Brandt—and there was Cesca's reputation to consider.

"Oh, Fitz, it's all so hopeless," she whispered, her cheek pressed against his lapel.

"Never say there's no hope," he said fiercely, kissing the top of her head. "I was a complete fool not to listen to you when you said we should run away together. I was stubborn and proud, and too much bound by convention to risk a scandal, so I don't deserve one iota of affection from you. But I'm paying the price for my folly, believe me. Alicia makes sure of that."

There was so much more he needed to say, but he felt Cesca repress a shiver, and immediately whisked them both inside, signaling to the footman to close the doors.

"I don't think it's wise to stay here any longer," he told her as they returned to the ballroom. "Maybe you could persuade Alicia to leave, as she takes very little notice of me. Besides which, the sooner we can separate her from Brandt, the better—or your father will have an even worse scandal to cope with."

"Oh, Fitz, I hate to see you so unhappy." She gazed up at him.

He looked at her for a moment, spellbound, then pulled himself together. "Forgive me. I've no right to add my worries to your woes. I have no intention of spoiling your ball—pray, dance as many measures as you can in the next half hour. Then we'll both prevail upon Alicia to depart."

That half hour was interminable. He dared not dance with Cesca again for fear of what he might do—or what he might reveal. But he could still feast his eyes on her, enjoying the graceful movements of her slender form as she glided, swan-like, through the dances. Captain Brandt even tore himself away from Alicia to dance with her again—a goad to his jealousy.

He didn't trust the man and knew him to be violent. Shortly before Fitz had given Claire Banton the money for her return to England, she'd received a black eye and bruised ribs from the not-so-gallant captain. So, there was ample reason to keep the man away from both Alicia and Cesca—and indeed, from any other young unmarried female in the ballroom.

Fitz tried not to brood, but he couldn't dance, even had he wanted to. His heart was too full, and his nerves would have made him miss his step. Luckily, Alicia showed no inclination to stand up with him. He wasn't surprised—all she required was that he run back and forth like a servant each time she had a fancy for refreshment. He maintained his dignity as best he could, but underneath, he'd begun to seethe. By the time the allotted half hour was up, he brooked no argument when informing Alicia and her friends it was imperative they leave immediately.

Despite the awkwardness this engendered, they were a merry party as they bade farewell to old friends and military colleagues and set off in his carriage, in convoy with another vehicle traveling the same road. Somehow, he lost track of Mrs. Blakeley—Alicia's chaperone for the evening—and found instead that Captain Brandt, who was spending the night with the Blakeleys, had settled himself next to Alicia. The only good thing about this arrangement was that it gave him the chance to sit beside Cesca, though this turned out more of a torment than a treat.

They were sharing a blanket. It would have been so easy to find her hand beneath its concealing folds or brush his thigh against hers. His blood fizzed like champagne at the idea, making him lightheaded. Oh, the lure of forbidden fruit! He had to rely on his military discipline to resist the temptation of touching her.

The journey was cold but otherwise unremarkable, until about twenty minutes into it. Their carriage lurched, slowed, then came to an abrupt halt, knocking both himself and Brandt against the ladies.

There were just sorting themselves out when they heard a horse whinny in fright up ahead, followed by a feminine scream.

"What's happened?" Cesca turned a worried face to Fitz.

"Nothing to worry about, I'm sure," he said, reaching for the door. "Probably got stuck in a snowdrift, so it'll just be a case of digging the carriage out."

He leaped out and landed ankle-deep in snow. Damn—he should have exchanged his dancing shoes for Hessian boots before setting out for home. By the light of the carriage lamps, he could see their own equipage was merely stopped in the road, and not in difficulties. The horses shook their manes and champed at their bits, their hot breath making clouds of mist in the icy air, but they weren't distressed. Up ahead, however, the carriage they were following was stuck at an uncomfortable angle toward the side of the road, and the coachman stood by his team, trying to quiet them as the vehicle's occupants emerged onto the snow.

A brief discussion with the coachman informed Fitz that a wheel had gone into the ditch and broken an axle. Yes, the carriage could be righted with the assistance of the male passengers, but the man was very much of a mind to leave the vehicle where it was, seek shelter for the night, and return at first light to assess and fix the damage.

Fitz's driver informed him there was an inn, the Oddfellows, less than half a mile ahead, where a warm welcome might be found.

Deuced annoying. Fitz wasn't worried about himself—his coach could easily skirt around and continue on its way, but the stricken one held Mrs. Blakeley and her younger sister, as well as Captain Blakeley. He could never allow the ladies to walk half a mile through the snow.

The chill air and the current crisis brought his senses to full alert. He immediately concocted a plan and returned to his carriage to execute it.

"Fitz—you've been an age," exclaimed Alicia. "We've been dying to know what's going on."

He resisted the urge to tell her she only need put her head out the window to see. Instead, he turned to Brandt and said, "Captain, the Blakeley’s coach is partially in a ditch, with an axle broken. We're all to make for the nearest inn. To spare Mrs. Blakeley and Miss Carlton any discomfort, I suggest they join the Misses Heathcote in this carriage and head straight for the Oddfellows Inn. You, me, and Captain Blakeley can walk the rest of the way."

Brandt scowled. "Why must we get ourselves soaked and frozen, sir? I suggest we see if we can't all fit into the one coach, and travel in comfort."

Typical. Had the man no moral fiber at all? "That would be most improper, Brandt," he replied. "Every time we went into a drift, the ladies would end up in the gentlemen's laps."

Brandt's mouth quirked up. "Now I say that would be no bad thing."

"Nonsense, man. Now button up your coat and let's get out so the ladies can take our places."

"We're not at war now, Major," Brandt snapped. "Your orders mean nothing here."

Fitz hung on to his patience. "As this is my carriage, I think you'll find that they do. You forget the strain it would put on the horses if they had seven people to pull, in a vehicle designed for four. We could just as easily end up in a ditch ourselves."

A muscle worked in Brandt's jaw, and his dark eyes bit into Fitz. Then his countenance changed utterly. He flashed Alicia and Cesca a smile and stood up, saying, "Major Fitzmaurice has disappointed my hopes, ladies, but I can see the sense of his idea. I pray you, as soon as you reach the inn, have them stoke up the fire so we can dry ourselves when we arrive, and warm some brandies to heat us from within."

"Well, I hope the inn's not full of fleas and bedbugs. I'd rather spend the night in the carriage," Alicia muttered.

Brandt chuckled. "Allow me to bespeak you a whole flagon of mulled ale, Miss Alicia. You'll sleep so soundly that you won't even notice the Trump of Doom!"

Fitz grimaced in distaste, but quickly hid his expression, as the captain followed orders and disembarked, then remained to help the two new passengers on board. He was about to set off when Cesca leaned out and pushed her blanket into his arms.

"Take it," she said earnestly. "I'll share with someone else. And don't spend any longer helping sort out the damaged carriage than you need to—I know what you're like. You'll be no use to anybody with frostbitten fingers and toes."

Wordlessly, he accepted the blanket, still warm from her body, and turned away as he pulled it around his shoulders. Bless his darling Francesca. Her simple act of kindness delved straight to his heart. He knew with a certainty as bright as the moonlit snow that he would move mountains to make her his. He just needed to work out what to do without destroying Cesca's or Alicia's reputation. Which required nothing short of a miracle.