Free Jayne Fresina by Once a Rogue Page B

her.
    Winton was humming a tune, intent on the relief of his own aches and pains. She carefully removed the pan of coals from beneath the coverlet and stood behind him with it, her arms shaking.
    “The consummation should not take long,” he muttered. “Just lie still and don’t fuss. I hope you’re fertile and strong enough to carry a living son to full term. You look too skinny and thin at the hips, but your father assures me you’re from hearty stock and likely to breed well. Six and twenty is older than I would have chosen to mother my first child. In fact you’re too old in most respects. Still,” he sighed heavily, staring down at his feet in the bowl of water, “I wasted my time and precious seed on the last four witless wenches, none of whom gave me a living heir, despite their youth. Thankfully they had the good grace to die quickly and leave me free to try again.” He paused. “I recommend you try harder than they did, or else I’ll have to deal with you the same as I did with them. A little hunger, I find, sharpens the appetite to please and a good beating makes every woman yield eventually. The occasional adoption of a scold’s bridle will also cleanse you of that proud, superior expression, I daresay.”
    She swung the pan of coals at the back of his head.
    * * * *
    A hired litter took her through the crowded streets to Mistress Comfort’s house on the other side of town. It was the only place she knew to look for him. She’d dressed hurriedly, thrown her hooded cloak over her shift and piled on as much jewelry as possible, any items of value she possessed. In half an hour, perhaps less, it would be curfew and then the streets would be empty, escape from the town impossible until daylight.
    She had no thought of what would happen next or how she might explain herself, but she couldn’t stay a moment longer with Lord Winton. It had all been a terrible mistake. Perhaps she was a coward and weaker than other women, but if she stayed there she would shrivel and die inside. She’d recently discovered that she was indeed a flesh and blood woman, not a block of ice. And she was not ready to go to her grave struggling to bring one of Winton’s wretched offspring into the world. There was more fight in her than she’d ever suspected.
    Mistress Comfort saw her enter the smoky parlor at once and scurried over, shoving aside her less well-heeled patrons. “Madam, we’re honored again,” she exclaimed. “Ye wish to choose another fellow from among–”
    “No. The man I had before. Is he here?”
    The old lady looked taken aback. “No, Madam. Like I told ye last time, he’s not one of my regulars. I never saw him before. But there are…”
    Desperate, on the verge of tears, she spun away and collided at once with a broad chest in a slashed leather doublet. He had black curly hair, peppered with gray, a wide, rather wicked grin and clear, silver eyes which took her in with one skilled and hasty appraisal. “Looking for someone?” he yelled above the noise of the crowd. “May I introduce myself? Captain Nathaniel Downing. At your service.” He swept a low, extravagant bow, almost spilling the contents of his tankard.
    Annoyed, she tried to pass, but he stood in her way, shaking a finger in her face. “Don’t look at me like that, madam. Whatever you’ve heard of me, I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong.” And then he grinned again, eyes shining. “Yet.”
    Nathaniel Downing. Where had she heard that name before? And then it came to her: the stranger had mentioned his name. She decided to take a chance. What did she have left to lose? Here she was, escaped from her bridal chamber, probably a hunted woman by now already, perhaps even a murderess. Her brother had left for London several hours ago and she had no one else to help her, no one to trust in this town.
    “There was a man here the night before last. I must find him.” Her hood fell back as she looked up at the stranger. “Can you