Free A Rose in Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page A

Flopping down close by, he raised his wet nose high in the air to sample the wafting aroma and then lowered his massive head until it rested forlornly on his paws. His brows twitched as his eyes followed her every movement. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he'd sneak forward and grab a scrap in his large jowls, then take off like a shot when she ran after him with a broom, threatening to fetch the pigsticker after him. Undoubtedly he was not intimidated by her warning, for soon he came lumbering back to a spot where he could watch her again and sniff the tantalizing odors.
    The air was crisp, but Erienne hardly felt its chill as she worked. Indeed, she had rolled up the sleeves of her faded dress, and with only a light chemise beneath her gown, she gave welcome to the cool breezes that now and then stirred the curling tendrils of hair escaping from beneath her kerchief. She was in a frenzy to have the task done before nightfall, and she wanted nothing to distract her or set her from her purpose. Intent on her labors and with watching the sizzling fat and the encroaching dog, she failed to notice that in the shadows near the corner of the house a man had come to stand and observe.
    Christopher Seton's eyes passed over the shapely figure with warm admiration. The light breezes teased the dark curls, and she paused to tuck the stray wisps beneath her kerchief. Her arms reached forward as she turned away to another chore, and for a moment the bodice of her gown stretched tight across the slim back, reassuring him of the fact that the waist was naturally narrow and had no need to be shaped by the tight cinching of stays. In his far-reaching travels he had seen his share of women and been most selective of those he had chosen to sample. His experience could not truthfully be termed lacking, yet it was hard in his mind that this delectable bit whom he scrutinized so carefully far exceeded anything he could call to mind, whether here or halfway across an ocean or two.
    In the past three years he had taken his four ships to the far eastern shores, sounding out fresh ports and seeking goods to trade. He had become much a man of the sea and ofttimes had been confined to a ship for long periods while under sail. Since arriving in England other matters had commanded his attention, and he had casually abstained from taking up a relationship until he met a companion worthy to be considered. Thus he was not unstirred by what he saw before him. There was a graceful naivete about Erienne Fleming that totally intrigued him, and he thought he would greatly enjoy instructing her in the ways of love and lovers.
    Erienne reached to thrust a log into the fire and caught sight of the dog sneaking toward the raw fat that had been piled on a nearby table. Shouting a warning, she came upright with the stick in her hand and, as the dog skittered off toward the hole in the fence, turned to throw it after him. Doing so, she finally caught sight of the tall, nattily garbed onlooker, and the shock that went through her made her catch her breath. She stared at him as if stunned, distressed that he should be a witness to her undignified actions and dowdy appearance when he looked so dapper in royal blue coat and gray breeches and waistcoat. As if through a haze it came to her that she should be angry at his intrusion, but before that urging took some direction, the man stepped across the low fence and came toward her in long, hasty strides. Her eyes flew open in fear, and a scream built slowly in her breast. Though she knew she was about to be cruelly ravished, her legs seemed numbed and her feet firmly rooted to the spot where she stood.
    Then he was there before her, but instead of crushing her to earth, he bent aside and snatched the hem of her skirt from the blazing hearth. With quick swipes of his hat, he slashed the flames out, then lifting the smoldering cloth, rubbed it together until no wisp of smoke strayed forth. As she stared at him, he